


Lucky Child

by Star Charter (Bibliograph)



Series: Lucky Child [1]
Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga), InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale, 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files
Genre: About the journey, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But only sort of self-insert/OC, Crossover, Gen, Multiple Crossovers, Original Character - Freeform, Self-Insert, Slow Build, but very slight crossover, long fic, meta Keiko, more like cameos than anything, not the destination, powerful Keiko, self-aware Keiko, useful Keiko
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 81
Words: 617,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9216167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliograph/pseuds/Star%20Charter
Summary: "My name is Yukimura Keiko, and I am not who you think I am."When a Yu Yu Hakusho fan dies and is reincarnated in Keiko’s body, she’s faced with a difficult choice: stay true to her former self, or follow the script set for Keiko by the anime.Although the thought of agreeably becoming Yusuke’s helpless girlfriend turns her stomach, can she afford to be herself when one wrong move could rewrite history?As mysterious forces manipulate Not-Quite-Keiko in the pursuit of their own ends, she must choose between honoring the anime by sacrificing her identity, or forging a destiny of her own making.*UPDATES SATURDAYSCanon divergent in places. OC!Keiko. SI!Keiko. Fighter!Keiko. Meta!Keiko





	1. Not Who You Think I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist is reborn into a familiar role.

My name is Yukimura Keiko—but that has not always been my name.

My old name doesn't matter. Where I'm from doesn't matter, and what I looked like doesn't matter. What matters is that my name is Yukimura Keiko. A common Japanese name for a common Japanese girl.

Despite my common name, however, it's entirely possible you might've heard of me.

_I'd_ heard of me, before I became me.

If you are one of the ones who knows my name—

If you are one of the ones who thinks they know me—

I need you to remember one important thing:

_I am not who you think I am._

* * *

The last thing I remember is driving. Warm night, bright stars, highway slicking smooth beneath the wheels of my car, dark water under the hull of a boat. I played music, loud. Something with a beat, to keep me awake. I remember the moon looming bright and big above me. A supermoon, that night. They'd talked about it on the radio during my commute to work. I glanced at the moon when I could. Seemed like something I should try to see, commit to memory and savor sometime later.

And then there came that shuddering impact. That screech of metal on metal. A quick flash of dashboard illumination, sparks on the pavement lighting up my hands, world turning over and over again, the barest glimpse of my terrified face in the rearview mirror, features pale and glowing like that bloated moon—

Darkness.

Then a blinding light.

Then warm arms, and words I didn't understand.

Took me a long time to figure out what happened. Might seem obvious to you that I'd somehow been reincarnated into a new body with memories of my old life intact, but when you're caught in that situation yourself, reality takes a while to sink in. Not just because the situation is so utterly impossible as to be unbelievable—though of course that's part of it.

It took me a while to figure out what was happening simply because the brain of an infant doesn't possess the same processing power as an adult brain.

Infant brains don't hold memory very well. They don't know how to interpret patterns or analyze events. Connections between neurons haven't formed, I guess. And infant eyes don't learn to see very well for a good long while, too. Shapes are hazy, colors muted. It's like seeing underwater, and the water is brackish with unaccustomed life.

Point is, for the first few months I struggled to so much as remember what had happened a few minutes prior, let alone analyze the car accident that killed me or my subsequent rebirth. When my brain finally reached a point of development where critical thought became possible, said thought wasn't without error. I couldn't hold my train of thought for very long. I acted impulsively, like a child, even while my 26-year-old consciousness told me I was acting like a (literal) baby and needed to cut that shit out.

I was a well-behaved child, once I moved past infancy and finished mourning the loss of my old life. My parents liked to joke they picked my name well.

'Keiko,' they called me.

A normal name for a normal girl.

A common Japanese name for a common Japanese infant.

It meant 'lucky child.'

That was a meaning I only understood when I got a bit older, and I soaked up enough Japanese to start understanding their speech.

I had been terrible at learning languages in my old life. I was lucky child brains were such sponges…

Not that I forgot English. I didn't let myself. I _refused_. When I realized I was living in Japan, and that I'd unwittingly been learning to speak Japanese (again, baby brains aren't that smart), I panicked. Even as I learned Japanese, I repeated every word in English in my head, desperate to retain some small semblance of my past. I replayed all my memories one by one, a constant movie reel of personal recollection, ensuring that my forgetful, infant brain could not forget my old life.

Despite these efforts, though…somehow, in the confusion of my rebirth, I forgot my old name.

I remembered many other things. I remembered the face of my past best friend. My past mother. My past education. My past job. My boyfriend. It was just my name that escaped me—a wisp of fog fading in the light of the hot sun that was this new existence. I don't know why I forgot my name, and not the other things. I guess I took my name for granted. Thinking it immortal, I didn't take the time to painstakingly safeguard its permanence it the way I safeguarded everything else.

That said, as soon as I learned it was mine, I clung to my new name with ferocity. I always looked when my new mother or father called. I smiled on reflex. Mother called me the happiest baby in the world, not knowing that when I cried at night, it wasn't because I wanted to be held. It was because I missed some small facet of my old life, or remembered I'd forgotten my old name.

I took comfort in being called 'Keiko.' That name gave me the identity I longed for. Common as 'Keiko' was in Japan, it was _mine_.

In some ways, I took comfort in its commonality. What had happened to me was _not_ normal, after all. But here I was, born to owners of a ramen shop, normal in every way—a lucky child pulled from death and into something different.

Different, but normal.

I had no explanation for what happened to me, other than the luck I had been named for.

Perhaps this was just a quirk of fate.

Perhaps I just got lucky.

Perhaps I was destined for normalcy, just like my name suggested.

I'm sorry to say that perception only lasted until I entered kindergarten.

That was the day I learned my last name. My family name. The name that put 'Keiko' into context.

That was the day I learned my normal name had been given to a not-so-normal girl, after all.

My surname, I learned that day, is _Yukimura_.

* * *

If you are one of the ones who has heard my name before—

If you are one of the ones who has heard of this lucky little child—

I need you to remember one important thing:

My name is Yukimura Keiko.

_And I am not who you think I am._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have always toyed with writing a self -insert story for this fandom, but there are SO MANY good ones already (and it seems like dozens have popped up in the last few months alone). I felt I couldn't add anything to the fandom that didn't exist already. So I never wrote one. But then this idea hit me. An OC/my persona-thing reincarnated…into the body of Keiko.
> 
> We'll see how it goes.
> 
> Pairings are going to be weird and this thing WILL diverge from canon. Keiko/my-persona-thing will be quite different from the Keiko in the anime…sort of. You'll see. This shit will get philosophical and dark. Thanks for reading.


	2. Everything About to Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiko meets Yusuke.  
> She knows too much.

Of course, I held out hope that my name was just a coincidence—that my life wouldn't soon intersect with the anime series I'd so enjoyed in my previous existence. It wasn't like there was any other evidence to support the theory I'd been transported to the world of Yu Yu Hakusho, after all. No demons, powers, or ghosts. Just my name and my parents' occupation. That was it. That was all. And perhaps those things alone weren't enough to confirm that something spectacularly crazy had happened. Perhaps those facts were just too normal to confirm a truly abnormal theory.

Seems I'd only just convinced myself my name was mere coincidence when I met Yusuke.

Ever since learning my name, I'd thought a lot about Yusuke. Was I going to meet him? And if so, when? Meeting him would confirm my reincarnation theory, for sure. Problem was, I only vaguely remembered the anime portraying how Keiko met Yusuke. My last full viewing of the series had occurred about a year before I died. I recalled something about a playground, maybe, and one crying child comforting the other. But had it been Yusuke comforting Keiko, or Keiko comforting Yusuke?

Did that detail matter, so long as he and I met at all?

But what if not remembering meant I'd miss the chance to meet him?

And if I didn't miss my chance, and I did meet Yusuke…was I supposed to befriend him like anime-Keiko did?

I wasn't a carbon copy of Keiko in the anime. I was more abrasive, less patient, less kind, more opinionated and contrary than her sweet-yet-firm persona had ever been.

What if Yusuke didn't like my iteration of Keiko?

And worse yet—what if _I_ didn't like _him_?

* * *

Two days before I died and became Keiko, I read an article about _free-range parenting_. Free-range children are allowed to wander, go to stores, and walk to the playground alone, all with the intention of producing a capable, independent child. Seemed a little dangerous to me, but I didn't have kids (and never wanted them, _ever_ ) so I didn't think much of the article at the time. Just didn't apply to me.

But then I was reborn in Japan, where free-range parenting didn't have a fancy name—because free range parenting and plain old parenting were _the exact same thing_ in Japan—and I realized the concept applied to me, after all.

The playground was two blocks south and one block east of my parents' ramen shop. Kindergarten only lasted until 2 PM, and my parents had a restaurant to run; I was a nuisance if kept underfoot. Most days my parents loaded my backpack with water and _onigiri_ and sent me on my merry way to play. Mom walked me to the playground the first few times, then halfway there a few more, until finally unleashing me and letting me make my own way without her. Was a little scary at first, I'll admit. I was just a kid, and way more aware of potential danger than any kid had a right to be. Those sweet summer children I called my peers. So innocent. They skipped along the sidewalk whistling while I carefully eyed every alley and unfamiliar car.

I blame my paranoia on my past life's obsession with true crime. Serial killers had fascinated me. Now, however, they haunted me. Because if one targeted a six-year-old, there was precious little I could do to fight back.

Soon I realized I didn't have to worry, though. The playground was in a neighborhood full of families with kids. Parents waved to me from front porches and apartment balconies; oba-chans and aunties gave me sliced oranges and said to be good, to bring them some of my mother's famous ramen sometime, watching as I walked down the street toward swings and slides.

"It takes a village," as they say.

Turns out my mother knew most of the oba-chans and aunties in this neighborhood. They watched over me without hovering, allowing me a safe facsimile of independence most of the other children took for granted.

Not me, though.

I appreciated every watchful eye.

Those watchful eyes are what led me to Yusuke.

* * *

It was the tail end of summer, sun a copper coin descending toward the horizon. In just a few weeks, I'd enter the first grade. Earlier I'd been coloring at the bar in the ramen shop, but a surge of customers had pushed me out the door to the playground. I didn't mind, however. I liked being alone. Introversion had dogged my steps from my old life into this one. I sat on the swings, watching as other kids made themselves sick on the metal merry-go-round.

Annoyance surged as I watched one of them gag, then hop back on the merry-go-round with glee.

Why were they doing that?

How could making yourself nauseous possibly be _fun_?

Ugh. So immature.

At that thought, I hung my head. These were _not_ the thoughts of a child. How was I going to be able to make friends in school if other kids annoyed me so much? Kids had pissed me off me in my old life. Seems I hadn't developed much fondness for them in this one, either. Hell, even when I was a kid in my old life, I hadn't liked other kids. My previous mother had always joked I was an old soul. A crotchety one.

Funny. It was like she'd predicted my future.

In any case, in both this life and my old one, I'd had no patience for children. Lack of patience was probably the biggest difference between me and the real Keiko. She seemed to have so many friends in the anime. She was kind, but firm, and always cheerful. I, meanwhile, was impatient, brusque, and a total introvert. Could I measure up to anime-Keiko? What if I wasn't able to act like a kid, put my mental maturity aside and—

"Keiko-chan!"

An auntie trotted toward me across the playground. She looked frazzled, hair done up in as hasty knot at the back of her head. I'd seen her in the ramen shop many times, but she'd never looked like this. She skidded to a stop in front of me, bent at the waist, and caught her breath. Uncharacteristic tightness around her eyes set my palms to tingling.

"Keiko-chan," she repeated. "Have you seen a little boy, about your height, wearing blue?"

"No, auntie." When she grimaced I asked, "Why? What's wrong? Is he in trouble? Do you need me to help you look for him?"

A smile fractured her tense expression. "Such a helpful child. That's our Keiko-chan."

If only she knew. I wasn't a helpful child at all—just a busybody adult in disguise.

"Yes, I'd love you to help look," she said. "I was watering plants when I saw a little boy in a blue shirt go streaking by. I shouted at him to slow down, but then three bigger boys ran after him. They did not look happy. I'm worried."

"And you didn't recognize the boy, auntie?"

"No." She looked as troubled as I felt. "Must be new to the neighborhood."

It was unlike a local auntie to not recognize a local child—so, yeah, the boy had to be new. I hopped off the swing and bowed. Auntie bowed back.

"I'll start looking," I said. "Thank you very much for the information."

"Thank you, Keiko-chan." The auntie giggled. "So formal. Your mother raised you so well."

Like I said: _If only she knew._

* * *

I found the boy in the blue shirt a block to the west, along one of the drainage ditches in the shadow of a pedestrian bridge. He crouched low while three bigger, older boys chucked dirt clods at his head.

I leaned over the edge of the bridge and barked, "Hey! Cut that shit out, _now_!"

Perhaps it was the profanity, or the look of thunder on my small face, or the sheer incongruity of hearing such a harsh order come out of such a soft face, but the boys started, turned, and ran. One of them tossed a look of befuddlement over his shoulder, eyes widening when he realized what exactly he was running from—but his friends had already streaked off into the twilight, and he had no choice but to follow.

Once dusk swallowed them, I climbed over the bridge railing and slid down the grassy embankment toward the ditch. The boy had come out of the shadows so he could stare at me. Big brown eyes, made even bigger by his thin cheeks, glittered dark and wary. A mop of untidy black hair, cheeks streaked with dirt…he was too skinny. Judging by the hollow cheeks and twiggy arms, I'd bet you could count his ribs. My mom would have a fit and force-feed him if she saw him.

Me? I just stared. Everything inside me had gone cold and quiet, echoes of emotions casting tentative shadow on my shock-dark soul.

I knew exactly who this was, without quite knowing how.

And that meant everything was about to change.

The boy and I stared at each other for a minute. I think he expected me to talk first, but I didn't. I couldn't. The cold and quiet were just too loud. Eventually he sniffed, wiped his nose on his arm, shoved hands into pockets, and kicked a toe at the grass.

"You…you said _shit_ ," he said. He almost looked impressed.

"Don't tell me mom," I said. "I'd get in trouble."

"I won't tell," he said, offended. "I'm no tattletale. And I didn't need your help. I would've beaten them up soon." He crossed his arms, chin lifting. "I was just warming up."

"I believe you," I said. No use arguing, if he was the stubborn boy I suspected he was. "What's your name?"

Hesitation. He looked me over, sizing up my clean jumper and trim pigtails, weighing them against my coarse language and sweet face.

Then: "I'm Yusuke."

I closed my eyes. The cold inside roared deafening.

"Yusuke _what_?"

"Urameshi."

"Right. Of course you are."

"What's that mean?"

"Nothing." I opened my eyes. "I'm Yukimura Keiko."

He turned up his nose. "Weird name, if you ask me."

"Not as weird as yours." He looked surprised at the comeback, but before that emotion could shift hostile, I looked him up and down. He had dirt on his temple and neck. The dirt clods had hit their mark. "Are you OK?"

He looked at his feet. "Yeah."

"You here alone?"

Brown eyes flashed defiant. "No." He spoke like he was protesting something. "I have friends!"

"You don't mean those kids throwing rocks at you, do you?"

He didn't reply for a second. Then, to my immense and instantaneous horror, his eyes went all swimmy and wet.

The cold inside me warmed.

Oh god. Oh _no_. Fuuuuuu—

Shit. SHIT. I couldn't make Yusuke cry the first time I met him! We'd never be friends at this rate. Quick, quick, change the subject—

"Your mom around?" I asked.

He sniffled, and the tears abated. "She's at home."

I sized him up again. Skinny, unkempt hair, dirt on his face, dirt on his arms, dirt _everywhere_. Nailbeds were nearly black. Shoes had holes in the heel. From wear and tear, or because he outgrew them? His clothes were filthy, especially the shirt—multiple stains on the front evidenced hastily eaten meals and no table manners. Shirt hadn't been washed in a long time. How long had it been since he'd worn a clean one?

If this Atsuko was the same as anime Atsuko, something told me laundry was a rare occurrence in Yusuke's household.

Before I could unspool that logical thread, a gurgle cut the air. Yusuke clapped a hand over his stomach, cheeks turning an impressive shade of red.

"Hungry?" I asked, eyeing those skinny arms, those dagger cheekbones.

Yusuke said nothing. I reached into my backpack and handed him my mother's homemade onigiri. He didn't thank me. He just tore off the wrapper and bolted it down like he'd die if he didn't eat every bite, right now. Probably didn't even taste the thing.

When he finished, I asked: "Still hungry?"

He handed me the wrapper. Nodded. Kicked the grass with his battered tennis show.

"Want some ramen?"

His brow knit.

"My parents run a ramen shop. You can have anything you want."

His eyes practically bugged out of his skull.

"Anything?" he asked. Didn't sound like he believed me. "You—you mean it?"

"Of course I mean it. I don't say things unless I mean them." The sooner Yusuke learned that, the better. I pointed back at the bridge. "C'mon."

The walk back home was quiet, but it wasn't lonely, and it wasn't scary.

I wasn't afraid because Urameshi Yusuke shadowed me, every step.


	3. Moral, Kind, and Steadfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko makes a decision to help.

"Okaasan, why is that boy so dirty?"

'That boy' was in the other room with my father, using chopsticks as makeshift walrus tusks. Otosan howled with laughter as Yusuke tried to slurp noodles around the sticks, young face splattered with broth. It was Yusuke's second bowl of ramen. The first had vanished mere minutes after my father placed it before him on the table. He had inhaled it like it was the last good meal he'd eat for a long time.

I wondered if it was the first good meal he'd eaten in a long time.

My parents were noble people. They were moral, kind, and steadfast. My previous parents would have scoffed if I brought home a dirty stranger and asked if he could stay for dinner. They would have asked what the neighbors would say, and forbid me from bringing Yusuke by again.

The Yukimuras just smiled, asked for my new friend's name, and made him ramen with extra kamaboko fish cakes, since he said they were his favorite.

My parents were moral, kind, and steadfast people. I had never loved them more than in that moment.

Mother and I watched Yusuke and my father from the kitchen doorway. Earlier I'd been sitting with Yusuke, laughing at his antics and egging him on. He seemed to like the attention. When I saw my mother watching, I walked up to her, grabbed her hand, and asked about the dirt. Her eyes tightened in response. She watched Yusuke carefully, like a gaze too fierce might send him running.

Children aren't supposed to know the signs of abuse and neglect, much less point out those signs to their parents. I had to choose my next words very carefully.

"He was so hungry," I said. "Hungry and dirty. I'm glad he likes ramen. Aren't you?"

"I'm glad," she agreed.

"Can he come back again?" I asked. "He might get hungry again."

She didn't hesitate. " _Of course_ he can come back," she said. "He's welcome absolutely any time you want to bring him by." She ruffled my hair. "You're such a caring little girl. Never let that change, Keiko." Her dark eyes darkened further. "Did he say where he lives?"

"No."

"I see. Well, we'll have to walk him home later. His mother might be looking for him." She smoothed her hands over her apron, took a deep breath, and smiled—a brittle expression of hollow hope. "Keiko, would you wait here a minute?"

She left the kitchen and sat at Yusuke's side. I watched my parents as they talked to the boy. Something my mother asked made Yusuke hang his head, but then my father spoke and Yusuke began to smile—hesitantly at first, and then freely. It lit up his eyes from the inside, lanterns glowing behind thin paper.

What were they saying to him?

My hands, soft with a child's fat, fisted and squeezed.

My parents didn't know what I did about Yusuke's family. That Atsuko was a drunk. That Yusuke's father, according to one of the final chapters of the manga, had often raised his fist to his family before leaving them. Yusuke's thin cheeks and dirty clothes raised red flags, flags I hoped my faux-innocent comments drew attention toward...but my parents were moral, kind, and steadfast people, who always assumed the best in others.

I loved them. But did they see what I saw?

Were they capable of that?

And if they were, would they be willing to intervene?

My mother waved me over after a few minutes. I sat next to Yusuke, giggling when he slurped noodles so hard, they flipped and splatted against his nose. Yusuke blinked and sputtered; I laughed harder.

"Yusuke is new in town," Okaasan said. "He'll be attending your school, too. Isn't that exciting?"

I nodded. Yusuke eyed me, sizing me up, and looked away when I caught him staring. His cheeks darkened with a hectic blush.

"You two will have to look out for one another," my mother said. She ruffled our hair, one hand for each lucky child. "It's good to have friends, and Yusuke, you seem like such a nice boy!"

Yusuke startled. He went still, eyes wide—and then that blush got deeper. Try though he might, he couldn't help the shy, pleased smile threatening his features. And when my father chucked his arm and told him to look out for me, since he was such a strong young man, Yusuke grinned outright.

Later, after Yusuke ate his fill, my mother and I walked him home. He lived in an apartment right on the edge of the neighborhood, close to the warehouse district. It wasn't a bad place, but it didn't have the auntie network boasted by my quiet streets. No wonder Yusuke got in trouble. There was no one to look out for him at all.

My mood darkened like the sky at dusk, when I thought of that.

Yusuke's family in Yu Yu Hakusho had always bothered me. The anime glossed over his living situation, downplayed his lack of support, made light of how he was treated. Atsuko was the portrait of a neglectful parent. Why he hadn't been taken from her I couldn't say. Honestly, it was no surprise Yusuke turned into a delinquent. He hadn't had a good role model or supportive parent in his life. Much as I had never liked children, my blood boiled at the thought of turning a blind eye on an abused child—not when I had the power to do something. Just wasn't in my nature to ignore injustice.

But was it my job to change Yusuke's fate?

Or was I obligated to let his life run its course exactly the way it had in the anime and manga?

If I had the power to change his life for the better, was it immoral of me not to use that power?

Or was it immoral and arrogant of me to assume I knew what was better for him, and to interfere with a fate I might not fully understand?

I didn't want Yusuke to be taken away from Atsuko, necessarily. The anime made it clear she loved him, even if she didn't take proper care of her son. Yusuke's heart of gold (chipped and battered though it may be) would turn out OK no matter how poor her influence.

…but could he turn out _better than OK_ , if things regarding his home life changed?

I was just a kid, though. My mental maturity was useless when housed in such young skin.

How much could my small influence and quiet voice possibly change things?

As we walked Yusuke home that night, I barely felt my mother's hand squeezing my fingers. I barely heard Yusuke as he chattered about how good and tasty the ramen was. How it was so much better than the ramen he ate from a carton for dinner most nights.

I heard my mother's short, startled gasp loud and clear when Yusuke said he'd only just learned how not to burn himself when he made his ramen at home. He'd learned to boil the kettle all by himself. His mother wasn't around much. He fended for himself most nights.

Fuck.

That settled it.

I had to help change things.

I couldn't let something like that slide.

Atsuko opened the apartment door half a minute after we knocked. She wore a nightie, no shoes, hair loose and long around her shoulders. She was prettier than Okaasan, mostly because she was so much younger. 14 when she had Yusuke, if I remembered correctly. Coincidentally, that had been my previous-life-grandmother's age when she birthed my previous-life-mother. My mom's life had been hard as a result, but that grandmother had been my favorite person in the whole world. Pity surged inside me. Maybe Atsuko was like my grandmother, forced to grow up too soon and—

Atsuko's eyes narrowed when she saw Yusuke.

"Where've you been, you little shit?" Atsuko asked.

Yusuke didn't flinch at her words. His chest swelled; his chin rose.

"I made a friend," he said.

He reached out and took my hand.

I closed my eyes.

Fuck. _Fuck_. I had to help this kid. I had to.

_I had to._

Okaasan stepped forward, then, and bowed. I bowed, too. It was expected.

"Thank you for letting your son play with my daughter," she said. "I am Yukimura Sawako, and this is Keiko-chan. My husband and I run the Yukimura Ramen Shop on Block E. Yusuke-kun spent the afternoon with us. I hope we caused you no inconvenience. Your son is welcome in our shop any time, as are you."

Atsuko stared at her a minute. Then she bowed back, just the barest dip of her head.

"Yeah, thanks," she said. She turned and walked inside, out of sight. It was dark in there. Stray bottles and cans caught the flicking streetlight, dark stars on a carpet sky. "C'mon, Yusuke."

Yusuke glanced at my mother, then at me. My mother knelt and grabbed his shoulders before he could go indoors.

"Yusuke," she said. "Do you remember how to get to the ramen shop from here? Or to the park, at least?"

Small lips pursed. "Yeah."

"Come play any time. You can have as much ramen as you like."

His mouth parted. "You—you mean it?"

"Yes." Her smile was as warm as it was sad. "We'd love to have you there again, whenever you'd like. Isn't that right, Keiko?"

"Of course," I said. "I like playing with you, Yusuke."

He blushed again. Kid did that a lot. He mumbled thanks and dipped a hasty bow, but as he turned on his heel, I said his name. He stopped walking and squinted in my direction.

I jumped forward and hugged him around the neck. Hard. He smelled like dirt and ramen.

"Friends forever, OK?" I said against his ear.

Took him a minute, but soon Yusuke's arms looped around my back.

"Yeah," he said. "OK. Friends."

* * *

We were halfway home, night pressing tight against our shoulders, when my mother stopped. She knelt and looked me in the eye. There were tears in hers. She didn't let them fall.

"You asked me earlier why Yusuke was so dirty," she said.

I nodded.

"You're young, Keiko," she said. "You're smart, but there are things I don't want you to know just yet. Do you understand?"

Again, I nodded.

"But because you're so smart, and because you're so kind, I think it's good that I tell you this."

She took a deep breath. This time, a lone tear tracked down her copper skin. She wiped it away and tried to smile. The smile shook as much as her words.

"I love you very much," my mother told me. "Your father and I would do anything for you. You're our little girl. You're clean because we care for you. Because we care for you and love you, we wash your clothes and tell you when there's dirt on your face. But some children aren't as lucky as my lucky little girl."

"They aren't?" I said.

"No, honey," Okaasan said. "Some children don't have anyone to tell them their face is dirty." Hands squeezed my shoulders, but gently. "That's where you and I come in—we have to be that person who tells them, and wipes the dirt away."

She hugged me tight. I hugged her back. When she pulled away, I was crying.

"Oh, Keiko, don't be sad." She scrubbed a thumb across my tears. "Yusuke will be fine. You'll see."

I let her hug me again.

I didn't tell her that I wasn't crying because I was sad.

I was crying because I was relieved—and guilty.

Relieved that she saw Yusuke's situation for what it was, and wanted to help improve it.

Guilty that this moral, kind, and steadfast woman loved me, when I wasn't really her lucky little girl at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wise woman once told me there were kids who have no one to tell them their faces are dirty—a wise woman who, much like Keiko's mom was there for Yusuke, was there for me when my own family was not. I modeled Sawako after her. She died recently, so I guess this chapter was for her, meager tribute though it may be.
> 
> Keiko's parents seemed to really love Yusuke even though he was such a ne'er-do-well, and that's always confused me. Wouldn't they want a more mature friend/partner for their child? I wanted to show their bond with him to fix that plot hole.


	4. If This Is Adulthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Keiko remembers not all things are black and white.

It was the night of the Fourth of July, and my great aunt Lana was dying.

I'd seen her the month before, when she elected to forego more treatments. She hadn't looked like this a month ago. She'd had hair, then, thin and grey but even. Her skin had been a normal peachy shade, age spots dotting her like some topographic map of life lived and experiences shared.

Now she was yellow. Her kidneys and liver were shutting down.

She had three days left. Five at the most.

Cancer is an asshole.

My other aunts had been taking of Lana the past few days. Day, night, morning, afternoon. They looked at me with tired, glassy eyes and asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes. She's family."

(I loved my Aunt Lana. Her only daughter had died a few years before. I needed to step up.)

"You're not scared?"

"No."

(A lie. I was terrified. I was to be left alone with a living ghost.)

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Gotta pull my weight. I'm an adult. Let me do my part."

(I was 26. I had taxes and rent and health insurance. My family liked to leave me out of decisions, since I'd been the family baby for so long, but I wouldn't allow that anymore. Not now. Not with Lana.)

They left for the night with instructions. Pills at these hours. Morphine at these. Food if she wanted it. Water every half hour, even if she didn't want it. Sing to her. Read to her. She won't acknowledge you, but she knows you're there. Tell her you love her. Tell her she left a mark.

And then my aunts left Lana and I alone.

Most of the night passed quietly, save for the fireworks going off up the road. For the first few hours, Lana slept. She moaned occasionally. I watched her breathe, my own breath bated at every exhale. Didn't know if her chest would rise again. Didn't know if I'd be the one making the call to tell the rest of the family she'd died. We were playing Musical Chairs with that duty, all of us, every time we agreed to watch her.

When she woke, around 8 PM, I fed her soup and mashed potatoes—the only things her tired, inflamed gums could stand. She drank water slowly, but with eagerness. Her eyes fluttered when I read from _The Wizard of Oz_. She'd read it to me as a child when I couldn't sleep. This felt like returning an overdue favor. Hopefully she knew how I felt.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep in my chair to the tune of popping fireworks. A gurgling moan woke me, and then I heard a retching heave. Lana lay on her back, just barely propped up on her elbows. Brown foam frothed from her mouth and down the front of her pajamas, over her cheeks and chin, soup and mashed potatoes pouring like a debris-glutted stream. It glittered in the light of her bedside lamp. It smelled like decay and spoiled meat. I lurched up and shoved her empty soup bowl under her chin. She started to choke, so I set the bowl aside and hauled her up—and she screamed.

Multiple myeloma. Bone cancer, aggressive. Her skeleton was like glass at this point. I laid her back down again, apologizing.

Screams quieted into whimpers.

There was no getting the shirt off her. I cut it from her body with scissors. I cleaned her face and hair with wet cloths. I couldn't get a shirt over her head, so I just draped her with a dressing gown. I'd need help to clothe her in the morning. To change the sheets I had to roll her on her side. She screamed again, short "oh" sounds, like the barking of a coyote in a claw trap.

More than once she asked me to kill her.

She looked at me with eyes clear for the first time in days, spoke the name I can't recall, and begged me to end her life.

And honestly, at that point, it would've been a mercy.

After I gave Lana her morphine injection (the correct dosage and no more, despite her wishes, despite the amount of pity inside me), I called my father on the old rotary phone in the kitchen. My clothes stank of vomit and death as I told him what happened.

"Sounds like you handled it OK," he said. "Is she sleeping?"

"Barely. The morphine's not enough."

"Shit." He rarely cursed. "I'll call the doctor tomorrow. You try to sleep if you can, while she's not awake."

"OK," I said.

"I'll help you put real clothes on her in the morning."

"She screams if you move her."

"Shit." He paused. "Are you OK?"

My hand tightened around the grip of the rotary phone.

"Yes," I said.

But that was a lie.

When we hung up, I curled into a ball and cried. I cried in a way I hadn't cried since I was a small child—a child longing to be one of the adults in the family, who made decisions, whose voice and opinions mattered.

If this was adulthood, it didn't seem like such a great deal anymore.

If this was adulthood, why did I feel like such a helpless child?

If this was adulthood, I wished I was a kid again.

* * *

The front door was unlocked. I tried the knob because no one answered when I knocked.

Atsuko was on the couch, like always. I said hello to her before walking into the kitchen. She nodded, but didn't otherwise respond. Typical. She loved her daytime soaps.

Today, I'd brought some groceries from my mother. Fresh veggies, fruit, and meat. A bottle of milk. A bag of rice. The previous bottle of milk I'd brought was still in the fridge. It had gone bad. I smelled it the second I opened the door. Once I discarded every bad bit of food I could find in the fridge, I filled it with my offerings.

Not that Atsuko would cook anything. She rarely did.

I wandered back into the living room and began cleaning up. Atsuko still didn't say anything. Wrappers and cans and tissues went into the garbage. The beer bottles I collected for recycling.

"Yusuke didn't go to school today," I said.

Atsuko looked up, finally. "Oh?"

"He's been skipping a day every week or so," I said. "Don't know where he's going. Do you?"

Atsuko regarded the ceiling.

"Nope," she eventually said. "Little shit'll have to get a job soon if he keeps that up."

I didn't comment. I just said: "Yusuke's worn through his shoes again."

"OK. There's money in my purse. Kitchen table."

I went to the table and fished out her wallet. "We'll get him the same brand as last time."

"Sounds fine," she said.

Atsuko and I had come to something of an understanding over the past couple of years. I brought food and tidied up, and she made sure to keep Yusuke clothed in stuff that actually fit him. Granted, I had to tell her when to give me money so my mother and I could go buy Yusuke new outfits, but still. She provided the money needed to care for him.

I just wished she'd provide him some attention and support, too.

Don't get me wrong. Get Atsuko and Yusuke in the same room, and they could laugh up a storm. They got along fine, when Atsuko was sober and Yusuke in a good mood. But when they weren't, and Yusuke stormed off, I'd sometimes lose track of him for days.

Today was one of those days.

He started skipping school as early as the second or third grade. I'd tried to stop him, but there was only so much I could do to keep him in the classroom—I couldn't install a GPS tracker in his head, now could I? The tech didn't exist, for one thing. And it didn't help that I hated school as much as he did. Fourth grade math and English could only hold my attention for so long, given my mental age.

Oh, I pretended to be interested to keep the teachers off my back (my perfect grades were good camouflage for my disdain and lack of enthusiasm) but I couldn't very well judge Yusuke for being disinterested when I felt the same way. For different reasons, of course, but still. He thought school was stupid, and so did I.

It also didn't help that Atsuko just laughed off his truancy. The one person who could change things just found the situation funny.

"He takes after his dad," she'd joke. "That punk dropped out of middle school. Yusuke's a chip off the old block. He'll even out as he gets older. Just let him be a kid for now, is what I say."

Her blasé attitude drove me _nuts_.

That morning, I'd waited for Yusuke on the corner, hoping to walk to school like normal. He'd never showed. I'd looked in all his favorite haunts after school but hadn't seen him. Stopping by Atsuko's apartment with groceries was just a pretense as I looked for Yusuke. And now, here she was, as unhelpful as ever.

I don't know what I'd been expecting.

"You don't like me much, do you?"

I froze, then turned with Atsuko's money still clutched in my hand. She lay on her back on the couch. Elbows propped her up; black hair tumbled over her shoulders in a glossy wave. I started to force childish confusion, make her think I didn't understand—but she didn't look mad. She just looked curious.

I let the act drop, and for a moment, I was myself.

Not Keiko, necessarily.

Just…me.

It felt pretty good.

I ducked my chin. Then I looked Atsuko dead in the eye and said, "Does it matter, if I like you or not?"

If my brusque tone and impolite eye contact phased her, she didn't let it show.

"Not to me. But it sure makes me curious." She reached into her nest of blankets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Started to light up. "I've never done shit to you.

"And you've never done shit _for_ Yusuke."

That time, my cursing rattled her. She sat up, blinked, and let the unlit cigarette fall into her lap. But then the shock wore off and she grit her teeth.

"You _brat_ ," she said. "I've done more for Yusuke than—"

"Why do I have to be the one to tell you when he needs new shoes?" I interjected. The words died in her throat. "I'm a kid. But _I'm_ the one who notices when he needs them, instead of you, his mother. The _adult_ of the household." I stepped toward her, boldly meeting her stunned eyes. "Why is that, Atsuko? You want to tell me why that is? Because I'd sure as hell love to know."

At first, Atsuko didn't say anything. But then she closed her eyes and chuckled. The chuckle bloomed into an outright laugh, head back, shoulders lurching, like she'd just heard the funniest joke of her life.

When she quieted, her eyes were wet.

I didn't know if they were tears of humor, or tears of pain.

"Keiko," she said. "How old are you?"

"9."

"Do you know how old I am?"

"No." That was a lie.

"23. When I was 14, I got knocked up. You know what 'knocked up' means?"

"Yeah." That was the truth.

Atsuko lit her cigarette. The sparking lighter set pinpricks of gold in her dark eyes. When she took a drag and exhaled, a plume of blue smoke streamed toward the ceiling like a fleeing ghost. Atsuko watched its climb, not acknowledging me when she next spoke.

"I was so scared, when I found out," she said. "My parents kicked me to the curb. Said if I was adult enough to have sex, I was old enough to be on my own. Hideki's the one who gave me a place to stay. Said we'd start a family, like real adults."

Hideki was Yusuke's dad, I'd learned. He'd come around a few times but I'd only met him once. He had Yusuke's dark eyes, that same mop of black hair, the same devil-may-care manner, and a charismatic way of speaking that reminded me of a used car salesman.

Yusuke hadn't liked the guy. Never would say why.

But whenever Hideki visited, Atsuko wore long sleeves.

That was all I needed to know, really. I was ecstatic when Hideki left for good.

"When I was 14," Atsuko said, "21 looked like such a grownup age to be." That made her chuckle. "Hell, even 18 looked wise at that age, and at 18, you're still just a stupid kid."

She spread her hands, indicating her prone body. The wetness in her eyes had dried. Now she just looked…brittle. Like a faint wind could snap her in half.

"And now, here I am," she said. "An adult with a child. I should feel pretty grown up, don't you think?"

I didn't reply.

"The thing is," she said, "giving birth doesn't give you the ability to be a good parent overnight. Not when you're still a kid, yourself. In those early days with Hideki, I remember thinking, 'If this is adulthood, I wish I was a kid again.'"

My stomach went cold.

Atsuko didn't know it, I knew what she'd say next.

I'd been where she was, many times before.

We were more alike than I wanted to admit.

"Thing is, Keiko…I don't feel any older than I did when I was that scared little girl." She chuckled, and the brittle look intensified. "Ironic. A child with a child. It's a wonder I can even take care of myself."

"Atsuko."

She startled when I said her name. Maybe she'd forgotten I was there. Who knows? Whatever the case, when she looked at me, it made me feel…responsible. Like I had a job to do.

She was younger than me, in some ways. But I remembered what it was like to be her too well to condemn everything she was.

Maybe it wasn't just my job to look out for Yusuke.

Maybe I was supposed to look out for his mother, too.

No one was looking out for her, after all. And in many ways, she was just a kid—like me.

For all my professed maturity, I was still a kid, too.

And we kids had to stick together.

Took me a minute, but eventually I found the words I wanted.

"I know I'm just a kid," I wound up saying, "but I'm here to help, if you need it." Then I smiled. "I always have been. And I always will be"

Her lips curved around the cigarette.

"Thanks, kiddo," she said. "Want to watch some TV?"

I watched her soap opera for about an hour before heading home.

She didn't become a different person after that. Understanding didn't make her a better mother overnight. No matter how much better I knew her, she was the same Atsuko I'd met when I was six.

But from then on, I saw her in a different light—and that was change enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That first section, about my aunt, was painful to write. Sorry if it's painful to read. Miss her every day.
> 
> So, a little bit of understanding arrives. Like I said last time, I don't think Atsuko is a bad person. As mentioned, my grandmother was her age when she had my mother. They were both girls who grew up too fast, and need a little help. But I think it would take me a while to remember that, because I'd be blinded by Yusuke's situation and my desire to help him first.
> 
> Anyway. Next chapter we get a dose of Kuwabara. Stay tuned!


	5. All Things Are Possible Through Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko meets an unexpected friend.

I met Kuwabara Kazuma way before Keiko was supposed to, and completely by chance.

It was on another free-range excursion to the park. He'd piled a knee-high mound of dirt dangerously close to the swings. No one was on the swings, which was good, because the kid was in serious danger of getting kicked in the side of his big old head if someone decided swinging was right up their alley.

And it was right up _my_ alley, that day. I was seriously missing my adult height and wanted to relive it by swinging as high as I could—so yeah, when I saw him, the first thing I felt was abject annoyance.

Ugh. _Kids._

Maybe other kids would swing anyway, not realizing this asshole was in the danger zone…but not me. Nope. I couldn't swing in good conscience with him so close to the swing set. Looks like I'd have to actually interact with him ( _kill me_ ) to get him to move.

Sometimes being responsible was exhausting.

Steeling myself to deal with a child who was already on my shitlist, I marched over to the kid, stood tall, and put my hands on my hips. I was fully prepared to use my best Mom Look to get my way. This guy was clearly bigger than me, even sitting down, with blocky features that even a decent helping of baby fat did little to soften. His hair was fluffy and curly, too, adding to his apparent height—and wow, those were some broad shoulders for an eight-year-old. I'd need all the sass I could muster if I wanted to get this monster to shove off.

He didn't notice when I approached. He just gazed at his mound of dirt with an expression I can only describe as 'forlorn.' Like he'd been told he was never allowed to own another teddy bear (or whatever it is kids liked—furbies or some shit, I don't even know). I waited a full minute but he didn't acknowledge my presence. When my ire reached critical mass, I drew myself up to speak—but then the kid did something odd. Odd even for a kid.

The mound of dirt he'd made was pointed at the top, with a little hole dug in the peak. He took a fistful of dirt and placed his hand inside the hollow. Then he jerked his hand and let the dirt fly upward in a gravelly rain.

"Boom," he said.

There was no joy in that word. No childish glee.

Just resignation.

Just…blah?

Even I, the renowned child-resenter, knew something had to be wrong.

"What are you doing?" I said.

He looked up, narrow eyes widening above cheekbones so sharp they could cut—and just like with Yusuke, the minute our eyes met, I knew who I was looking at. Those eyes, that curly hair, and those cheekbones were the stuff of anime legend. I went cold all over, stomach a ball of hollow ice.

…was this allowed?

Was I allowed to meet Kuwabara so early?

He looked as perturbed as I felt, though clearly for different reasons. He grabbed another fist of earth and threw it into the air.

"Boom," he repeated. He sighed like a deflated balloon. "It's a volcano. But it's _dumb_."

As the cold in me abated, I considered sprinting in the opposite direction. Keiko and Kuwabara didn't know each other in the anime—not until they intersected in the wake of Yusuke's death, when Yusuke possessed Kuwabara's body. That had always struck me as strange. Kuwabara and Yusuke interacted a lot, and Kuwabara, Keiko, and Yusuke all went to the same school. The idea that Keiko didn't at least know Sarayashiki's #2 Punk by sight didn't make sense. But the anime made it seem like they didn't know each other, so…

Like I said.

Was meeting him like this allowed?

The thing is, Kuwabara is my favorite Yu Yu Hakusho character (tied with Hiei; the pair constantly jockey for first place on my mental favorites list). The thought of running away from him because _canon dictated it_ ruffled my jimmies.

He was my _favorite_ , dammit. And much as I hated kids, getting to see him as a child was too cool an opportunity to pass up.

Canon could wait.

My inner fangirl could not.

This I had to see.

Against my better judgment, I found myself squatting next to the dirt-volcano. Kuwabara's eyes, watery and black, were too sad to ignore. He looked like a kicked bulldog puppy. An oversized, kicked bulldog puppy with a miniature afro.

"Why did you make a volcano, anyway?" I asked.

"Saw one on TV," he said, morose. "It looked cool. But this one's dumb."

"Why do you think this one's dumb?"

"Doesn't explode. Volcanoes are supposed to explode."

I said nothing. He pouted, jabbing at the dirt with his index finger. It was weird to see him with black hair instead of orange. Wasn't old enough to start bleaching it like a Yankee, I guess. He wore it in a mop of curls instead of a pompadour. Too young for that, too. Would these curls of his follow him into teenagedom, or would he have to start giving himself perms to achieve his anime look? Not that this style looked bad. The curls fell into his eyes, softening his features as he pouted and gazed at me with mournful, liquid irises—

Oh, god. He really did look like a kicked puppy. Even my Grinchy heart swelled at the sight.

"So you want this volcano to explode, huh," I said.

"Duh." He crossed his arms, back hunching, jaw jutting. "That's what volcanoes _do_."

I regarded the dirt mound a moment. Then I stood and brushed off my knees. It was a warm day, sunny, taste of spring in the air. A few yards away, cherry trees had just started to bloom.

"How long are you going to be here?" I asked.

Confusion painted his features. "Until my nee-san's exam is over. Why?"

I put my hand in the dirt mound, then spread my fingers and jerked them skyward. Kuwabara flinched as I made a whooshing sound between my teeth, but an eager smile appeared when I said: "We're gonna make your volcano go _boom_."

* * *

My mother didn't question why I wanted a bottle of vinegar, a box of baking soda, wax paper, red food coloring, and rice paper. I guess the _Science Experiments for Kids_ book under my arm said it all. She packed everything into my backpack and told me to have fun before I scampered back to Kuwabara.

He'd stayed right where I left him. Dark eyes danced when they spotted me coming. Without saying a word, I knelt and lined the pit in Kuwabara's volcano with wax paper. Then I filled the resulting well with vinegar and two drops of the red dye. The acrid scent made my eyes water. I blinked back the tears and took out the rice paper, which I tore into four even squares. Kuwabara watched with interest and eagerly took a sheet of rice paper when I passed it to him.

"Make more squares," I said.

He did as I asked, eagerness and gusto evident in his jerky hands. When we had enough, I filled each square with baking soda and twisted the rice paper to make little closed packets. The rice paper stuck to itself when I wet it with some spit. Kuwabara watched with care and mimicked every move I made. I gathered all the packets and handed half of them to Kuwabara when we were through.

"On the count of three," I said, "we'll dump the packets into the vinegar." I waited for Kuwabara to nod, expression bordering fear and excitement, before commencing the count. "One. Two. Three!"

We dumped them in with a vinegary splash.

Nothing happened.

Kuwabara leaned forward, nose crinkled.

"When will it explode?" he asked.

I hooked a finger into the back of his shirt and pulled. He squeaked. It was adorable. Cursing my soft heart, I told him, "Just wait for it."

"Is this really going to explode?"

"All things are possible through science."

He started to ask questions—but then the volcano pit bubbled. His eyes bugged as bubbles and red foam frothed up to the top of the volcano's hollow. Then the liquid heaved in a snapping wave, splattering over the edges of the volcano and onto the ground. The foam actually caught a little air, like a real explosion, which was cool. Kuwabara leapt to his feet as the scarlet goop poured down the sides of the volcano in fizzing streams.

"Wow!" Kuwabara said. He hopped from foot to foot, mouth agape. "Wow— _wow_! It really exploded!"

He danced around the volcano until it went inert. I gave myself a mental pat on the back. He'd gotten his 'boom.' This was my good deed for the day. But why stop at just one good deed? We refilled the volcano and made it explode twice more, until we ran out of ingredients. Kuwabara looked a bit disappointed to learn we couldn't make it explode a fourth time, but even so, the smile wouldn't leave his face.

Now he looked like a _happy_ puppy. That was better.

"Wow," he said. He sat on his heels, staring at the volcano with reverence. "That was awesome. But how did that work?"

"You ever shake a can of soda until it explodes?"

"Yeah?"

"The same stuff that makes soda bubbly is what made this explode. It's called carbon dioxide. When you mix vinegar and baking soda together, they combine to make carbon dioxide, and they explode."

" _Whoa_."

"Yeah. Science is cool."

"You bet." Kuwabara looked thoroughly impressed. "You're a scientist?"

"Not really. But I love reading about it."

I reached into my backpack and pulled out _Science Experiments for_ _Kids_. Kuwabara frowned when I held it toward him.

"Here," I said. "You can have this. It's got experiments you can do at home."

He stared at the book like it was something out of a dream, and might vanish if he touched it. All wide-eyed wonder and surprise and hesitant glee.

My heart near 'bout melted. It was terrible.

"Me?" he asked. "I can do experiments. _Me_?"

"Yeah. It's really fun! You should try them all."

He looked beyond excited, I mean absolutely thrilled—but then his blocky little face turned serious.

"I want to," he said. He held the book toward me. "But this is yours. I can't take it."

Oh, that honorable little so-and-so. Even as a kid he had a code, sort of.

"Look, I've done all the experiments already," I told him. I pushed the book away. "I don't need it anymore." Then I tipped the boy a wink. He blushed crimson to the roots of his curly hair. "I need an advanced experiment guide, now!"

He still looked unsure. "B-but…"

If the kid needed more persuasion, I'd give it to him. He wound up loving science late in Yu Yu Hakusho. He didn't know it, but he'd love this book.

"Tell you what," I said. "Promise me you'll do all the experiments, and treat the book well, and give it to someone else someday—just like me. I did all the experiments, and then I gave it to you." He bashfully ducked his head when I shot him my most winning smile. "Deal?"

"Y-yeah—deal," he said…and then he stuck out his hand, with his pinky out, and face like a ripe apple. "Pinky swear."

Was this asshole trying to kill me with cute or what? I grinned and wrapped my own pinky around his.

"Then it's a deal," I said.

His face went supernova. He wrenched back his hand and shoved it in his pocket.

"Yeah, well, um—"

"Kazuma!"

Kuwabara's face lit up when he saw, over my unknowing shoulder, whoever had called his name. He darted around me and ran, waving the book I'd given him in the air. I turned and saw a tall man with blocky features and a long black ponytail walking over. The man bent from the waist so he could see the book and hear whatever it was Kuwabara was babbling. It went something like: "Look, look at what I got! We made a volcano go boom and it's because of carbon dioxide which is in soda and—"

The man had an earring in one ear and one of the most enthusiastic smiles I'd ever seen on his lips. This was obviously Kuwabara's dad. If the family resemblance didn't give it away, then the man's cameo in one of the manga's later chapters accomplished that just fine.

Curious though I was to see Kuwabara's family, I averted my eyes and ducked behind the slide next to the swings, out of sight. Keiko and Kuwabara weren't supposed to meet yet. No need to draw attention—

"Hey, kid. Why'd you give my baby bro that book?"

The voice came from my left. I flinched, spinning on my heel…and then I beheld Shizuru.

She sat on the end of the slide, elbows propped on her spread knees, and she stared like she was already sick and tired of dealing with a little shit-brat like me. She had to be, what, fifteen at this point in the Yu Yu Hakusho timeline? I was interested to note she wore her hair in a Mia Farrow pageboy cut, rather than her long hair from the show. She was already rocking menswear, though. Slacks, spats, and a fitted vest made her look like a 20s gangster in the best, most take-no-shit way possible.

I was in love with her at once.

In love, and in terror.

Because if anyone in this world could see through my childish charade, it was this young woman right here.

She bore my abject staring with patience. Eventually, though, she was forced to repeat herself. "Yo. Kid. My baby bro. That book. Why?"

"Oh, um—just being nice, I guess," I said.

"Liar."

It wasn't an accusation so much as a statement of boring fact. I began to protest, to tell her I was just nice and to leave me alone, but her baleful, unimpressed eyes stopped me cold.

Why _had_ I wanted to give that book to Kuwabara, anyway?

I mean, the obvious answer was that I really liked him as a character, and seeing Kuwabara looking sad made my Grinchy heart grow three sizes. I'd given him the book to make a favorite character of mine happy, to make him stop looking like a kicked puppy…but thinking about it, Kuwabara _liked_ _science_. He did by the end of the series, at least. What if giving him this book boosted his love of science earlier in the series? What if he got 70s on tests instead of 7s? I wasn't sure I could make a difference in his life with a single book, or if him getting better grades sooner would change anything about YYH as a whole, but…

Kuwabara was the heart of the team. He was loyal and kind, and he deserved the best.

More than that: Kuwabara was my _favorite_.

What would it hurt, to try and nudge him in the right direction earlier instead of later?

At face value and at first blush, I'd given him the book to make him happy. To make him stop looking like a kicked puppy. The chance of improved academics were just handy side effects. Which meant my original answer could stand, and wasn't a lie at all.

"I'm not lying. I thought he'd like it," I said, because it was the truth. "And maybe he'll like school better now. You never know."

Shizuru frowned. She considered me for a few seconds.

She said: "You're not what you seem, are you."

It wasn't a question.

Fear buckled my stomach, but I pushed it aside. I drew myself up—and I let the little-kid act drop. Because there was no use trying to deceive someone like Shizuru. The most (and best) I could do now was earn her respect. Or better yet, convince her I wasn't a threat at all.

"No," I told her. "You're right. I'm not what I seem."

"And this isn't the last I'll see of you, is it."

"Probably not."

"Interesting." But she spoke with eyes like a bored shark, so I wasn't sure if she meant it. My heart stuttered.

"Look—I don't mean any harm," I said. "It's just an educational book. No strings."

She stared. I stared back, with all the presence and iron will I'd developed in my other life. Really gave her the steeliest look I could muster at that young age. Still, I got the sense that my extra mental years—a number of which I'd spent in corporate boardrooms staring down men twice my age and six times my salary, with great success—were not enough to win me this contest of wills.

This was _Shizuru_ , not some random teen. And Shizuru was a badass.

More of a badass than I'd ever been, in point of fact.

She had the eyes of a lion on the prowl, golden and prideful and observant and predatory. God, but holding still and maintaining eye contact with a surly teen was hard! I wanted to move, to fidget, but Shizuru's intense gaze held me fast. I feared what she'd think if I backed off and looked away. Just hold still, keep your eyes open, don't show fear, don't blink—

Just as my adolescent biology kicked in and made my child's feet start shuffling, Shizuru smirked. Her head dropped, eyes momentarily obscured by her short bristle of bangs. A wry chuckle had me flinching like she'd thrown a punch.

"No strings," she said. "Really."

"I mean what I say."

Her chin lifted. Shizuru looked less cold all of a sudden. Mostly confused, if anything. Her brow furrowed, and she looked older for it.

"Why do I believe that?" she murmured.

I started to reply. She ran a hand through her hair and stood up. She loomed tall even at this age.

"OK. Look. I've had a long day," she said. "Just… _what_ ever you are, _who_ ever you are, don't hurt my brother."

My jaw dropped. "I-I would _never_ —"

Her eyes closed. Another chuckle, this one oddly warm. My protests died.

"For some reason," she said, "I believe that, too."

And with that, she turned. She lifted a hand over her shoulder as she walked away—effortlessly cool, like a winter wind with a sense of humor.

"See you later, then," Shizuru said. "Whenever that might be."

My reply came out like a whisper, wind struck from my sails by the typhoon of Shizuru's passing.

"Sure," I said. "See you."

The slide cast a shadow over where I stood. Nearby cherry blossoms filled the air with bright scent. From my secluded spot I saw Shizuru join her father and her brother, who showed Shizuru the book with eyes like excited fireflies. She took his hand, smiled, and guided her brother off the playground toward home. Their father followed with head thrown back in laughter. Apparently Kuwabara's enthusiasm tickled more fancies than just mine.

Kuwabara looked over his shoulder as his family walked away. I shrank into the shadows, not wanting to be seen—but somehow, despite the shade, Kuwabara's eyes found mine.

Over his shoulder, as Shizuru had before him, he lifted a hand.

A hand with the pinkie out.

_Pinkie swear._

Without thinking, I lifted my own in return, and watched until his sunny, grateful grin vanished around a corner.

There was no telling when I'd see Kuwabara again.

But when I did, he was sure to be the same man he grew into in the anime: the kind who kept his promises, and never went back on his word.

Something told me that with or without my help, Kuwabara would turn out just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE KUWABARA SO MUCH, and it really doesn't make sense that he and Keiko weren't at least aware of each other prior to Yusuke's death. If Yusuke fought him all the damn time, and they were all going to the same school, how the heck would Keiko not know Kuwabara?! And she's the class rep, so how would she not recognize the second baddest punk at her school at least by sight??
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Loved getting to write Shizuru. She'll have more to do later in this story, dontcha worry.


	6. Finally, I Found You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Keiko meets a mysterious stranger.

That night, I fell asleep thinking of Kid-Kuwabara's gleaming smile.

Once the darkness of sleep descended, I dreamed of a different child—one with whom I was much less familiar.

In fact, I didn't recognize the child who appeared between the shards of my dreams to stand before me at all. Like, _at all_ , at all. I had never seen his face before. But he looked up at me with a grin to rival Kuwabara's, with rich blue eyes and a mop of pale pink hair the exact shade of the sakura blossoms I'd seen on the playground earlier that day. This boy looked…lit from within. Not that that makes sense. His eyes were like the sea at high noon when you're scuba diving and staring up at the surface, sunlight filtering through water, brushing your face with warmth.

His eyes sparkled when he said: "Finally. I found you."

He had a voice like coins clinking in a purse. He seemed quite a bit shorter than me, despite us looking about the same age, but his voice sounded authoritative despite its high, chirping pitch. Not like a kid at all.

"Um," I said.

"I've been looking for you for a long time," the boy continued. His eyes nearly squeezed shut when he smiled. "You were following the rules so well, I couldn't see the truth inside you. Made you impossible to locate. The others appeared much faster, for the record. But the moment you broke enough rules, the tapestry lit up like fireworks on a summer night—and poof! There you were."

"The tapestry?" I asked.

He smiled harder, breezy. "Oh, don't worry about it."

This dream was super weird. Where was I, even? Looking around, the kid and I stood on a vast plane of…nothing. Sort of grey-blue absence-of-everything in all directions. But we each cast a star of shadows, like something lit us harshly from above, so I guess there was a floor? I dunno. This was a dream, and dreams didn't have to make sense.

Unless…

"It's good to see you," the boy said.

"Um." I shifted from foot to foot. "Sure."

The boy looked at me expectantly, though what he was expecting I couldn't say. He wore a little red robe, belted with a purple sash, and wooden _geta_ sandals. Old fashioned, for sure. But when he tilted his head at me like a curious puppy, something glinted in his ear—a fish hook on a bit of twine. A kid my age with a fishhook earring? Weird, and definitely not old-fashioned.

The kid cleared his throat. I met his eyes with a polite smile. His beatific grin faded in response.

"You don't remember me," he said, voice a forgotten dime on the sidewalk.

"No. Sorry," I said. "Should I remember you?"

It was like he hadn't heard me. "Darn," he said. The smile returned like a lightbulb flicking on. "Oh well! Can't be helped. You were understandably distracted at the time." He tossed sakura bangs from his eyes, beaming. "Anyway. I suppose you're wondering why you're here."

"I'm dreaming, I suspect."

"We-ell…you're not _wrong_ , exactly."

Awareness stirred as I parsed the subtext. "I'm not wrong. But that means I'm not _right_ , either."

The boy giggled, but he did not reply. I shut my eyes. That settled it. My suspicions gelled like panna cotta in a blast chiller.

"I've read enough fanfiction to know this must be more than a dream," I said. "So. Who are you?"

Blue eyes sparked, fireworks at night. "Clever girl," the boy said. He swept a low bow, arms spread wide, Western-style. "Greetings. My name is Hiruko. It is nice to make your acquaintance."

I bowed back, in Japanese tradition. "I'm Keiko."

"Oh, nonsense." He edged his smile with pity. "You and I both know that's not your name."

I went very, very still.

Because this had the potential to be very, very bad.

Like worst-fear-level-bad.

Oh god oh god oh god—

Hiruko tutted. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm not your enemy."

The lump in my throat was hard to swallow. "How do you know I'm not Keiko?"

Small lips parted in surprise, then shaped the sound of a delighted laugh.

"How do I—? Ha! What do you think you look like right now?" He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. "Here. Let me help."

A mirror, eight feet tall with an antique gold frame, appeared behind him out of nowhere. I flinched, pulling backward and away, but then—

_Oh_.

"You're _you_ , here," Hiruko said.

I saw myself in the mirror. Not Keiko, not the girl whose life I'd stolen— _me_. My old self. Five foot ten (no wonder Hiruko looked short), long brown hair, uneven hairline, and hooded grey eyes. The square jaw, the large forehead with the mole above my right eye, the angular, thick eyebrows. The tattoos on my thighs, swirling watercolor animals in rainbow shades. The titanium pin tenting the skin of my right elbow. Surgical scars on my elbow and wrist. Stretch marks on my thighs and belly. Piercings lining my ears like polite shrapnel. The mirror didn't show the chronic pain in my bad arm, or my anxiety disorder, or the problems I'd had with disordered eating—but I sensed those old parts of myself hovering at the edge of my perception like ghosts.

And then the mirror vanished, and those recollected inklings disappeared. I gasped at the loss of my old identity, staggering and stumbling and only barely catching my feet.

Hiruko was still smiling. I got the feeling he would never stop.

"It's OK," he said, all compassion and sweetness. "You're not in trouble. Just be yourself!"

"You…" For the first time I realized I spoke with my old voice, low nasal alto that used to croon the blues at karaoke night. "You aren't going to rat me out to Spirit World, are you?"

Smile turned to childish pout. "Why would you say that?"

I said it because it was my worst fear. Because Koenma might strip me from my life, send me into the unknown of death for the transgression of stealing the true Keiko's place. Because I feared what would happen if I was discovered. Because much as I felt guilt for stealing Keiko's life, I hadn't chosen to steal it, and I did not think I deserved punishment in light of this—punishment Koenma was likely to dole out.

I told Hiruko none of these things, however.

I merely said: "Just a hunch."

Pout turned to outright scowl. Eyes darkened like the sea at midnight. "Well, it's a bad hunch. I'm _not_ with Spirit World."

"Um. OK?" The abrupt change from giggling child to dour naysayer gave me mental whiplash. "Sorry I asked."

He sighed. "No. The apology is mine. You have nothing to fear from me, Keiko." Then Hiruko blinked, alarmed. "Oh. Um. That's not really your name, is it? Oops. What should I call you?" He put a hand to his chin, thinking. "Bizarro-Keiko? Anti-Keiko? Not-Quite-Keiko?"

"Do you know my name?" I cut in. "My real one? I've forgotten how it sounds."

A sad smile, full of gentle denial.

"Yes. I know it," Hiruko said, "but I think telling you would only hurt."

I debated arguing. Decided against it.

"Yeah. I agree." I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. "So who are you, exactly?"

He rolled his eyes like he starred in a soap opera. "Oh, my. _So_ forgetful. Like I said: my name is Hiruko!"

It was my turn to pout. "Answering without answering. Just what I always wanted."

He looked positively delighted by my sass. "Ooh, and _you're_ salty. Just what _I_ always wanted!"

I was much less delighted by his sass. This person seemed to know a lot about my situation, but if he was going to dance around my questions, I wouldn't waste my time talking to him—or at least I wouldn't let him _think_ I'd waste my time. I sighed, tossed my head, and turned my back on the boy called Hiruko.

"Fine," I said. "Be that way."

And with that, I walked away into the void.

Of course, he appeared in front of me a second later with his hands jammed sullenly into his pockets, so I didn't get far.

"Fine, fine!" he said. "Slow down. I'll talk to you. It's just—"

He kicked the toe of his sandal at the not-ground. I waited, staring, until he heaved a sigh and met my eyes. His smile had lessened a little, though it hovered at the edge of his lips like a persistent shadow.

"Look," Hiruko said. "Cut me some slack. It's hard for me to speak to you directly."

"Why?"

"Because—" He opened his mouth and closed it a few times. Then he ducked his head and said, "I'm sorry."

My lips pursed. "What for?"

"For doing this to you."

The world got very narrow, then.

"It was an accident. Sort of. In any case, you aren't at fault, I promise." He stood on firm feet, eyes determined and jolly. "I bet that's a huge relief to hear!"

It took me a while to respond. The words just didn't want to come. When they did, I sounded like I'd been smoking a pack a day for a century—and I'd never smoked a single cigarette in either of my lives.

"Are you…the one who made me into her?" I croaked. "Into Keiko?"

Hiruko kicked at the ground again. Guilt colored his countenance as thoroughly as realization colored mine.

Realization…and indignation.

Rising, mounting, burning _fury_.

This fucker wanted me to feel relieved?

Who the hell did he think he was, playing with people's lives like this?!

"You _are_ , aren't you? You're the one," I said. My fists clenched, nails cutting into palms. Suddenly words were a flood and my mouth a burst dam, no trouble thinking up stuff to say now, no sir, it was time to _rant_. "Why? Why did you do this? Why did you write her from the narrative? And why did you write me into it? Am I supposed to be her? Am I supposed to be me? Do I need to follow canon to the letter or am I supposed to make things better somehow? Why did you choose me for this? What am I supposed to do? Who are you? And what am I?" I stalked forward, unable to contain the roiling energy inside me. " _What am I_ , dammit, Hiruko?!"

I would've gone on—heaven knows I had more to say, I had years of questions bubbling inside me, I was about to blow my top like _Kuwabara's stupid goddamn volcano_ —but something rumbled beneath my feet and I staggered. The ground felt like a bucking bronco, goaded into ire by spur and saddle. I fell on my ass; Hiruko yelped. When I looked up, I saw he'd gone sprawling, too.

"Oh, shoot," he said. That eternal smile of his was panicked, but gleeful. "We're out of time! And so fast!"

Hiruko raised his hand, and snapped.

I knew what was coming. I felt it in my bones, felt the waking world pressing down around me, turning the abyss to shades of light and dark in the vague shape of Keiko's bedroom. The air shook against my skin, thrumming in my ears like a swarm of bees.

_No—!_

My vision blurred.

_Wait—!_

My body numbed.

_Not when I almost have my answers—!_

"Stop fighting, dear." Hiruko's voice cut through the cacophony, clear like a ringing bell. "You'll be awake in just a moment."

"Don't you dare disappear on me," I said (or maybe I was screaming, thrashing against the call of the waking world). "Don't you dare, Hiruko. _Don't you fucking dare_ —!"

One second I was looking at his grinning little face and that stupid pink hair, distorted and warped as the dream world dissolved, and the next his image vanished. But I could still hear the bastard, smug voice a knife in the thickening air.

"I'm sorry, Not-Quite-Keiko," he said. "I know this is abrupt. I know you feel confused."

"So talk to me, dammit, _Hiruko_ —!"

"Not today." The laughter in his voice was just plain annoying. "But don't worry. You'll have another chance."

"Another chance?!"

"Yup!"

The real world came down all the harder, then. I did everything I could to fight it. I clung to sleep, to the dream world, with every ounce of willpower I possessed, every ounce cultivated over the course of two shared lifetimes—

It wasn't enough.

As the roar in my ears reached a crescendo, and the dream world splintered into pieces, I heard Hiruko's smug voice one last time.

"Oh, yes. You'll have another chance." I felt his satisfaction as intensely as I felt my own frustration. "We'll see each other again…so long as you keep breaking the rules."

Next thing I knew, I felt moonlight on my face and the shudder of breath in my chest.

Hiruko had vanished along with my dreams.

He'd left me with questions, cold sweat, and little more…but at least now when things got tough, I'd have that little asshole to blame. I clung to that meager silver lining like a life raft.

At this point, I'd take any comfort I could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the mysterious Hiruko. I've been excited to introduce him. He'll be a rather big player in this story, but my lips are sealed for the time being.
> 
> SO MANY THANKS for the kudos and comments. Floored by the reception this is getting!


	7. Supposed To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko breaks the rules. Sort of.

As I put the cap back on the bottle of disinfectant, I asked Yusuke, "Who do you fight?"

"Hm?"

He sat on my bed, rubbing the bandage on his cheek. Beneath it lay a shallow scrape. It wouldn't scar, but it must've stung something fierce. Looked like he got it by face-surfing on the pavement. Yusuke whined and groused every minute I spent patching him up. You'd think he'd never felt the sting of disinfectant before, but I knew better than that.

I'd been patching him up more and more as the years went by. We were almost 10 at this point. The fighting had started as early as 7. Just people in his class at school, at first, but then kids from other classes and grades. On the playground, in the street on his way home from school, in the neighborhood. Kids he knew. Kids he didn't. Kids his age. Kids older still. I wasn't sure why he picked who he picked. No rhyme or reason I could see.

Did he get off on it?

Did he enjoy making people bleed?

He hadn't seemed purely sadistic in the anime and manga (just a surly teen with an attitude, a short temper, and a twisted sense of humor), and he didn't seem sadistic now (not when he pouted, eyes watering, as he tolerated my ministrations), but with my strange new influence, I feared I'd somehow changed him. Perhaps that was irrational, since I'd seen no concrete evidence of any changes. Perhaps it was paranoid, given all he was doing was fighting people just like he did in the anime…but I needed confirmation that this was all OK. I needed occasional check-ins to make sure I hadn't irreparably ruined the lives around me.

Uncertainty had gnawed at me since the fighting started. Since Yusuke first came home with torn knuckles and a busted chin. Since Hiruko told me I'd been breaking the rules. Meeting Kuwabara had set the need for confirmation into overdrive, too.

Soon he and Yusuke would meet. Soon the fighting would begin in earnest.

Soon the shit would hit the fan.

I needed to be prepared…and I needed to know that my rule-breaking, minor though I thought it was, wouldn't irrevocably damage the world I'd come to call my own, or hurt those I'd grown to love.

I'd been sticking as closely to the rules as I could, since meeting Hiruko. Acting as close to the real Keiko as possible—doing what she'd do, liking what she'd like. Hiruko had told me to keep breaking the rules, but something about his cheerful attitude didn't sit well with me. I'd always found overly cheerful people untrustworthy in my past life.

Was Hiruko right, in telling me to keep breaking rules and just be myself?

Or should I stick to Keiko's script, against his wishes?

I wasn't sure. All I knew is that I couldn't hurt Yusuke. I'd come to care for him too much for that.

"Who do you fight?" I repeated. "Random people? Boys your age? People you know? Strangers? People who piss you off?" When Yusuke gaped at me like a drowning fish, I pressed on. "Why do you fight the people you fight, Yusuke? Why do you pick them, specifically?"

"What the heck are you—?"

"I'm _worried_ , Yusuke. If you're out there picking fights with anyone you see—"

"N-no—you're wrong."

Teeth worried his lower lip, mouth twitching below wide eyes. He looked anxious, I guess. Unsettled by my questions, like it was the first time they'd ever been posed...even by himself.

"I don't fight with just anybody, Keiko," he said, and his eyes widened further stull. Was it just me, or did he seem surprised by his own admission? He nodded, vigorous. "Yeah. Not just anybody."

"Then who?"

Suspicion colored his expression. "Why do you wanna know?"

I got up and put the first aid kit back in its spot under my desk. How to phrase this? Didn't want to send him running…but then again, subtlety wasn't his strong suit. No kid gloves for my Yusuke, no sir.

I turned back to him. I put my hands on my hips. I scowled.

"You don't bully people weaker than you, do you?" I asked.

Yusuke blinked—and then he lurched off my bed, onto his feet.

"No!" he yelped. "Jeez, Keiko! _No_! I just…"

Yusuke, talkative though he could be, had never been good at expressing things like emotions or internal thought processes. Bless the child—he'd grow to be a man of deliberate action, not a man of precise elocution. He fell silent under my stare, fidgeting, unable to meet my eyes.

Slowly, afraid he'd run, I sat on my desk. I caught his nervous eye. I smiled.

"Take your time," I told him.

To my frustration, the little shit took my advice. I had to wait almost two minutes for the kid to come up with something and speak. Took everything in my power not to snap at him to hurry the hell up and just talk, dammit.

When he did talk, my impatience eased. It was like watching the sun come up, understanding of himself dawning in his eyes word by word, spark by self-aware spark.

"I fight people who _want_ to fight me," he said, in a voice of wonder. "Only them."

"How can you tell when someone wants to fight you?"

"There's this _look_." Pauses peppered his speech as he tried to make sense of himself. "When I see it, I just know. It's real. And I know what it looks like." He shrugged, smirked. "Other times, we piss each other off, and it happens. We fight."

"So no little kids or old ladies."

"Well, if _they_ picked a fight with _me_ , I'd kick their butts. But they'd be no challenge so there's no point."

"You're telling me you'd never go over to someone and just beat them up for no reason."

"No." He looked surprised at me. "That'd be _mean_ , Keiko."

"Well, I'm glad you're not mean."

He turned up his chin, smug. "Damn right. And besides. There's no fun in fighting the weak. You can't get stronger if you always fight people weaker than you."

I turned away. Rearranged the pens on my desk for no reason, just so I could smile where Yusuke couldn't see.

So that was it, then.

Even at this age, Yusuke's instinct to fight wasn't born of a desire to hurt people. It was born of a desire for strength. For advancement. For self-improvement. He fought those who posed a challenge and wanted to fight him.

He had their _consent_ , though maybe it went unspoken. And that's what I'd been hoping to hear. He was developing into the person he was supposed to be, despite anything I might've done. Despite the rules Hiruko claimed I'd broken.

Now, I just had to keep him this way.

Could I afford to break any more rules?

"Why do you always ask questions like that, Keiko?"

I jumped and glanced over my shoulder. Yusuke sat on the edge of my bed with his legs crisscrossed, hands gripping his ankles as he stared at me. Lower lip jutted in a childish pout, but brow knit like an old woman's sewing.

"You're always asking me these really serious things." An accusatory finger pointed in my direction. " _You_ need to _lighten up_."

"Is that so."

"Yup!" He hopped off the bed, mischievous smile glinting. "Starting tonight, you're going to lighten up. I'm going to make you."

"Really, now."

"Yup. Starting tonight." He drew himself up and smirked. "Keiko, you and are sneaking out!"

Now _that_ was a rule Keiko would never break, no matter how much I thought it sounded like fun. I'd made an art of sneaking out of my previous parents' house. Doing that to the kindly Yukimuras, however…

Yusuke was, of course, oblivious to my inner turmoil. He trotted to my desk and appraised the window above it, peering past the gauzy curtains toward the sloping roof beyond.

"Yeah, this will work!" he said. "We can climb out and shimmy down the drainpipe. It's perfect!"

"Perfectly _insane_. We'll crack our heads open and die." Yusuke was going to die before his time, but I wouldn't let it be at the hands of anything besides a red sports car and a kid playing in traffic. "You can't seriously think this is a good ide— _Yusuke you shut that window right now or so help me_ —!"

He'd clambered atop my desk, thrown up the sash, and levered a leg out the window in the time it took for me to admonish him. Cool night air blew his hair across his forehead and set my skin to prickling. He had the smile of an imp—oh. Funny. He was smiling like the demon he was destined to become someday. I'd start giggling if I wasn't careful.

"Oh, c'mon, Keiko," he whined. "We're going to get ice cream at the corner store and you're going to stop asking me dumb questions. And I'm not gonna take 'no' for an answer!"

"Too bad. No."

"Keiko-pleeeaaase?"

" _No_."

"But I'll love you forever!"

"Pretty sure you already love me forever. I've covered for you too many times for you to—"

"Wheeeeee!"

"— _get back here you little jerk_!"

He'd levered his other leg out the window so he could slide down the shingles to the edge of the roof. I slapped my hands on the window frame and leaned my head out after him. The edge of my desk pressed sharp into my abdomen. Yusuke grinned up at me from the edge, feet swinging over it and into the yawning dark beyond. An exterior floodlight made his hair gleam silver, his eyes gleam gold. He looked more like his future self than ever—Raizen's heir, at least five years too early.

"You just gonna let me go by myself, then?" he called. The asshole faked an uncaring sigh. "Fine. More ice cream for me, I guess. See ya."

"Wait!"

I cursed myself for caving while Yusuke grinned in satisfaction. I told him to wait there and—after taking a moment to think things through—left my room and padded down the hall to the family room. My parents lay on the floor on thin cushions, listening to a radio broadcast (some sort of comedy show; a lot of the jokes went over my head since they hinged on obscure Japanese puns and historical references). Dad fanned himself with a piece of paper; Mom giggled at the announcer's witticisms, hands gently peeling an orange. They both looked up when I came in. Usually I was in bed by now, or getting ready to be.

I took a deep breath before speaking, because what I was about to say was pretty out of character. Oh well. Time to throw my parents for a loop!

"Yusuke wants to sneak out and get ice cream at the corner store," I said. Mom and Dad frowned, but before they could forbid me I kept talking. "I think I should go with him, just to keep him out of trouble. I promise to be careful. Will you pretend to be mad if you catch us coming back? I want it to look real."

My parents blinked—and then they burst into simultaneous laughter. The orange in mother's hands dissolved into a pulpy mess. I smelled burst citrus from the doorway.

"Well, Keiko, if the apocalypse descends and your grades start to slip, it's comforting to know you have a future in comedy," Dad said, chortling and teary-eyed.

"Our little girl," my mother concurred as she slapped her knee. Orange juice stained her pants in dark patches. "Looks ten, acts like a grandmother!"

"I'm just being responsible!" I protested, ready to fight for the right to sort-of-sneak-out—but Oto-san lurched up and pulled me into a hug. I stammered nonsense into his shirt until he let me go.

"We don't mind. It's not that late, and I started sneaking out when I was a lot younger than you," he said. "Go have fun!"

"It's about time you started acting like a kid," Oka-san added. Her mouth puckered. "Sometimes I think I suspect birth to a thirty-year-old."

 _A twenty-six-year-old_ , I wanted to tell her, but I didn't. Too awkward.

"Your mother's right. It's time you go be a proper, rule-pushing preteen. So don't you dare ask us for permission for something like this again," said my father. He winked and shoved me out the door. "Now go be ten! And don't tell Yusuke you _asked us_ if you could sneak out! You'll never hear the end of it!"

"We love you, dear!" Mother called as Father shut the door behind me.

"Try to get into trouble, for once!" he added—and then I was alone.

I stood in the hallway, stunned, for what felt like an hour. Then I willed my feet to move, and I shimmied out my bedroom window into the dark next to the troublemaker Yusuke.

Despite my misgiving, it seemed that by his side, breaking the rules, was exactly where I was supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a fine line, I think, between enjoying fighting the way Yusuke does and being a sadistic bully. Want to establish which side of the line Yusuke calls home. Also wanted to establish that this OC-Keiko is a VERY serious little girl, and everyone notices but her. "Go be ten," indeed.
> 
> ALSO…some people have asked about pairings since I added "NOT Yusuke/Keiko" to this story's summary. I think I know who she/me will end up with (like 75% certain), but I'd like to get people's opinions about pairings before I start introducing characters like Hiei, Kurama, and Koenma. If you have an opinion, let me know your thoughts. Thanks!


	8. A Head For Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko brushes off some old skills, only some of which are legal.

In exchange for stealing the life of their daughter, I decided to make Keiko's parents rich. Or at least better-off than they were before I came along.

However, much like Rome wasn't built in day, neither is a ramen restaurant empire.

First I had to figure out that their business was even struggling. That alone took years—mainly because I was a kid, and therefore not privy to certain aspects of their trade. "Too young to understand" and all that general kid-underestimating-stuff, blah blah blah. That was frustrating as heck. As I got older, however, they let me learn more and more about the restaurant, and that's when I realized they weren't...well…

My parents just weren't great business-people.

I mean, they weren't awful, but they hadn't negotiated very good financing, they didn't capitalize on promotion opportunities, and they spent money on forms of advertisement that didn't suit their business. Stuff that could be fixed, if only someone could nudge them in the right direction.

At first I thought they were oblivious to how these things drained their finances. When I tried to ask, subtly, they just smiled and told me not to worry. They didn't seem concerned at all.

Then, by chance, I heard them talking in low voices at night about the bills piling up. About things they needed to cut, to keep the business afloat.

About whether or not they could pay for certain things in their daughter's future.

"College is expensive, you know," my mother murmured.

Her voice cracked when she said it.

Turns out, I didn't want to make them _rich_. I wanted them to be _stable_. I wanted them to save money where they could, and run a better business as a result, so they could stop stressing and relax. Maybe, if I was clever enough, the happy consequences of wealth would follow after.

Some of those happy consequences could benefit me, specifically. But I tried not to think about that. Made me feel selfish, y'know?

Anyway.

First thing's first: Once I decided I wanted to help the business, I snuck into my dad's office and dug into his books, to see what precisely needed nudging.

One of the first things I noticed was that my parents sank a chunk of change each month into a series of billboards and signs around town, purportedly to advertise their shop. Signage isn't a bad idea for a small business, but some of the signs were in neighborhoods I suspected didn't actually draw in customers. Too far away, not much foot traffic, all that jazz. When asked, my parents couldn't say how much of their customer-base had come around thanks to these signs, nor could they tell me which specific signs were actually responsible for drawing in customers.

Rule Number One for Amassing Wealth: Don't waste money on useless bullshit.

If you don't know a form of advertisement is working, don't spend your money on it.

What this meant was that I needed a private phone line.

OK, that sounds unconnected to the signage problems, but hear me out.

To save my parents money, and to draw in more customers, I had to convince my parents that I deserved to have a private phone line. They made me save my allowance for the phone itself, but my grades were basically perfect, so eventually they caved and opened up that line for me.

That's where Yusuke the Vandal came in.

He loved my plan. Thought it was the coolest plan ever, actually. He stole cans of spray-paint from a local tagging gang and helped me cut a stencil in cardboard. Then we went to a select number of my parents' billboards in the dead on night, dressed in black, and replaced the ramen shop's usual phone number with the number for my new phone line.

Yusuke loved the clandestine nature of it all. He was also impressed with _me._

"How did you know how to make a stencil? How to hold a can right?" Yusuke asked as we blocked out the old number and replaced it with the new one. He'd tried holding one of the rattle-cans at a bad angle and was surprised when I corrected him. "These numbers look super clean. If we'd free-handed them, it would look terrible." He eyed me suspiciously. "You aren't secretly a graffiti artist, are you?"

"In a past life, yeah."

"Ha! Yeah, right, you big liar. You're no tagger."

Little did he know that, for the first time in our shared life, I'd just told him the honest truth about myself. About my past, when I wasn't nearly as clean-cut as Yukimura Keiko.

Shame he didn't realize it.

In any case: I had my expected results within weeks of my midnight jaunt with Yusuke.

Turns out, only some of the billboards generated calls for take-out. I could tell because only one phone in the Yukimura house was getting calls for delivery: the new phone number I'd put on the billboards I'd suspected were most useful. I monitored calls for two weeks before presenting my findings to my parents. I created a comprehensive presentation for them on a tri-fold board, with colorful graphics and a suggested course of action as we moved forward in our advertisement reformation attempts. Pulled out all the stops. It was like being back in a corporate boardroom again. One that smelled like ramen and felt like home, but a boardroom nonetheless.

My parents were less impressed than I thought they'd be.

"Oh my, Keiko!" my mother said, hand on her cheek. " _That's_ why you wanted a phone line?"

"We thought you were finally making _friends_!" my father chimed in.

"I wanted to be helpful," I said. I reiterated a few points, highlighting how much money we'd save if we ditched the useless signage and relocated our efforts to other areas of town. "We could see a 30% increase in take-out call volume in less than two months, which would result in a percentage revenue increase of almost—"

"Keiko."

I looked away from my numbers, graphs, charts, data, SWOT analysis. My parents sat in solemn silence at the table. The shop was closed for the night, chatter of patrons faded into evening's quiet. Dad still wore his cooking hat, white cloth folded into crisp, broth-stained lines.

"You don't need to be worrying yourself with things like this," my father said. He took off his hat and placed it on the table. "Don't get me wrong. It's helpful. We'll save a lot of money, not paying for that signage."

"But you need to be focused on school," my mother said. Her smile was as kind as it was pleading. "And on making friends."

I twisted the cap on the pen in my hands. I'd been using it to point at parts of my presentation. The cap slid and clicked with every twist. Click, slide, click, slide, click. But the sounds and sensations weren't comforting, as they had been in my past life, when I was an anxious fidgeter.

Keiko didn't need to fidget. She was much more composed than the old me.

"I have friends," I said. "Yusuke and I are friends. And my grades are perfect."

My parents exchanged a _Look_.

"You should make friends with some girls your age," Okasan said. "You know how much we love Yusuke. But it's important you make many friends." She tried smiling again. "Have a little fun."

"You're always so serious," my father chimed in. "Yusuke's a good influence in his own way, getting you to lighten up, but—"

"—but you want me making more friends than just him. Some girls your age, maybe."

"But I'm good at this," I said. I gestured at the charts for emphasis. "I can help."

"Yes, you _can_ ," my mother said. "But that doesn't mean you _need_ to."

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. I anticipated they'd be skeptical of my business analysis, since it was coming from the mouth of an elementary schooler in pigtails, but for them to reject me outright? That I hadn't counted on. I mean, they had no idea I had a Bachelor's degree in business, that my past father had been a small business lender intimately involved in the local restaurant industry, that I'd spent years working for a marketing firm, that I had more business experience than anyone my apparent age had any right—

Mom reached out and slipped her hand into mind. Her fingers were hot, melting into my cold ones like a summer breeze.

"We don't want you worrying, Keiko," she said. "You're young. It's not your place to worry about this business."

She was wrong, though. I'd seen the ledgers, the bills, the accounts. At this rate, my parents wouldn't have much saved for retirement, let alone enough to take a nice vacation sometime. And they deserved that, dammit. Why wouldn't they let me help them get what they deserved?

"Look—I understand what you're saying," I said. I squeezed my mother's hand, trying to look and sound sincere. "You want me to be a kid and not worry, because you love me. But I love you, too, and that means I want to help." Her eyed popped wide. I blundered on, practically babbling. "What's the harm in letting me help, so long as I make friends and get good grades? So long as helping doesn't interfere with my schoolwork, I don't see the harm."

My parents exchanged another Look.

"You have to admit my strategies would be helpful," I pressed. "I know I'm young and you're skeptical of my competency—"

"Oh, honey, you're eleven and you use words like 'competency,'" Mom said. "It's not that I—"

"—but I think I'm onto something. And I think you should listen to me, even if I'm young and inexperienced."

My mother looked uncertain all of a sudden. She glanced at my dad, imploring, but he was too busy staring at the poster over my shoulder to notice. He wandered close, one hand on his chin, the other fisted on his hip. Then he looked sheepishly at my mother.

"You have to admit, our Keiko really has a head for business."

Mom gasped, appalled. "Takeshi!"

"I call it like I see it, woman! Our Keiko has a real knack for this." He squared his shoulders and looked Mom dead in the eye. "Here's what I say. So long as she keeps her end of the bargain, gets good grades and makes…oh, at least two more friends, I don't see why we shouldn't let her make suggestions about the ramen shop." His eyes slid my way, warm. "This business will be hers, one day, after all. It's high time she learns how it works."

Pride and certainty radiated from him like heat from a flame. I tried not to think about whether or not I was obligated to run his business. I tried not to feel guilty for not wanting to honor that obligation. My old dad had told me a million times how easy it was for restaurants to fail. He'd financed dozens of them, after all, and watched many of them go out of business. Did I want to devote my life to a job so uncertain? To one I didn't feel passionately about?

My new parents had given me so many gifts in life: unstoppable kindness, unconditional love, and unwavering support.

Was I supposed to sacrifice my dreams because I felt guilty for stealing the life of the Yukimura's daughter? The daughter who, by all rights, was supposed to have been given those precious gifts instead of me?

Was I really supposed to let guilt kill my dreams?

In that moment, looking at my new, beloved father, I wasn't sure.

Luckily, I didn't have to decide right then. I didn't have to decide for a long time. What a lucky child I was, to be able to shove my conflicted emotions into a hidden recess of my brain, to be pondered another day.

In the meantime, I'd focus on making my stolen parents successful—and that's exactly what I did.

By the time the summer before the 8th grade arrived, my parents had purchased three pop-up ramen stands and a truck to haul them with. Not long later, they entered talks to start a second location.

And not long after that, they discussed taking a vacation—the first they'd take since opening the restaurant shortly after I was born.

To my satisfaction, they looked blissfully happy (not to mention sunburned) in the photos they took in Maui.

What I could do for them wasn't much. Monetary gains didn't make up for what I'd taken from them. Money is a poor replacement for the life of your child.

But I was glad I could begin to repay a fraction of the gifts they'd given me, all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't see myself not trying to improve the Yukimura's business, if I was reborn as Keiko. The business degree and my father's influence would be too hard to ignore. Perhaps I couldn't contribute as much as I did in this chapter, but…anyway. Wishful thinking? Maybe. But still.
> 
> Just know that this interference of Keiko's WILL influence future plot events, in certain small ways, so it's not *total* self-indulgent filler. Those "selfish reasons" that prompted Keiko to help her parents are very specific.
> 
> In fact…those selfish reasons directly impact Keiko learning to fight. Yes, Keiko learns to fight. There are more forms of strength than physical prowess, and at this stage of her life, those forms of strength are simply more important, hence why I haven't talked about fighting yet.


	9. A Promise He'd Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko makes Yusuke make a promise.

"Dude. Are you doing your homework _early_?"

I jumped. The top of my head collided with the bottom of Yusuke's jaw; his teeth clacked together as pain electrified my scalp.

"Ow!" I said.

" _Crap_!" he said. He clutched his cheeks in both hands and threw himself across my bed. "Ouch! Your head's even harder than mine, you big nerd!"

I snagged a pillow off the bed and chucked it at him. He caught it and threw it back. I stuck out my tongue.

"It's harder than yours because I'm smarter than you," I said.

"Nah, just more stubborn. Remember how you always used to nag me about homework? It was like arguing with a donkey."

"Pretty sure you're the only ass here, Yusuke."

He cackled. "Don't let your mom hear you talk like that!"

I turned back to my work with a grumble. Yusuke was right—I had already finished my summer homework and was starting on my assignments for the actual schoolyear. Nerd alert. Not that this was challenging. 8th grade fractions, long division, basic algebra? I could do this in my head. I'd only have to start studying in earnest when we got to calculus in high school.

"Speaking of you being an enormous nerd, why'd you stop nagging me about homework, anyway?"

I looked at Yusuke from the corner of my eye. He lay with hands behind his head, foot crossed over one knee. The portrait of devil-may-care laziness I'd come to know, love, and (when he wasn't being an annoying ass) _tolerate_ over the course of the last few years.

"Why?" I said. "Do you want me to start nagging you again?"

He shuddered. "No. No way. I'd rather eat a needle."

"That's what I thought." I wrote a new answer. "To answer your question, you never do your work no matter how much I nag, and nagging gets boring, so I stopped."

In truth, I was a little disappointed with myself for not nagging Yusuke the way Keiko had in the anime. Keeping Yusuke in line had been her job, after all. I had tried so hard at first to be just like Keiko when it came to Yusuke's homework, but try though I might, I just couldn't get my heart into it.

For fuck's sake, he and I had all the same opinions about school! I hated the same teachers he hated, had the same (lack of) desire to be stuck in a classroom as he did, and harbored the same disdain for our academic material as him. I mean, he hated the material because he was lazy and I hated it because it wasn't challenging, but still—same hate, if not different flavors.

Telling him not to feel those things would be hypocritical. And in the end, I wasn't his teacher, or his mother. That meant it wasn't my job to pester him about his schoolwork.

Right?

Or _was it_ my job, after all, since I was now Keiko?

Was nagging another thing I was obligated to do?

Did I have to match the anime perfectly or not?

ARGH.

I'd been asking myself shit like this for 13 years. For all my efforts, I had precisely zero answers, and roughly a decade of existential-riddle-induced headaches.

Call it wishful thinking (and/or outright delusion, take your pick), but I comforted myself with the knowledge that even when Keiko had been at her nagging peak in the anime, she hadn't had any effect on Yusuke. Nagging seemed pointless in light of that. Why force myself to do something I hated when it wouldn't make a difference, anyway?

Or was I just making excuses?

Yeah, I was probably delusional.

I tried not to think about it.

(But while we're on the subject, did not nagging Yusuke count as breaking the rules? I still hadn't heard from Hiruko again, after all. Seems any rules I'd broken weren't big enough to warrant his attention. If he was even real. Maybe that one encounter had been a dream after all. I'd begun to doubt its legitimacy in the years that followed…)

"Anyway," I said. "I'm not your mother. It's not my job to nag."

"That's why I keep you around, Keiko," Yusuke said. He grinned, closing his eyes as he relaxed. "You're the best friend I could ever ask for."

"Damn straight. Oh, speaking of mothers—mine thinks you're up here doing homework, doesn't she?"

"Of course."

"You're going to get me in trouble one of these days."

"Who, you? The blessed child?"

I rolled my eyes. 'Blessed child' was a variation on one of my name's possible spellings, making his comment a bit of a pun. Generally I made most of the puns in this relationship, not him…

"You'd have to drop out entirely to disappoint them," he continued, "and even then, fat chance."

"You know that's not true."

"Do I, though? Your mom thinks you hung the moon."

Guilt stabbed hot and grating. I forced the feeling aside with a fake, breezy smirk.

"If you say so," I said.

Uncomfortable, I looked away and answered yet another math problem. Yusuke wasn't wrong. Ever since the guilt of stealing the real Keiko's existence sunk in, I'd made sure to do my absolute best in school for the benefit of my wonderful new parents. So far, I'd done a good job…not that doing well was _hard_. Elementary-school math was too simple to be difficult, learning English was sort of redundant since I already knew it, and I'd always loved science (had an above-perfect average in Honors biology in high school, though chemistry was a much different and less impressive story). The most difficult subject in this new life was Japanese history, but learning it hinged on reading comprehension and retention, and mine was pretty damn good. Reading had always been a favored hobby. I anticipated that I'd only start struggling academically once I reached calculus and chemistry. One of the perks of being reincarnated with intact memories was good academic performance, I guess.

Plus, Keiko's brain was just _better_ than my old one. That helped a whole freaking lot.

I'd always been smart. In my past life I'd been that annoyingly lazy kid who got passing (though not great) grades without ever cracking a textbook. Intelligent, but not motivated. Meanwhile, Keiko's brain was a gigantic, enthusiastic _sponge_ or something. I'd flat-out hated studying in my old life. Now, though, it felt almost meditative. And, somehow, fun.

Hell, Keiko was even coordinated. PE had never been easier than when I was Keiko. I could even dance well in her body. In my old one, I'd lost my balance while standing still, and an injury had rendered sports impossible when it gave me extensive nerve damage and arthritis in one arm, hand, and shoulder. Took me years to stop favoring that side of my body in Keiko's skin. My new parents had thought I was in pain as a child, but really, I was just becoming accustomed to pain's absence.

Anyway. Being Keiko made me a better person in a lot of ways. And good thing, too, because the Yukimuras deserved the best daughter possible.

They hadn't asked to have their real daughter stolen, after all.

I owed them more than they knew.

"Hey! Earth to Keiko!"

I snapped to attention. Yusuke nudged my chair with a toe.

"You zoned out," he said. "Take a break."

I eyed my homework. I mean, I was ahead in every subject, so…

"I have the new Nirvana album."

"WHAT?! Gimme!"

I all but tackled him when he pulled the CD from his jacket pocket. He held it above my head, taunting me, but eventually I drove my elbow into his ribs and let the album go. He knew better than to keep me from my music for too long.

What he didn't know is that this music was a remnant of my old life. I'd loved 90s grunge rock and metal Back in the Day (my affectionate term for the life I'd once lived). Those were my favorite musical genres, along with blues and rock n' roll country like Johnny Cash. Reborn in this world, I was alive at the time grunge bands were actually producing music—and it was _fucking exciting_ , lemme tell ya. I had mentally catalogued when new Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and Soundgarden albums would be released, and I waited for them like a dog under the dinner table, salivating for scraps. I'd become a real fixture at the local record store, that's for sure.

Oh. The record store. I shot Yusuke a suspicious glare. "You didn't shoplift this, did you?"

He looked at me innocently.

Too innocently.

I breathed a long sigh. "I'm going to pretend like I trust you for two seconds. Try not to ruin it."

"I make no promises."

Yusuke knew better than to admit he'd stolen the album. I loved these bands too much to not support those brought me comfort in the form of familiarity—and all these bands were familiar.

Of course, some bands from my old life didn't exist here. Metallica and Megadeath, for example, seemed to be represented by a hybrid band called "Megallica." A few other favorites from my old life had made the transition to this one with some odd changes here and there, too, but the Megadeath/Metallica mashup was the biggest aberration.

(Of course, these weird changes to music made me wonder about the truth of my appearance in the world of Yu Yu Hakusho. Was I in another reality entirely, or had I just gone back in time in my own world, somehow, with a few Yu Yu Hakusho-style additions as a result of my transition? What was the nature of this world in relation to my original plane of existence? How many differences were there between my old world and this new one, aside from the obvious inclusion of Yu Yu Hakusho characters?

Somehow I doubted I'd ever know the truth, unless Hiruko chose to make another appearance. And at this point I was pretty convinced I'd never see him again.)

"You really love that band," Yusuke said as I loaded the CD into my Walkman (somehow there were Walkmans in this era, when in my old world those didn't come around until the mid-90s). His smile was as wicked as it was jovial. "Hey, what would those goodie-two-shoes friends of yours at school think of your little obsession?"

He nodded at the black and gold Megallica poster above my bed, Kurt Kobain by my closet, and Johnny Cash flipping the bird on the back of my bedroom door where my mother wouldn't see it (hey, I was originally from Texas; old country music, greats like Cash and Keane and Haggard, was in my blood). The rest of the room was pastel and clean, just like Keiko's room in the anime. Those posters didn't fit Keiko's image at all—certainly not the squeaky clean one she (or rather, I) put on at school.

I'd managed to make two friends at school, since my parents told me I had to. Hayashi-san and Tojo-san. They were nice girls (the same ones from the anime, judging by their hairstyles) but were both pretty typical teenage girls. Definitely not the type to like American grunge rock, or tolerate their straight-laced friend attending the occasional punk concert. Best to hide my hobbies rather than suffer their disdain, and wear my Keiko-face-persona like camouflaging armor.

Ugh. Being two-faced was exhausting. Why couldn't I just be _me?_

"Seriously!" Yusuke was saying. "I don't know anybody who likes those bands as much as you do. What would your friends say if they knew you were secretly a metal-head?"

"If you're planning on blackmailing me, I'll deny everything." I jerked my chin toward the window. "The usual spot?"

"Duh," Yusuke said. He grabbed his school satchel from its spot by the door and gestured at the window with it. "After you."

"What, so you can ogle my underpants while I climb out? I don't think so. You first."

"There you go, always spoiling my fun."

"Speaking of things that aren't fun—why are you bringing your school bag onto the roof?"

He smirked. "You'll see."

Yusuke clambered out the window ahead of me, and then we helped each other climb up the roof, ascend to the tallest rafter, and climb over it toward the back of the house. We sat directly above my parents' bedroom, overlooking the backyard and the labyrinth of drainage ditches and bayous beyond it. Greenery rose toward the twilit sky, leaves backlit by the setting sun so they glowed like chips of jade. When night fully fell, the city would light up at our feet like stardust in the gloom. No one could see us from the street, and since the next mile behind the house was all ditch and undeveloped woods, it was basically the most private spot Yusuke and I had ever found.

This was _our_ _spot_. The place we went to get away, and sit in companionable silence.

Turns out silence was something Yusuke was rather good at, when he wasn't being an annoying teen.

Yusuke opened his schoolbag and triumphantly showed me the contents. I groaned and clapped a hand to my forehead.

"We'll fall and hit our heads and _die_ ," I lamented.

"Yeah, but we'll die happy," he said. "C'mon. Want one?"

I took one of the beers in his bag and popped the tab. I recognized the brand as his mother's favorite, cheap and strong and so-so flavor. Clearly he'd stolen it from her. Went down smooth enough despite the theft, I guess. One was enough to make Keiko's body thrum, languid and heavy, but not enough to impede her agility. I sipped my beer as Yusuke guzzled his. When he cracked open a second, I cautioned him against falling to his death again.

"Oh. My. God," he said. "Keiko. Lighten up!" He knocked his can against mine. "Think of it this way. I fall off the roof and die, you'll finally get some peace and quiet around here. Cheers to that, right?"

His easy smile did nothing to soothe me. My mouth dropped open in horror.

"No. _Not_ cheers to that," I said. "Yusuke, you don't really think—"

"Holy shit, Keiko, _relax_. It was a joke." When he pouted, he looked like a kid again. "You barely bat an eye at underage drinking, but I can't make a joke without you blowing up!"

Thing is, his words didn't feel like a joke. When he died in the anime, he really thought the world would be better off without him. This was unacceptable. Hadn't I done a better job impressing his importance to me? How could he not know he was wanted?

How badly had I failed this kid?

"Yusuke—I don't want to hear you talking like that again," I said.

His hands went up. "Sheesh, last time I tell a joke around you!" Shoulders hunched as he glared at me from the corner of his eye. "For someone with such great grades, you'd think you'd study a sense of humor sometime."

It was my turn to glare. "Yusuke."

"Think taking a joke will be part of the curriculum this year?" he asked. "Eighth grade starts next month. They should make you take that class. Maybe finally you'd stop getting perfect grades, huh?"

The wind whispered through the tree above us. Cicadas screeched in the dark of the oak's spreading branches. Most nights I found the summer cicadas comforting. They reminded me of Texas, way out in the wild country where I'd been raised.

Tonight, though, they merely sounded frightened—insects screaming as they shed their shells, squirming forth into a new, unknown world.

8th grade. That's when Yusuke was destined to die.

That eventuality had seemed so far away for so long, and now it was almost here. Just weeks away, maybe.

Was I prepared?

Was Yusuke?

Forcing myself to sound casual, I shot another joke back at him. "Maybe they'll make me take a sense of humor class, but _you_ should take a course on basic human responsibility."

Yusuke rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to rib at me—but then he looked me in the eye. Whatever he saw there stopped him cold. His head pulled back while he blinked, confused by and suspicious of something I couldn't name.

"Keiko…why do you look like you're about to throw up?" he said.

I looked away. Damn. Still a shit actress, even in this life.

"I just—look, Yusuke. I know you hate it when people get mushy, but you keep me sane. You're pretty much the one person I can be myself around."

I glanced up. Yusuke stared like I'd just sprouted a second head, eyes practically bugging from his skull. I almost smiled.

Almost.

"With Mom and Dad, I've gotta be the perfect daughter," I told him. "At school I have to be the perfect student. Class rep, great grades, you get the idea."

He snorted. "Must be hard, being so perfect."

"Actually, yeah. More than you know." I dragged a knee to my chest and hugged it, fingers digging into my thigh. "I feel like a liar."

"You _are_ a liar," Yusuke said, not knowing just how right he was. He nudged me with an elbow. "You're nowhere near as perfect as people think. Remember that one time I put glue on Iwamoto's seat?"

My lips curled. "How could I forget?"

Iwamoto had immediately suspected Yusuke when he sat in a puddle of superglue, since Yusuke had been berated by him earlier that afternoon for poor attendance. He'd had come marching into our class with the chair sticking awkwardly to his ass, face an alarming shade of puce. And then they'd found the glue in Yusuke's school bag…

"Only reason I didn't get expelled is because you gave me an alibi," Yusuke said.

"A fake one." I laughed as wind rustled by, as cool and calming as Yusuke's presence. "Iwamoto would never suspect I'd lie to him. You'd've been screwed without me."

"Yup. And that makes you a liar." He chuckled. "You lie every time you walk in the school gates."

I frowned. Yusuke gave me a look that said he didn't think my confusion was genuine.

"It's like watching you put on a mask. One minute you're Keiko, the next you're…school-Keiko." He smirked. "All smiley and helpful and patient and bullshit. And then the bell rings and we walk home and you're a total bitch."

"Yeah, I'm two-faced," I said. Yusuke yelped when I punched him in the shoulder. "See? This is why I need you! I can be the not-at-school version of me when I'm with you. I can play pranks with you. Drink beer on a roof." I gestured at my Walkman, sitting silent by my side. "Listen to Megallica albums."

"Which we haven't even started playing yet, by the way," Yusuke said, ruefully.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled. I hugged my knee again, hand slipping around my lukewarm beer. "Just…if my mom saw us up here, she'd be disappointed. My friends at school wouldn't like me."

"So?" Yusuke asked. He chugged his beer, crushed the can, and tossed it into the bayou beyond the roof. "Screw 'em! _I_ don't let _anyone_ tell me what to do or who to be."

His bravado was oddly encouraging, not that I'd tell him that. His head would swell.

"And that's working out great for you," I snarked.

"Well, I've got _you_ , don't I?"

It wasn't often Yusuke paid me compliments. But right then, he looked at me with an oddly open earnestness, one that froze me in my place. My mouth fell open. I wasn't used to sincerity from this jerk. Yusuke and I stared at once another for a long, long moment, one broken only by the cicadas screeching in the background. His brown eyes gleamed black like slick oil in the near-dark.

"Seems I'm doing OK, if I've got you," he said. His voice was softer than normal. "Right?"

"Yeah," I said. "That's right."

The moment, whatever it was, stretched thin. He looked away. I looked away, too, out at the sun setting above the ditches and undeveloped woods. A flock of birds took flight a dozen yards away with a riot of calls. The dark smudges of their bodies dappled the pink and gold horizon—soot spilled on the colors of dusk.

"Can we just listen to the tape already?" Yusuke murmured.

"Not yet."

I balanced my tepid beer on the sloping roof, turned, and grabbed Yusuke by the collar with both hands. He squirmed and whined and tried to scoot away, but I shifted so I was kneeling on the shingles, looming over him and glaring like a playground bully.

"Yusuke. Promise me something," I demanded.

"If it's to take you to prom, the answer is no."

"I'm being serious."

"I know. You're always serious."

" _Yusuke_."

He calmed at my tone. Our eyes met again. The same stillness descended, thick and charged. Some of his hair had fallen into his eyes. I resisted the urge to brush it aside. I resisted the urge to tell him to get better hair gel, his was ineffective and dumb.

"Promise me you'll be careful," I said. "Promise me that if you need help, you'll ask me. That you'll never lie to me if you're in trouble." I forced a smile, cracked and broken. "Don't be like me. Don't have two faces. Just have one, and always show it to me exactly as it is."

"Keiko," he said.

My voice broke. "I need you too much for you to keep things from me. OK?"

It was pathetic, how much I relied on this punk. But what I'd said earlier was true: around Yusuke, I could be a version of myself that wasn't totally artificial. I could like the music I liked without apology. I could swear, and say crass things, just let loose and—

Yusuke's hands wrapped around mine. He eased my hands off his collar, making me sit back on the roof tiles. Then he picked up my Walkman, pressed PLAY, and shoved an earbud in my direction. The street light switched on, on the other side of the house. It turned his features a shade of silver that made him look like a ghost.

He'd be a literal ghost soon.

Talk about foreshadowing.

"OK," he said, oblivious to my observation. "Fine, I promise. I won't lie to you." His mouth curled into an annoyed smirk. "Now can we listen to this album already?"

Sensing that was as much earnestness as I'd get from Yusuke in one night, I said yes.

I let myself lay contentedly beside him on our favorite rooftop, Kurt Cobain's voice humming tinny through the darkness, and enjoy the presence of the boy who allowed me to be myself.

But his earnest promise gave me no comfort, because I knew it was a promise he'd break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say here, other than I'm enjoying the Yusuke-Keiko interactions.
> 
> Next chapter features Kuwabara. A LOT OF KUWABARA. Which means this chapter's references to Megallica were setting up for his reappearance.
> 
> After that, Keiko does something WAY out of character. Something I think all of you will really, really enjoy seeing.
> 
> But my lips are sealed until then. Just know that things are about to shift gears from her childhood to the events of YYH proper, and it's going to be a bumpy ride.
> 
> MANY MANY MANY thanks to those who commented, kudo-ed, and bookmarked. Indebted to you all. I'm honestly so surprised at the feedback this story has received.


	10. Do You Two Know Each Other?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiko makes a friend, and everyone knows everyone.

Halfway through our first semester of the eighth grade, Megallica released a set of rare B-sides from their latest studio album.

I, of course, was fucking _stoked_.

In a flash I ordered a copy from my favorite music store. The day it came in, I waited outside the shop until the business opened so I could be first in line to purchase the record. Apparently a bunch of people had inquired about the album in the past week; I didn't want my copy taken out from under my nose. I marched in as soon as the doors opened, walked up to the counter, and demanded my quarry be delivered unto me. The shop owner Masuo—who knew my name as well as my musical preferences by now—chuckled, made a crack about my enthusiasm, and jerked a head toward the record stacks after I paid for my purchase.

"Got a listening station set up with those headphones you like," he said.

"That's music to my ears—oh, ha! Pun intended."

He groaned. "That was terrible."

"Yeah. You might say I'm…causing _treble_."

"Get out." He pointed at the door. "Get out of my store."

"Don't be a fermata."

He looked confused.

"You know… _holding_ my puns against me."

Masuo cringed as if physically pained. "Yukimura, if you weren't such a good customer, I kick you out for that."

I laughed, then absconded with my puns to the album section.

In this shop, well-known and popular albums were set up at stations where you could wear a pair of (super nice) headphones and listen to the album, to see if you wanted to purchase it. I bee-lined for the smallest listening station near the back of the store, hidden behind shelves of vinyl and CDs. American metal wasn't particularly popular in Japan in this era, but Masuo had cornered the local market on its distribution and always made sure to keep it in stock for the local metalheads. Even kept that one secluded listening station supplied with tunes for my ilk. Good guy, that Masuo. I made a mental note to thank him as I rounded the corner of a shelf, excited to finally listen to—

There was no way to avoid colliding with the guy. One second I was walking, the next I was face to face with a broad chest. I backpedaled but it was too late. I bounced off the guy like a ping-pong ball off a brick wall. Somehow I kept my feet under me, though, and when I looked up—

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" said Kuwabara Kazuma. His narrow eyes curved round with worry, blocky hands held up in clear apology. "I didn't see you!"

"Um," I said, because I'm eloquent and articulate and awesome.

Kuwabara had grown quite a bit since I'd seen him as a kid—not that that was a surprise. I'd caught a few glimpses of him around the Sarayashiki school campus, but since we were in different classes, I hadn't managed to get a good look at anything but the back of his head. Now I beheld him in all his towering glory, pompadour the color of a ripe carrot (seems he'd finally found his anime sense of style), chiseled features set in a pose of intense, sheepish panic. He'd lost a lot of baby fat over the years. Those cheekbones could cut you if you weren't careful.

Oddly, he didn't look nearly as…well, _homely_ as he had in the anime. I mean the hair certainly wasn't doing him any favors (the Yankee look didn't do _anyone_ any favors) but the transition from animation to reality had done several. He looked a bit like an awkward teenage version of that one guy from _Wolverine_ and _Chicago Med_ —Brian Tee, I think? It had been years; I couldn't remember exactly what he'd looked like. Regardless, Kuwabara had a long face, a defined jaw, great cheekbones, and eyes like laser beams (ones currently trained on my face). Give him a few years to grow into his features, he might turn out to be handsome like Brian. Or something. Keep in mind I wasn't feeling the most expressive just then…

"Are you OK?" he asked. His hands wandered through the air, like they wanted to do something productive but had no fucking clue how to accomplish that feat of engineering. "Really, I didn't see you and—wait."

Kuwabara stopped talking. His eyes narrowed, his mouth screwed up into a cartoonish purse, and he leaned down to get a better look at—my face, I guess? I hated how short I was in Keiko's body. She was a scant five foot four. In my old life, I'd stood at a statuesque five foot ten. I was accustomed to looming over other people, not the other way 'round. I couldn't help but squirm where I stood, uncomfortable under Kuwabara's intense scrutiny. Damn, he was tall for a fourteen year old!

My discomfort intensified when I wondered if it was possible he'd recognize me.

Did he remember the playground incident after all these years?

"Hey," Kuwabara said. Suspicion filled every line of his sharp face. "Don't I know you?"

"Um," I said. Seems I had not, in fact, developed elocution in the last eight seconds. My heart beat like horses hooves, adrenaline filling my chest with heaviness. "I don't think—"

"Oh, yeah!" Kuwabara interjected. He snapped his fingers and pointed, eyes glittering like onyx. "You go to my school, don't you? The representative of class B?"

That…was not what I expected him to say. Seems he didn't remember the volcano incident in the park, after all. My heart rate eased (but something in the back of my mind darkened with disappointment I didn't care to examine too closely).

"Class A, actually," I said. "But yeah. You're in class C, right?"

"Yup! Name's Kuwabara Kazuma. And you're…" He paused, then triumphantly declared: "You're Yukimura! Yukimura…um…"

Suddenly the guy looked less sure of himself. Big, lovable lunkhead. I suppressed a smile.

"Yukimura Keiko," I said.

"Right, right!" He frowned. "You lookin' for somethin' back here?"

"The new Megallica B-sides. The station is still back here, right?"

Dark eyes widened. "Well, yeah! You like Megallica?"

I lifted my shopping bag. "Enough to buy it on CD _and_ vinyl."

"What?! I didn't know it came on vinyl! I just got the CD!" He craned his head, looking over me toward the front desk. One meaty fist rose into the air and shook. "Darn it, Masuo! Why didn't you tell me!? I didn't save enough of my allowance for both!"

I almost laughed at his enthusiasm. He was just as dramatic as his depiction in the anime, that's for sure.

"Well, you can borrow mine if you want," I said.

Kuwabara's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. Took him a minute to stutter a reply.

"Oh, n-no, I couldn't do that," he said. He waved those gigantic paws of his again. "It's OK, I really don't want to inconvenience—"

"It's no big deal." I smirked. "Just think of it this way. I know where you go to school, so if you run off with it, I know where to send the Yukimura Yakuza."

Kuwabara's hands dropped. One thin brow arched—and then his eyes widened again.

"Oh—ha!" Seems he realized I was just joking. "That's funny. The Yukimura Yakuza. Nice one." He scratched at the back of his neck, looking at me sidelong. "Gotta say, I wouldn't peg you for a Megallica fan. It's pretty heavy metal, and you're—"

He stopped. I waited for him to continue. He did not. Instead, he averted his eyes and looked as awkward as a beached whale. But I filled in the blanks, and I didn't like what I saw. Please don't be sexist, please don't be sexist…

"And I'm…what? A girl?" I said.

"What? _No_!" Kuwabara looked genuinely shocked. "I was gonna say because you're _smart_! Don't you take top spot on exams?" He crossed his arms, chin lifting into the air. "And anyway, my sister likes rock music and pant suits. Girls can like whatever they want and it doesn't make them any less of a girl. That's what she always says."

Leave it to Shizuru to not fuck around with gender norms, bless her. "Your sister sounds smart."

He looked around, a secret agent in a spy thriller. "Don't tell her I said this, because she'd never let me live it down, but…she is." His smile was both fond and aggravated—the smile of a sibling. "Likes to nag me a lot, but she means well."

At that, we lapsed into silence…and it somehow wasn't as awkward as one might expect. We just stood there, sort of nodding and smiling at each other in pleasant silence, until I noticed the package tucked under Kuwabara's arm. I recognized the wrapping from a bookstore up the street. Another favorite place of mine. But who'd have thunk Kuwabara was a big bookworm?

"What are you reading?" I asked.

"Oh—it's about cephalopods!" He beamed; the look echoed the way I felt inside, elation jumping _because had Kuwabara just told me he was doing recreational reading about marine biology?_ "I think they're cool."

"Yeah. I like the mantis shrimp," I told him. "All those colors they can display. But my favorites are octopuses."

His beaming smile went supernova. "Yeah, yeah! They're so _cool_!" he gushed. "The chromatophores in their skin are—"

Next thing I knew, we were sitting at the coffee shop next door, two hours had passed, and we'd spent the entire time geeking out over Kuwabara's new book and the cephalopods therein.

…yeah.

Not really sure how that happened, but it did, and for a minute there it felt like I was back in my old life—sitting with my nerdy pals at a café, talking about nerdy things with wild, geeky abandon, letting the rest of the world pass by as we crafted our own little world of nerdiness.

It felt like going home, weirdly enough…once Kuwabara got over the fact he was getting coffee with a girl and calmed down enough to commence with the geekery. I had to assure him ten times that it was OK to get coffee together, and that yes, I did actually want to spend time talking with him about octopuses. Seems he was less comfortable making a friend out of the blue than I was (granted, he wasn't a stranger to me the way I was to him, but still).

"It's just that nobody really likes stuff like this but me," he said after we finished looking at his book. He stirred his mug of cocoa with a spoon, sullenly staring into its brown depths. "I mean, I've got friends and stuff, but they don't like cephalopods. It's nice to talk about this with someone."

"Do you read other kinds of books?"

"Nah, mostly just science. I mean, some science fiction is cool, but mostly I just like science. I started off with earth science and chemistry, but now biology is my favorite."

My mug of tea stopped halfway to my mouth.

He started with earth science and chemistry?

So…volcanos and baking soda?

"What about you?" he asked. "What's your favorite?"

"Biology for me, too." I sipped my tea and set my internal monologue aside for the moment. "So...you like science and Megallica, huh?"

"Weird combo, I know." He grinned, obviously proud of himself. "Most people peg me for a meathead, and yeah, my grades are great—but I like science!"

"I think that's pretty cool."

After Kuwabara thanked me, we lapsed into another silence. Like before, this one didn't feel uncomfortable. We stared out the café window as shoppers strolled down the sidewalk, watching them flow and weave around each other like fish in an aquarium. When I reached for my tea, my ankle shifted and brushed the bag sitting at my feet.

"Oh, I forgot." I pulled out the vinyl and held it up. "Do you still want to borrow this?"

This time, Kuwabara didn't fight me. He ducked his head and mumbled, "I mean, if it's OK…"

"Sharing is caring." My lips curled. "Us metalheads have to stick together."

"Thanks, Yukimura." Another bright beam. "You know, you're actually all right!"

My brow lifted. "Why do you sound surprised?"

He hunched, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Kuwabara was turning out to be quite the easy blusher, and when he felt nervous, he always rubbed the back of his neck. He was doing that then. Endearing. Getting to meet my favorite character in person was _so cool._ Just wait until I met Hiei…

"Just, you know," he said, still doing that nervous neck-rub. "You're the class rep, you've got good grades, your family owns a restaurant…"

(Wow, he really knew a lot about me, huh? Weird.)

"…the teachers love you, and even people in my class come to you for help on their homework. So…"

What he said was true. Hardly a free period went by in which someone didn't ask me for help with something at school. But what did that have to do with—?

Oh.

Oh, I got it.

My hands curled around my mug of tea, and I realized it had gone tepid.

"You thought I'd be stuck up," I said.

His blush deepened. Bingo. I was a little sad I'd guessed right. For my favorite character to think I was stuck up…

"I mean…but you're _not_ stuck up," he said. "So that's cool!" He offered me a reticent smile. "Guess I shouldn't have judged a book by its cover, huh?"

"Probably not." I set my tea aside. "But speaking of not being stuck up…you ever hear of Nirvana?"

"You mean Buddhist heaven?"

"No. The American grunge band."

Kuwabara looked positively mystified.

"Sweet Caesar's ghost. You'd love them." I stood up, chair rattling as the legs scraped the coffee shop floor. "We're fixing this _now_. I'm gonna lend you a stack of things to listen to."

He perked up like a puppy in a Frisbee factory. "Really? You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it." I tossed my hair, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him after me out the door. "I always mean what I say. Now hurry up! Kurt Cobain awaits!"

That was the day Kuwabara and I became friends.

That was also the day Kuwabara and I learned we had a "friend" in common.

Those quotes are there for a reason.

It didn't take long to walk from the coffee shop to my parents' restaurant. We chatted along the way, assessing which parts of my music collection Kuwabara would most appreciate, which made the walk feel all the shorter. Man, was it good to talk to someone like this about music. Yusuke liked rock, sure, but he wasn't nearly as into it as I was. Kuwabara, meanwhile, knew even more about the metal scene than I did, his lack of Nirvana notwithstanding. Talking with him was like—

"Keiko!"

Just a block from my parent's place, Kuwabara and I stopped mid-gab at the sound of my name. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of us, clad in a green jumpsuit with hair held back by an oil slick of gel, was…well.

You know who it was.

"Where the hell have you been?" Yusuke said, lips curling back over his teeth. "I've been looking all over—oh. _You_ again."

He didn't aim that last bit at me. No, that ire-dripping barb flew directly toward Kuwabara. He'd frozen solid on the sidewalk, arms held awkwardly out from his sides like a child just learning to walk.

"Oh," said Kuwabara, eyes like saucers. "Shit."

"Lemme guess," Yusuke drawled. "You're here for another beat down, aren't you—um." The tough-guy act faded, replaced by his usual cluelessness. "What's your name again?"

Kuwabara's jaw dropped. "What the?! Even after the trouncing I gave you last time, you _still_ don't know my name?!"

Yusuke smirked. "I only remember the people worth the space in my head. AKA, people who aren't weak losers."

Kuwabara sputtered, complexion approaching the shade of a ripe tomato. I, meanwhile, looked between the two of them with no expression whatsoever.

"Do you two know each other?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

Yusuke sneered. "He picked a fight with me few months back and keeps coming around for more." The boy cackled like a demon from hell (I, meanwhile, pondered the fact that Yusuke had never mentioned Kuwabara to me, if they'd met months previously). "What a frickin' moron!"

"Moron?!" Kuwabara shoved his book my way, so fast I barely had time to grab it, and shoved his shirtsleeves back. "That's it, I'm gonna—um."

He stopped talking.

He looked at _me,_ and to my astonishment…I saw fear in his eyes. Hot and bright and gleaming. I knew that look too well to mistake it for anything else.

Was this fear of Yusuke? I couldn't tell. But I didn't like the look on Kuwabara's face at all. A grin suited him better than this grimace.

"You're gonna what?" Yusuke asked. He crossed his arms, foot tapping an impatient beat. "I'm waiting!"

"I'm gonna…"

Kuwabara faltered, then drew himself up.

He haughtily declared: " _I_ am going to see _you_ at school."

There followed a moment of prolonged silence.

It ended when Yusuke said: "What. You too chicken to fight?"

"N-no! I—um. I just…"

He glanced at me again. The fear in his eyes lingered.

That's when it clicked.

Oh, this sweet summer child. I closed my eyes, suppressing a fond smile that would look out of place on a girl he'd just met this afternoon.

"Don't hold back on my account, Kuwabara," I said. "I'm not the type to faint at the sight of blood."

"B-but—!"

"Aw, how cute," Yusuke simpered. I opened my eyes; he'd clasped his hands under his chin, batting his eyelashes like a pageant queen. "Just _precious_. You don't wanna fight in front of a delicate little lady, is that it?"

Kuwabara looked like the kid with the hand in the cookie jar. "Urp! Shut up, Urameshi!"

"Oh, don't worry so much, numb-nuts." Yusuke jerked his head in my direction. "She ain't a lady, and she sure as hell ain't delicate." Another demonic cackle, the kind only a teenager can manage. "She's a flat-chested kid with the soul of a grandma!"

If I thought Kuwabara had turned red earlier, I was wrong. Now he was dangerously mauve. The veins in his arms stood out as he clenched his fists. Wow, kid was 14 and had arms like hams.

"How, how dare you!" Kuwabara growled from between clenched teeth. "That does it! I'm—"

"Kuwabara."

I'd put my hand on his arm without thinking. For a second he just froze (as did I, if we're being honest), but then he looked down at me, and his expression…well, it broke. The tension drained from his face. His fists unclenched. Now he just looked bamboozled, granted, but that was better than enraged, right?

"It's OK," I said. "That guy's an asshole."

His expression further cleared. "But, Yukimura…"

"There's no need to defend my honor, if that's what you're worried about. Here, hold this."

I handed Kuwabara my shopping bag (which he dutifully took; Shizuru had clearly taken this boy shopping as her pack mule before). I turned to Yusuke. When I gave him a sunny smile, he looked confused—and that was all the opportunity I needed to pounce and put him in a vicious headlock. I clenched him between my elbow and armpit and dug my other hand deep into his hair.

He issued an indignant yodel. I ignored him.

"I can defend my honor myself!" I screeched above Yusuke's curses. "Take that, asshole!"

"Watch the gel, you dumb bitch!"

"Why don't _you_ watch your mouth!"

We carried on like that for some time. Eventually Yusuke dug his fingers into my ribcage, right where he knew it tickled most, and I had to let him go—what a bastard. I couldn't help but laugh, though. Couldn't keep a straight face when tickled. Yusuke grinned as he pulled away.

"Don't act like you got the jump on me!" Yusuke said as he straightened his collar and smoothed his hair. "I know all your weak spots. I was just letting you win."

I started to reply but fell quiet. Kuwabara was looking between the two of us with dawning comprehension.

"Wait," he said, suspicious. "Do _you two_ know each other?"

"He's been a pain in my ass since we were 6," I said. Kuwabara looked quite alarmed at that prospect. "But don't worry. He's all bark and no bite." I delivered unto Yusuke my most ferocious scowl. "A toothless dog. Harmless."

"Harmless?!" The boy in question pounded a fist into his opposite hand. "I'll show you harmless!"

I stuck out my tongue. "Only if you can hit me."

Although I knew Yusuke and I were just bickering, following the lines of a script we'd played out a hundred times, Kuwabara had no such insight. In a flash he'd thrust out an arm and put himself between Yusuke and I, a human shield made of quivering willpower and earnest determination. That adorable, annoying, _lunkhead_. I'd have to disabuse him of the notion I needed protecting, and soon…

"Don't you touch her, Urameshi!" he said—and suddenly I was reminded that Kuwabara, despite his cuddly side, was still a street punk whose badass quotient was second only to Yusuke's. How had I forgotten that? He had a voice like grinding rocks, just then. Angry, seething rocks that set my skin to prickling. "You wanna prove you're not harmless, you pick on somebody your own size. You pick on _me_."

I snorted. "Stop it, Kuwabara."

And then he was cuddly again as he looked over his shoulder, surprised and mystified.

"I'm sure I'd find your concern for my safety endearing if I wasn't so insulted," I said. When I winked, to let him know I wasn't actually insulted, he blushed to the roots of his hair. "I can handle myself."

"She's not kidding," Yusuke said. "Watch."

And with that, Yusuke raised his fist and leapt in my direction.

Yusuke, at this point in the Yu Yu Hakusho timeline, wasn't anything special. He was an ordinary (if not extraordinarily ornery) street punk, lacking spiritual awareness or enhanced muscles. We were the same height, the same build, and just about the same weight.

But I had something he didn't.

I knew that something wouldn't give me the one-up over him for much longer…but I was going to use it for as long as I could.

The world seemed to slow as Yusuke came at me. He threw a straight right hook. Nothing fancy. Easy enough to deflect and redirect. As his fist extended, my arm came up. I smacked my forearm against the inside of his wrist, snaked my arm around his elbow, and gripped into the fabric of his jacket near the shoulder. Then I propelled myself forward and twisted, hard, ducking beneath his arm so I stood behind him. The motion dragged Yusuke forward and used his own momentum to send him flying.

I let go of him just as I finished ducking. He landed in a heap on the ground. I landed where he'd started, facing him.

Took, like…two seconds? Maybe less. Kuwabara certainly seemed impressed. He stared with his mouth wide open, ignoring Yusuke as he picked himself up off the pavement and sullenly dusted his pants.

"How—how the _hell_ did you do that?" Kuwabara asked.

I primly replied: "Physics."

"What?!"

Yusuke let out a longsuffering sigh.

"Keiko's no fun to fight," he whined. "She just does shit like _that_ all the time, and you can't hit her."

"Slippery like the octopus." I winked again at Kuwabara, just to see him blush. "That's me."

"Slimy, too," Yusuke said. His pout morphed into a smirk. "But too bad you can't fight back for shit. Those fancy lessons you've been taking are _stupid_!"

Oh, that little jerk. He'd hit a sore spot of mine and he knew it. Not that Kuwabara had any idea. He edged away from me as I growled, clearly disturbed by whatever my facial features were doing. I regulated my expression before smiling at him.

"Actually, Kuwabara," I said with artificial sweetness. "Go ahead and defend my honor. This guy needs his ass beat." I flipped Yusuke off before plucking my shopping bag from Kuwabara's oversized hands; he blinked, stunned by my sudden about-face (or maybe it was the flipping of the bird; who knows?). "If either of you winds up needing first aid, you know where to find me."

"Ha!" Kuwabara said after a moment's deliberation. He rounded on Yusuke and raised his fists. "You hear that, Urameshi? I'm gonna kick your ass for Yukimura!"

"Fat chance. I'll break your kneecaps before I let you get a punch in." My childhood friend and main source of personal aggravation glanced at the shopfronts lining the street. "But not here. Follow me."

The pair promptly set off in the direction of the bayous—the same ones where I'd met Yusuke so many years before, behind the ramen shop I called home. For a minute I thought they'd forgotten me completely, caught up in the heady rush of street-punk brawling, but then Yusuke looked over his shoulder. He grinned, waved, and told me without speaking that I'd be seeing him later, once Kuwabara was on the floor.

Kuwabara, meanwhile, actually used his words. He turned and walked backwards as he followed Yusuke, hands cupped around his mouth so he could call to me.

"I'll come back a stronger man, Yukimura!" he said. "Just you wait!"

Yusuke glanced at him, annoyed. "What the hell are you babbling about?"

They began to quarrel. I didn't hear what they said next, because soon they disappeared down an alley and out of sight.

And so their rivalry began.

Or rather, so it continued. They'd actually met a few months prior, per Yusuke's recollection. I'd forgotten when they met in the anime; it wasn't depicted on-screen, at least not linearly. Yusuke had certainly never mentioned Kuwabara to me in this timeline. But regardless of whether or not Yusuke had mentioned it, it was clear they'd begun the rivalry that would one day become friendship.

With that rivalry would come change.

With it would come strength.

With it would come adventure.

And just like now, little old Keiko would get left behind. On the sidelines. Watching.

The supporting character.

The occasional damsel.

The loyal girlfriend.

Too bad passivity wasn't in my nature.

In this timeline, there would be no (lucky) child left behind. Not if I had anything to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine my soft spot for Kuwabara became pretty obvious this chapter. LOL.
> 
> The truth about Not-Keiko's "lessons," what Yusuke meant when he said she can't fight back, and how she pulled off that fancy redirect-dodge will be covered in detail in chapter 12. Patience…
> 
> Not-Keiko's Big Plan will be revealed in chapter 12 as well.
> 
> Next time, in chapter 11: Not-Keiko gains a clue regarding truth of her appearance in the world of YYH.
> 
> Also…are any of you Inuyasha fans? Asking for reasons. What reasons are those? My lips are sealed.


	11. A Fate to Deny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Keiko encounters a familiar (and annoying) face.

Hiruko appeared as soon as I fell asleep, beaming up at me with fondness I didn't understand. I scowled, crossed my arms, and sighed. Seeing him again was something of a relief (looks like I hadn't dreamed our first encounter, after all) but I felt more annoyance than satisfaction. This jerk had a lot to be sorry for, and even more questions to answer.

I wasn't letting him go without a fight. Not like last time.

Putting on my best do-not-fuck-with-me face (one I might or might not have picked up from Yusuke), I said, "You again, Hiruko?"

"It's been a while." His grin was like the sun, warm and ever-present. "Have you calmed down since the last time we spoke?"

"Not remotely."

Although his smile didn't waver, he somehow looked aghast. "What?! But it's been _years_!"

"And yet my ire hasn't faded in the slightest," I deadpanned. "Allow me to pick up exactly where we left off. Who are you? Why did you do this? Why did you make me Keiko? What are the consequences of breaking the rules? Why do you want me to break the rules? Who—"

"Oh, child, _details_!" He waved a dismissive hand. "Now, now. Paltry little details like those don't matter!"

"Yes, they do. They do to me."

"You were _dead_."

My questions died on my tongue. Hiruko didn't stop smiling, but the air of gravitas surrounding him changed the grin to an oddly jovial grimace.

"That car crash smashed your head in like a watermelon," he said. "Brains and blood all over those leather seats you loved so much. Teeth rattling in the cupholder like loose change, eyes pulped and bloody and sprayed across the dash. Closed-casket funeral for sure." He wagged a finger. "You should be _thanking_ me! I gave you this lucky second life of yours, you lucky child. Be grateful."

Finding my voice wasn't easy, especially when I'd just learned something so gruesome about my own death. All I could manage was a stammered: "It's…it's hard to be grateful when I worry about the _unlucky_ child whose place I stole."

"Oh, child. You didn't steal anything." A pitying smile this time, edged with comfort. "To steal requires intention. And these events you did not intend."

"Outcome and consequence bear greater weight than intention." Now the words came easier; I'd said them years before in a college classroom whilst studying Kant, Comte, and Aristotle. "Just because I didn't mean to steal Keiko's life, doesn't mean her life wasn't stolen. And it doesn't excuse the theft of her existence."

"But you were not the agent of that theft, and therefore you are not culpable. You were acted upon. You did not act. You lacked agency and input in this situation." Hands spread, a ringmaster welcoming me to his personal circus. "And thus, you are absolved of blame."

I snorted. "I feel like I'm back in undergrad, talking to you."

"Well, you should. I'm using the logic you studied in that Agents, Action, and Ends class your senior year with Professor Thrall to prove my point."

"I _knew_ that bullshit sounded familiar!" I couldn't help but laugh. "Wow. Never thought my philosophy degree would come in handy quite like this."

"The world moves in cycles," Hiruko said. "Some useless things become useful. Some useful become useless."

I did not reply. Was it just me, or did Hiruko look a little older than the last time we met? His limbs seemed longer, ganglier, like a teen in the middle of a growth spurt, and his cheeks had lost the pudge of baby fat. But it had been years since I'd last seen him. Maybe I was wrong. His red robe with the purple belt, the fishhook in his ear, and the wooden sandals were the same as before. And he still had that ridiculous pink hair.

Hiruko cleared his throat. I shook myself back to the present.

"Right," I said. "So. Where are we?"

"Didn't you figure that out last time?" he said. "We're inside your head, of course."

I looked around at the endless grey landscape, the star of long shadows beneath our feet. This, too, hadn't changed. Just as featureless and bleak as last time.

I said, "Dark in here."

"Of course it is. You're a serious person." He tipped me a wink. "Lighten up a little, why dontcha."

My lips pressed together. "Why does everyone say that to me?"

"Because it's true. Because you need to."

For no reason at all, I thought of a butterfly—blue wings shimmering, pinned under glass like the kind my aunt Lana collected before she died. Oh. Oh, that association made sense.

"Step on a butterfly, change the future," I said. Hiruko looked confused, head cocked to one side. "Ray Bradbury's 'A Sound of Thunder'. I've read that story too many times to underestimate my power in this world."

"Your power?" Hiruko's nose screwed up like a child presented with Brussels sprouts. "You think you have _power_ here? Ha!" He laughed like a dropped coin purse. "You think highly of your own importance."

"Maybe," I said, tone mild despite his insulting comment (one that gave me pause, because clearly I had to be important if I'd been given a second life in the role of an anime character…right?). "No matter how much or how little power I possess, I have the potential to change the events of Yu Yu Hakusho's timeline. If I were to get someone killed due to my interference, I'd never forgive myself. That's why I take myself seriously—not because I'm important. Because I _care_."

"So you're just going to passively slip into Keiko's skin, not use your knowledge to make things better?" Hiruko's disappointment was palpable despite the ever-present smile. "Knowledge is power, as they say. You think you're powerful, so why not use that power to benefit those around you?"

"Because knowledge can be dangerous as well as powerful." Then I ducked my head, scratching at the back of my neck with sheepish self-consciousness. "But no. I won't just passively become Keiko."

Hiruko's head cocked. "Oh?"

I took a deep breath.

I told him: "Much as I fear the consequences of changing things, I fear losing myself even more."

The words were both difficult and easy to speak at once: difficult because I knew they sprung from a sense of petty pride, one that could hurt those I loved if I gave it too much sway, and easy because that pride was an integral part of my character. My pride represented a part of myself I held dear, because it gave me the strength to be myself. It gave me the strength to push past insecurity and tell detractors to _go fuck themselves_ , because I was going to be myself with no apologies.

Too bad pride goes before a fall.

But it also goes hand in hand with one's identity.

Being a fractured version of my old self around Kuwabara and Yusuke felt _good,_ dammit. Much as it could cause problems, I didn't want to lose my identity.

"Passivity is not in my nature," I said. "I refuse to just disappear into Keiko's allotted role." Then I grinned outright. Hiruko looked surprised. "I think the changes I've already made to Keiko speak to my willpower on this matter."

"They do," Hiruko agreed. "But I'm glad to hear this declaration from you aloud." He tipped another wink, conspiratorial and chipper. "Inspired decision, making your parents rich, by the way. That was a big change. And befriending Kuwabara? Very clever! You're breaking the rules with aplomb."

There he went, talking about rules again. What exactly was he after?

"Don't get too excited. I don't plan on acting recklessly," I said. "Any changes I make will be made with care, and with as little impact on others as possible." I tossed my hair, pleased when Hiruko's eyes widened. "Letting myself be myself is one thing, but I won't let that get in the way of canon, either."

A disapproving smirk. "A thin line to walk."

"But one I'm going to toe, regardless."

Smirk turned back into smile. "Well, if anyone can do it, it's you."

I suspected he was trying to throw me off with the compliments, so I didn't let myself fall prey. "You still haven't told me why you did this," I said. "For what purpose. Or how you did it. Or why me. Why did you choose me?"

Hiruko rolled his oceanic eyes. "There you go again, taking yourself so seriously! This situation has far less to do with you as a person than you think. I chose you for this, but there were other candidates who would have done just as well. You just became _available_ first."

Wait—what did that mean? Other candidates? Became available first?

If others would've done just as well in my place…shit. Was I really not important at all?

I winced at that realization. "That sound you hear is my ego deflating. Just— _whoosh_."

Hiruko giggled, hand over laughing mouth. "Oh, Not-Keiko. Don't fret. You're not wholly unremarkable."

"Wow. 'Not wholly unremarkable.' Such a ringing endorsement. I feel so special."

"Don't be crass!" Hiruko chided. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on the platforms of his wooden sandals. "Let's just say I needed someone who wasn't passive. I needed someone like me." Yet another wink; did this kid have a twitch or something? "You aren't passive, and neither am I. Neither of us just takes fate lying down."

I frowned. His words rang inside my head like a struck gong.

"Wait…what kind of fate aren't _you_ taking lying down?" I asked.

Seems I'd asked the right question, because Hiruko clasped both hands over his mouth with a startled "Eeep!"

That reaction (along with his saucer-round eyes) told me I'd hit the nail on the head.

"I'm right, aren't I? You have a fate to defy," I said, watching his darting eyes and nervous fidgets like a hawk. "I don't know what your fate is, exactly, but that's what you're up to. And you said this thing that happened to me isn't really about me at all. Which means it's about…you?"

He pantomimed zipping his mouth shut. "My lips are sealed."

I wasn't about to give up, though. "If this is all about you, it means…well, you're _using me_ to further your own fate-defying goals."

More furtive, guilt eye-darting from Hiruko. Well, that was insulting. If I hated the thought of losing my identity, I despised the thought of being used even more. I scowled and tapped my foot on the indistinct ground, irked, but I couldn't indulge my emotions when there were questions to be asked.

"But what's your goal?" I pressed. "Why did you let me become Keiko—like why _me_ , and why _her_ , specifically? And why is _that_ your method of defying fate? Giving me so much control and letting me choose which rules to break seems an awfully non-specific method of defying a specific fate. Shouldn't you try targeting your goals more precisely? You need to reexamine your tactics if you want to get anything done."

Hiruko opened his mouth, then shut it with a clack of teeth. He was still smiling, of course, but timidly. Like he wasn't sure he should be smiling at all. I almost grinned at the thought of throwing him off-balance—but then he raised a hand, fingers poised to snap, and my jubilation died.

"I think that's enough revelation for one day, don't you?" Hiruko said.

My mouth went dry. "No. _No_! Not remotely! You can't just leave me in the dark like this!" What could I do or say to make him stay? Think, girl, think! "If I'm helping you defy your fate, don't you _owe_ me?"

At first I thought that logic, born of desperation and little else, had fallen on deaf ears. Hiruko's hand rose, fingers tensing along with my neck and spine—but then he loosed a helpless sigh.

"You're lucky I hate being in debt," he said, and then he stared at me down his nose despite his shorter height. "In the spirit of gratitude, I suppose I could shed a little insight." The imperious expression broke, and he kicked at the ground with a sullen tie. "Suppose I owe you that much, at least."

I started to talk. He levered a finger, pointing it directly at my nose.

"But I _won't_ answer questions about _me_ ," he said. He planted both hands on his hips, the portrait of a defiant teen. "I mean it! Don't you dare try to pry, you hear me?"

"Fine," I said. After a quick mental scramble, I dove right the hell in. "If you won't tell me your goal, and the reason I was reborn as Keiko isn't about me, and you dodged my question about why you put me in her life, which means you don't want to answer that question at all—"

Hiruko ducked his head. I smirked.

"—yeah, don't think I didn't notice your subject change to my serious streak. Anyway, I guess the next best thing I can ask is…how much can I change about the timeline? Of Yu Yu Hakusho, I mean."

My fists tightened as the gravity of that sank in. This was all at once the question of most importance, and the question I least wanted to know the answer to. It affected everything…including whether or not I was allowed to be myself.

Because if being myself would change everything, and changing everything wasn't allowed, then being myself wasn't allowed.

And that was basically a fate worse than death, since it mean the death of my truest self.

Hiruko cocked his head. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Well, you said to break the rules. But if you're just using me, you probably don't have my best interests at heart."

"My darling, you wound me." Hiruko placed the back of his hand against his forehead and threw his head dramatically to one side. "Am I not trustworthy?"

"I'm not stupid enough to make assumptions about your allegiances." He gasped, but I didn't apologize. My wellbeing mattered more than his feelings. "Given that I can't trust you to do right by me, how do I know breaking the rules is actually a good idea?"

His eyes sparkled like chips of agate. "Easy! That's because no one will punish you for breaking them!"

For a second I thought I hadn't heard him right. "Wait. _That's_ your answer?"

"This world is a very lucky oyster for a very lucky child, Not-Quite-Keiko." He tipped an imaginary hat. "Have at it!"

"Dude. _No_. That's not an answer at all!" I ran my hands through my hair with a curse. "Just because no one will punish me, doesn't make breaking the rules ethical. If you kill someone but don't get caught, you still did something terrible. What if—"

Hiruko threw up his hands, eyes rolling like spilled marbles.

"What if!" he cried. "Hypotheticals! Just _live_ , young lady. Change events or don't. Break rules or don't. You won't be punished if you make changes, if that's what you're worried about." He pressed a hand to his chest. "Like I said, I'm not with Spirit World. And because I can see the question forming in your clever mind, no, Spirit World has no idea you're even here. You're not at risk for outside punishment!"

Much as that was a relief, it left me with a dire uncertainty. I asked, "What happens if Spirit World finds out I'm here?"

Hiruko shrugged. I groaned.

"You're next to useless." I pressed my fingers to my temples. "OK. Riddle me this. I have a plan. Something to really change Keiko. And I don't know if it will work, but if it does, things could…shift. They could shift in a big way, and I can't predict how far the ripples will reach. I don't think they'll affect anything in a huge way, but I can't be certain—"

"Ooo! Interesting." Hiruko clapped, delighted. "I love it. You have my blessing."

My jaw dropped. "You don't even know what the plan is yet!"

"No, but I love the _idea_ of it. So do what you'd like with my support!"

"Gee whizz, mister. Thank you for the validation!"

I said that sarcastically, but I don't think Hiruko realized it. He reached out and patted my hand, firm but gentle, fingers as cool as the ocean tide. His eyes wandered in places far from here, as though he didn't see me at all.

"I'm happy to provide any validation you need," he said. Sadness softened his smile; blue eyes darkened with melancholy. "It must be tough, doing all of this alone. I confess I know the feeling of loneliness." He raised his eyes to meet mine. In them I saw desolation and distance immeasurable—and something in me resonated with familiarity. "I know the feeling very well, of wanting to belong."

Breath catching, I asked: "What do you mean?"

He tore his eyes away. Kicked at the ground, hands behind his back. The fishhook glinted in his ear.

"Nothing," he said. And then he raised a hand. "Sorry, Not-Quite-Keiko. I can't say any more."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Won't, admittedly. But you knew that already." Another sunny smile. "All in good time, my lucky child."

I started to grouse, but he snapped, and the world dissolved before I could demand more answers. I woke in a pool of moonlight in my bed, sheets tangled around my legs like grasping hands.

Early the next morning, after a night of sleepless pondering, I told my parents a lie and boarded a train headed north.

It was time to put my plan into action.

Whether or not my plan worked, and no matter how turbulent the ripples it cast—I had a fate to defy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where's Not-Keiko headed? Any guesses? Next chapter we'll see!
> 
> I know Hiruko is a bit, um, confusing? Or maybe just weird? In any case, his role in things will get clearer with each appearance, and he will play a very big part in events to come.
> 
> If any of the Seven Deadly Sins plagues me most, it's pride. This will be relevant in future chapters.


	12. Gloriously Ordinary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko makes a request.

Genkai's hair was a cross between cotton candy and cobweb, and it crowned her gnarled, peach pit face like a technicolor lion's mane. Her hands had age spots like a cheetah, and her clothes were like something out of an old samurai movie.

Her eyes, meanwhile, gleamed as sharp as tiger claws. I got the sense she missed nothing—especially when she looked me up and down, scowled, and said: "Who the hell are _you_ supposed to be?"

Her voice rattled like wind through dry reeds. I bowed, because I was supposed to and despite the ache in my hips and knees. Climbing the stairs to her temple had taken the better part of an hour. The train ride, bus trip, and walk prefacing those stairs took most of the day. I tried not to show my fatigue, though. Thank god I'd taken up jogging over the past few years and developed decent stamina. Luckily I'd mopped the sweat from my brow just before passing below the Shinto arch over the top of the steps. The nearest paper door of the temple had rattled open the second I stepped beneath its shade…and there she'd stood.

Genkai.

Famed spiritualist, _reiki_ healer, and martial arts master.

She'd walked over, step by purposeful step, until she stood only a few feet away. She was short, but not as short as the anime's exaggerated portrayal. Maybe a clean five foot nothing to my five foot four? Even so, I shrank beneath her gaze. She was intimidating in a way indescribable, air around her vibrating with tension I could taste.

She was _so_ _cool_ , it almost hurt.

Nervous and excited, my knees started shaking—and not from the arduous climb.

"My name is Yukimura Keiko," I told her. "I seek your guidance regarding a certain matter."

One side of her mouth hitched. One sparse brow rose toward her hairline. Though I tried not to read into the crotchety woman's expression, I got the sense she was not impressed by what she saw. Not that I expected her to be impressed. I was in every way ordinary. Not like her. She was _amazing_.

"And what certain matter might that be?" she asked.

I'd rehearsed what I'd say a dozen times. I thought I was ready to seek her out and voice my wishes—but under the weight of her imperious stare, the words fled.

"I—I've heard of your reputation, Genkai-san," I stammered. "You're a healer and a fighter and you use spirit energy to do it. Your expertise—"

A chuff of derisive air burst from her nose. "Somebody's made you a fool. There's no such thing as _reiki_." She lifted her hands, showing me her calloused palms. "A fighter, sure. But the other stuff's just legend."

Ah. Well, now. I had wondered if she'd deny having powers. No way would she show supernatural abilities to any old girl off the street. Probably would deny any and all links to the paranormal unless she knew those around her were already in-the-know. Luckily I'd come prepared in case she played dumb in front of a seemingly normal teenager.

Little did she know I was not a normal teen.

I said, "So the Spirit Wave Orb is just a myth, then?"

Her eyes shot open, showing the tracery of red veins marring her sclera. I was taking a gamble with this, but I saw no other way to get her attention. Hopefully she didn't, you know…kick my ass for knowing too much.

Yikes.

"How do you know about that?" she asked with palpable disdain. "That's a secret, one I've shared with no one...least of all _you_."

"I know," I said. "You've been developing the Orb in secret for years now."

Alarm tightened the sagging skin around her mouth. Only belatedly did I realize her body had shifted along with her eyes, feet widening as her center of gravity lowered. She hadn't outright transitioned into attack mode, thank my lucky stars. I was walking a dangerous line. One wrong word—one hint too much—and she had the power to kill me with a sneeze.

My own stance shifted in response. Not that my pathetic defenses could stand up to her…

"How could you possibly know about the Orb? You're not even psychic." If I wasn't so aware of how dangerous she was, I probably would've found her accusatory expression humorous. "You're as spiritually aware as a _potato_!"

I winced. "That's…sort of why I'm here."

"As I said before: what's this 'certain matter' you keep yakking about?"

I hesitated. Genkai scowled.

"Well, out with it, girl," she snapped. "I'm an old woman, but I'm busier than I look."

I forced a smile. "My apologies. It's just—I was hoping you knew a way to change that. The potato-thing, I mean."

She frowned. I took a deep breath.

I asked: "I was hoping you could make me psychic."

* * *

Genkai led me indoors, into a five-tatami room with a gigantic Buddha sculpture sitting against one wall. It towered above us with expression serene as Genkai made tea over a burner and lit incense at the Buddha's feet. The room felt familiar, like maybe it had been shown in the anime once, but I wasn't sure. Smoke drifted past the god's smiling face like a ghost passing to heaven.

"So. Who are you?"

I flinched, shifting atop my calves. I'd sat next to the low table bearing the tea burner in stiff, formal _seiza_.

"I'm no one of consequence," I told her.

She snorted again. "You're a poor liar."

"If only you knew."

A sharp look. I sighed.

"My name is Yukimura Keiko—"

"You already told me."

"—but that hasn't always been my name."

That got her attention, although she hid it well. She began preparing the _matcha_ , eyes locked on the powder as she forced it through a sieve with a smooth stone. Although she kept her eyes fixed on the bamboo _chasen_ as she whisked the _matcha_ with water, every so often her eyes flickered my way. Eventually she set the tea aside, crossed arms and legs, and glared.

"Explain," she said.

"I don't want to tell you everything. It could…complicate things."

"You've got a snowball's chance in hell of getting my help if you aren't honest with me."

I smiled, which seemed to surprise her (or confuse her, judging by her furrowed brow). This was the Genkai I knew and loved: brusque, crass, and direct. I'd spent less than an hour in her company and I was already in love with her, even when she snapped at me.

"Why are you smiling like a fool?" Genkai groused.

"Just—you live up to the hype."

"Start there."

It was my turn to look confused. Genkai rolled impatient eyes.

"Tell me how you heard of me, dimwit." Before I could reply, she held up a hand. "No. Let me guess. A martial arts master. You've had training."

I blinked, incapable of reply. That brought a smirk to Genkai's lips.

"I tensed out there. Moved my feet. You saw, and you shifted your weight onto your back foot." Her eyes shined like tiger claws again. "You've been trained. I assume this teacher of yours told you about me. That's when you sought me out."

Dude. _Whoa_. How'd she know all of that? When I'd first concocted the idea of seeking psychic powers, I'd immediately thought of Genkai, but she was not an easy person to find. Took me quite a while to find a sensei at my aikido dojo who knew her name, let alone where to find her…and then they just had a general idea of which mountain range she called home. I'd spent weeks cross-referencing the locations of temples with records of privately owned land deeds to pinpoint where she might be hiding. Finding a route there had taken even more time.

"You are correct, Genkai-san," I said, "but he didn't tell me of your existence. Just what mountains you lived in." I smiled. "I knew of you already."

Genkai harrumphed, then served tea in two earthenware mugs. True to her exacting standards, it tasted fantastic—better than any green tea I'd had before, in fact, and not at all bitter. Leave it to Genkai…

We sipped the brew in silence. It soothed my throat and wound into my limbs with refreshing heat. Genkai cradled her mug in both hands, eyeing me with…was that curiosity? Hard to tell in this dim light. Sunlight streamed in the open door, but we sat just outside its reach. The burner on the table turned Genkai's eyes to glittering garnet.

"So how did you know of me, then?" Genkai said.

I closed my eyes. This was the tough part. How much should I tell her? How much would suffice to get me what I wanted?

Time to fall back on the script I'd prepared.

"Before I was Keiko," I told her, "I was someone else. Someone who knew of you."

I opened my eyes. Outright alarm stained her features.

"You didn't know the person I was," I assured her. "My old self had no vendetta against you. We were strangers." I couldn't help but smile. "In fact, I thought you were fictional."

"Fictional?"

"You were…a character from a legend." I suspected Genkai would prefer a legend to a cartoon series. "When I died in my old life, I was reborn here. That's when I became this woman, Keiko. She was part of the legend from my old life, too."

Genkai mulled that over for a time. Then she put down her teacup.

"Let me get this straight," she said. "You died, and you were reborn into a legend I'm a character in. And you were reborn as another character from that legend."

"Yes. And that's why I know about things I shouldn't, like the Orb. They were part of the legend." I pressed my palms to the floor and bowed, head brushing the tatami. "Forgive me for this invasion of privacy. I couldn't help it."

She said nothing. My neck began to crick, but I waited for her to speak before rising from my bow.

"I'd write you off as a delusional lunatic, but you know about the Orb." Understanding dawned. "That's why you started with the Orb. You knew I'd dismiss you if you started with such a preposterous story."

"Pretty much, yeah."

We lapsed back into silence. It lasted until Genkai finished her tea and set her mug aside. I drained mine, too, to eliminate distractions.

"So, then," she rasped. "Are you from the future, reborn in the past? Because my exploits aren't worth passing to future generations and I feel sorry for anyone who has to hear about them." She scowled. "If you tell me they sing idiotic songs about me in the future—"

I shook my head, suppressing a laugh. "No. Nothing like that."

"Then what? If you aren't from the future, then where?"

I hesitated. Genkai's eyes were too intense for silence. What could I possibly say, when I myself did not know the truth?

Eventually I settled on, "Far as I can tell, I might be from another world. Not Spirit or Demon World, but another one, where you're nothing more concrete than a story." I shrugged. "I don't have the answers, and before you call me useless, I'm just as pissed off about it as you are. This whole thing has been a pain in my ass."

Genkai laughed, but she sobered quickly.

"Tell me," she said. "What part of the legend were you reborn into?"

I didn't know what she meant, so I kept silent.

She sighed. "Dimwit. I'm asking if you know my future, as well as my past."

I averted my eyes. But keeping quiet didn't throw her off the scent.

"You _do_ know. Interesting." A sly smirk. "Now I see why you were reluctant to talk."

I frowned. "You do?"

"I'm old, but I'm no fool. You're afraid of changing things about this legend of yours. That's why you won't talk. You won't risk giving me clues."

I said nothing. Saying anything was dangerous. Genkai was too sharp. Smart though I was, I wasn't like _her_. I couldn't avoid giving away clues if I opened my big mouth.

"Seems your respect for the legend has some limits, though." She reached for the tea and began preparing another cup. "Was Keiko psychic in this legend of yours? I'm guessing not."

This woman was a monster. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep a hysterical laugh at bay.

"Correct," I said. "Being psychic was not part of her legend."

"I see. So you don't respect the entire legend, then. Not the parts you occupy, at least. Which prompts the question of _why_. Why do you want spiritual awareness?" The swishing of the _chasen_ grated like fingers on a locked door. "If that power wasn't meant to be Keiko's, why seek it out?"

I gave her the most honest answer I could: "To make myself useful."

"And you don't think you can be useful without it?"

"I know I can't." Everything in the world of Yu Yu Hakusho hinged upon spiritual awareness.

"Was the _original_ Keiko useless without it?"

I started to say _yes, of course she'd been useless_ …but then I thought about it, and the truth stopped me.

Keiko hadn't been a fighter. That was indisputable. But she saved Yusuke from a fire, brought him back to life, gave him the strength to best Suzaku, and supported him even when no one else would. She wasn't useful in battle, sure, but could I honestly say she'd been utterly use _less_ in all scenarios?

Some fans I'd interacted with in the Yu Yu Hakusho fandom might say so. But now, after living in her shoes, I saw how much people depended on Keiko. Atsuko and Yusuke in particular would be lost without her.

Keiko wasn't powerful. But that didn't make her unimportant.

Even so…I wanted to be more than just important. I wanted to stand on my own two feet.

I wanted to _kick ass._

I sat up and leaned forward, placing my hand atop the table.

"Please, Genkai-san. Can you do it?" I pleaded. "Can you make me psychic?"

She took a long draught of her fresh tea. My fingers tightened around my mug, digits slick with anticipation. When she met my eyes, she did not smile.

"I have two questions," she said. "The first is why you're unwilling to change my fate, but are willing to change your own fate. Or rather, the fate of the character whom you've become." Her mouth thinned into a withered line. "Doesn't seem fair that you can change destiny, but I can't."

Despite her mild tone, my cheeks burned.

"Keiko," I ground out, "is a damsel."

Genkai quirked a brow.

"I," I said, "am no damsel. Which is why I'm here today." I inclined my head. "My old self, my real self, was not the type to sit on the sidelines. And that is where the Keiko of this legend always sits. She's useful there, and she's important in her role—but that's not the role I want to play."

"Interesting." Genkai then pinned me with a stare so contemptuous a chill skittered up my spine. "Were you always this conceited, or is that character trait all Keiko's?"

The air left me in a rush. It was like a giant had grabbed my chest in his fist and squeezed.

In that moment, I forgot how to breathe.

"Don't look so shocked. Makes you seem stupid." Her casual tone did not mirror the flinty hardness in her eyes. "It's obvious. You think you're worth more than Keiko."

My tongue felt like lead. "That's not—"

"Isn't it, though?" Her voice boomed like an irate thunderhead. "You want to change Keiko because you've judged Keiko as inferior, and you think you deserve more than she got."

"I didn't—"

"You judged her to be damsel in distress, decided you were better than her, and are making alterations to fit the scope of your pride—"

My hand spasmed. Next thing I knew, I was on my knees. My mug fell to the floor with a clatter.

" _I don't think Keiko is inferior, dammit!_ "

Genkai's mouth snapped shut with a click of teeth. My hand clapped over my mouth. We traded a look—hers cool, mine aghast—until her lips curled into a smile.

"Finally. Some emotion." A long taste of tea. "You've been as emotive as a robot until now. Now pick up your cup and sit down. I've no patience for dramatics."

I did as she asked. Luckily I'd already finished my tea; I'd be terminally embarrassed if I stained her nice tatami mats. Genkai drank in silence until I'd gotten my breathing back under control and found the composure to speak.

"I don't think Keiko is inferior to me," I said when I was calm. "In fact, in most ways, she's far superior."

"And how's that?" Genkai asked. She picked at her sleeve with disinterested fingers, a bored cat idly flicking its tail. "Enlighten me."

"She's kinder. More patient. More forgiving. Athletic, too." I attempted a joke, though it sounded desperate even to me. "Her brain lets me get way better grades, that's for sure."

Genkai didn't look at me. I sighed.

"She cares for people in ways I was never selfless enough to care," I said. "She's humble, where I was prideful. She's forgiving, where I was vindictive. And people care about her, because she cares so much about them. None of that's me. All of that's _her_."

I ducked my head. My hands sat still and steady atop my thighs. In my old life, I'd be tearing bloody wounds into the skin around my nails at a time like this. I'd be sweating, heart pounding, mouth dry, on the verge of a panic attack when confronted with scrutiny and criticism like Genkai's.

Keiko, meanwhile, remained composed.

"I had an anxiety disorder in my past life," I murmured. "I struggled with disordered eating. Keiko has a sort of…a sort _serenity_ to her that I never had. I'm grateful every day for her."

A noise, a soft click, drew my gaze. Genkai had set her mug upon the table. Seems I'd earned her attention now.

"She never backed down from anything life threw at her." I smiled, rueful. "Bad boyfriend, psychotic teachers, demonic kidnappers. Even _demons_ she didn't balk in the face of."

When it came down to it, Keiko was brave. She was brave for sticking by Yusuke, when he was so unreliable. Brave for standing up to demons when she was just a normal girl. Brave in ways only being her had revealed to me.

People in the Yu Yu Hakusho fandom always made fun of Keiko. They insulted and dismissed her, claiming she deserved their ire for the sin of not being…what, a fighter? Was that all it took to be hated?

To tell all truth, I'd joined in on the Keiko-bashing. I hadn't hated her, but I hadn't thought of her kindly, either. Now, though, I didn't think my previous criticisms were warranted. She was a normal girl in an abnormal situation. She reacted to her circumstances as heroically as she could.

If Keiko had one meager failing, it was a lack of ambition in this particular scenario. A lack of desire to get strong the way her friends were in Yu Yu Hakusho. But that's where I had an advantage Keiko lacked: Keiko never knew the supernatural existed, not until long after her friends became strong. She never had the opportunity to change her fate, because she hadn't known her fate could be changed.

I, however, knew what was possible. And I had the ambition to pursue those possibilities.

If there was one thing I could do better than Keiko, it was act on ambition.

But ambition wasn't strength. And I didn't know if, when push came to demonic shove, I'd have the same strength she did: the strength to be ordinary in the face of the extraordinary.

"Even in the face of demons, when she was nothing more than a human girl, she didn't show fear," I said once I swam from the depths of my reverie. "Keiko was brave, to face things that were stranger and stronger than her without flinching. When she found out demons existed, she plunged right in without fear, because she knew her friends would need her." I looked back at my still, calm hands, taking comfort in their steadiness. "She's not scheduled to meet a demon for a while now. But when I think about demons, about facing them as a weak little human…"

Genkai spared me any euphemisms when she said: "You're scared."

"Try _terrified_."

A grumpy harrumph. "One could argue the only reason the other Keiko wasn't scared, and you are, is because she didn't know how dangerous demons were, but you do. One could argue her bravery was merely ignorance."

"One could. But I won't make that argument."

I looked at Genkai as frankly as I knew how. Whether or not my earnestness showed on my face, I couldn't say—but I meant every word I said to her.

"Genkai, I'm not changing Keiko because I think she's inferior." My cheeks flamed. I hated saying it aloud, but it was the truth, and the truth deserved to be stated. "I'm changing her because without powers, I don't think I can be as strong as she was."

I needed psychic powers to be half as brave as the purely, gloriously ordinary Yukimura Keiko.

Genkai did not speak, for a time long enough to make me think she didn't believe me. For once my hands twisted in on themselves, a nervous habit from my past following me into my present.

I flinched when Genkai chuckled. She closed her eyes, drained her cup of tea, and set it on the table with a clack.

"Much as I think you're an arrogant ass, that monologue of yours was actually humble. I admire your grit, if nothing else." Her eyes closed. She smiled. "Color me shocked. You're not a total egotist, after all."

That…I wasn't expecting to hear.

"R-really?" I stuttered. "I feel less like I have grit and more like I'm just, well, _gritty_. I've been wondering since I got here if what I'm doing is ethical. Wondering if I could change her fate, or if I was obligated to live the life she lived—"

Dark eyes flashed. Genkai waved as though swatting an annoying fly.

"I've got no patience for this navel-gazing," she snapped. "Obligation, ethics, morals. I'm neither hero nor philosopher. Far as I'm concerned, your fate is your own. Grab it and run. Makes no difference to me."

Her matter-of-fact attitude left me speechless. I jumped when she stood up and brushed her hands down the front of her robe.

She said: "Follow me."

Took me a while to find the will to move, but eventually I scrambled to my tingling feet and stumbled after her out of the temple. She walked to the middle of the courtyard and stood there with hands clasped behind her back. When I tripped to a stop behind her, feet buzzing as my circulation returned, she rounded on me and scowled.

"Now for my second question: why should I make you a psychic?"

I couldn't stop my heart from leaping at that implication. Was she admitting she was willing to grant my wish, if she so chose? Ugh, stop analyzing everything and just answer the question, Not-Keiko!

"You should make me a psychic because—I'm asking you to?" I said. I hated that I phrased it as a question and breathed a curse. This logic was weak and I knew it. Still, I soldiered on. "Yeah. You should do it because I'm asking."

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you think you deserve more power?"

"Um. Tough to say, I guess? I certainly think I _want_ it. I know what I'm getting into, and I'm willing to accept the risks that come with it, if that's what you're worried about. I think that should be enough to warrant—"

Genkai's feet scraped across the pavement. She hunkered down, hands raised before her in tight fists, center of gravity low and deadly—a tiger crouched and ready to leap.

"Defend yourself," she said.

"What?" I said.

I didn't have time to feel anything more than stunned surprise at what happened next. Out of nowhere Genkai launched forward, right fist hurtling toward my face far faster than any punch I'd ever seen in my entire goddamn life, lion hurting toward a hapless gazelle, and it was all I could do to haphazardly throw up my arm and try to knock her strike off-center, brain reeling with the vague notion that wow, OK, time to make peace with the universe because I was prooooobably about to die ( _again_ , dammit) and that wasn't fair—

Then knuckles collided with my cheek, and darkness chased the image of Genkai's dispassionate face from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for Genkai punching Keiko in the face! But WHY?
> 
> Next chapter gets down to the nitty gritty of the martial arts training Keiko has received. 
> 
> Will Genkai grant Keiko's wish for spiritual awareness? We'll see!
> 
> I've alluded to it before, but I have an anxiety disorder and struggle with eating. You now know why this version of me is such a rambling mess of paranoia and angst. My brain is wired that way, and even if Keiko's body doesn't have an anxiety problem, I think the habits of anxiety would still exist in my personality. I'm prone to overthinking EVERYTHING.
> 
> Also: If I found myself in a new body not predisposed to anxiety and eating disorders, I'd feel grateful. A lot of people identify strongly with their unique mental health—and power to them! I'm all for self-acceptance. The content of this chapter only expresses how I think I'd feel in this scenario.


	13. Stare Down Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreaming, Keiko recalls past lessons.

The first time I asked to take karate, I was seven years old.

Yusuke had just started getting into fights. I came home with a skinned knee and a story about Yusuke challenging some older kids, and to my mother's horror I asked if I could take fighting lessons. To protect Yusuke, of course. Not because I wanted to get into trouble. My goals were both noble and maternal. Mother was sure to see the utility of my desire, I was certain.

Instead she'd screeched, pulled me into a hug, and gave me a resounding 'no.'

Drat. Not to be deterred, I asked again. And again. And _again_ , until I was eight and approached my mother with a split lip. That time Yusuke had challenged a trio of ten-year-olds to fisticuffs. I'm pretty sure he would've lost every last tooth in his head had I not stepped in.

Of course, by 'stepping in' I just meant I got in the middle of it, and the older boys were too chicken to hit a girl (once they realized that's what I was). They grumbled something about annoying brats and left Yusuke alone…for the time being. Something told me they'd be back.

That time my mother didn't immediately screech at me to stop being so reckless. She hesitated, eyed my lip, and said she'd think about it.

She came back three days later with an offer: aikido lessons, twice a week, with her blessing.

Trying not to look gleeful, I said yes.

That glee disappeared when I learned the truth.

The truth was that I knew absolutely noting about martial arts, and I really should've pushed for karate before saying 'yes.'

* * *

Sensei Obuchi was a kindly man who wore glasses. He had thick black hair, and on my first day he held my hand and walked me into a practice room filled with other kids my size. I think he thought I'd be nervous without my mother, whom he instructed to wait in the lobby, but he was wrong. I practically led _him_ into the room, eager as I was. He chuckled at my enthusiasm and strode to the front of the hall.

"This is Keiko-chan," he told everyone. "She'll be the last to join us. Everyone give her a big hello!"

The other kids, about 20 total, chorused a chipper greeting. I barely heard them. Staffs and fans dotted the austere walls; practice mats and padding sat in neat piles in the corners. My eyes lingered on the staffs. Fighting with those would be so cool. I thought this would just be hand-to-hand martial arts, but if we were going to cover weapons—

Some junior senseis came over, then, and had me sit with the other kids in a knot. Obuchi-sensei took a stance before us, hands clasped behind his back, and began to speak.

"Welcome to your first aikido lesson!" he said. "How many of you have taken aikido before?"

No hands went up. Looking around, I realized I was one of only three girls. The rest were boys, who lounged on the floor in varying states of disinterest, enthusiasm, and visible anxiety.

"Well, that's OK!" Obuchi said. "You're here to learn the basics. You'll have a lot of fun, I promise. But first—we need to fit all of you for uniforms."

The junior instructors promptly appeared with boxes of white _aikidōgi_. They passed these out according to size, then helped us layer the pants and tops over our own clothes. Once we were dressed, they made us sit in a group again.

"You all look great," Obuchi told us, "but you aren't sitting like aikido students."

We were then walked through the proper way to sit—basically _seiza_ , but with hands atop our spread knees. Remain attentive, and keep your posture erect. Easy stuff. When would we start fighting?

"Good!" said Obuchi. "Now, who knows what aikido mean?"

Again, no hands went up.

"Aikido means 'the way of harmonious spirit,'" he said. "It can also mean 'the way of combining forces.'"

I sat up a little straighter. That sounded cool. I hadn't realized the word 'aikido' had such a specific meaning. Granted, I didn't know which characters spelled the word because I hadn't seen the kanji yet, but—

"The goal of aikido is to teach you how to defend yourself by reading an opponent's movements," my sensei continued. "To practice aikido, you must blend your movements with an attacker's movements and control their actions with as little effort as possible. That's why it's called the way of combining forces."

Now _that_ was cool. Reading moves, then controlling them with little effort? I could get behind that.

"It doesn't matter your size," he said. "It doesn't matter how tall or how small you are. If you can read your opponent, you can use these techniques to win, because you use your opponent's moves against them."

Steve Jobs once said lazy people were the best workers because they'd find the most efficient methods of completing tasks. Was aikido the martial arts version of lazy computer coding? Minimal effort sounded great because it meant even scrawny kids like me could—

"Now, what about its other name? The way of harmonious sprit?" Obuchi beamed, glasses flashing as brightly as his smile. "To practice aikido, you must find harmony with your opponents—meaning, your intent when fighting is not to hurt your opponent, but to protect them."

My rapid-fire theorizing screeched to an abrupt halt. I sat there, blinking, unsure if I'd heard him right.

…had he just said the goal was _to protect your opponent_?

"That's right," Obuchi said. He looked excited, for whatever-the-hell reasons. "The goal of aikido is to end conflict by redirecting your opponent and finding harmony with them, rather than striking them to cause harm." He clapped his hands, grin widening. "Isn't that great!?"

Um. No. _No_ , it _wasn't_ great! How the hell was I supposed to fight demons with this bullshit hippy peace and love crap?! Find harmony with your opponent—what the heck kind of good would that do me in the face of demons with ginormous teeth, I ask you?!

The other kids looked uncertain, and a few furrowed brows told me some others also weren't expecting this turn of events, either. But no one seemed as mad as I felt, so I kept my face neutral and pushed my emotions aside. Maybe they'd still show us how to kick and punch, and—

The lesson ended only a few minutes later.

We hadn't learned a damn thing.

That night over dinner, I told my mom I wanted to try a different martial art. She paused with chopsticks halfway to her mouth and quirked a brow. My father froze, ramen noodles hanging from his lips.

"And why don't you like aikido, Keiko?" Okaasan asked.

"Because it's for little kids," I said.

"Well, _you're_ a little kid."

I bit my tongue. "It's just—they aren't going to teach us to fight."

"It's only your first lesson," came Mom's mild reply. "I'm sure they'll get there."

"But they didn't even show us a demonstration! They just told us what aikido means! _They gave us a vocabulary lesson_!"

"Perhaps they think you should have a concept of the art before attempting it."

"So they're just going to teach us theory, and never actually put technique into practice?!"

Mom ate a dainty bite and dabbed her lips with a napkin. Dad's eyes shifted between the two of us like he was watching a tennis match.

"It's only your first lesson, Keiko," said my mother, matter of fact. "You must give it a chance before complaining."

She looked to my father. He slurped down his noodles, choked, and gulped an entire glass of water.

"Your mother is right," he said, coughing. "Give it a chance before complaining, all right?"

And that was the end of that conversation. For the time being, anyway.

I ate the rest of my dinner in sullen silence, and when it came time for bed, I burrowed under the covers with mind racing. How could I weasel my way into a different style of martial art—one that would actually teach me _useful_ things? This namby-pamby, wishy-washy kiddie stuff wasn't what I wanted at all! I mean, Mom had a point about giving it a chance, but a focus on my opponent's safety just wasn't useful to me. Demons wouldn't afford _me_ such concern. Why should _I_ give _them_ such a privilege, I ask you?

Ugh. I really should've done more research into martial art forms before requesting I take lessons. I hadn't known jack shit about martial arts in my old life. Maybe if I'd known better, I could've vetoed aikido before Mom signed me up…

When sleep eluded me for an hour, I swung my feet out of bed and padded down the hall toward the bathroom. Along the way I heard a voice from the family room: my mother's soft tones, the kind she used when she didn't want to wake me when taking phone calls late at night. I had a very considerate mother. Even if she was making me take these stupid lessons, love for her swelled my heart.

Caught up in that affection, I almost walked past the family room without eavesdropping…but then I heard her words like a whispering wind.

I stopped cold.

"Thank you for your recommendation," she said. "Hopefully this will kill Keiko's interest like it killed your daughter's."

My mouth went very dry.

"I was so upset when she asked to take lessons. I was so _worried_. But I don't think she'll last long enough to learn anything violent. Not that they'd teach violence at _this_ dojo. They know the parents wouldn't stand for it."

A pause. A low laugh.

Her voice quavered.

"Yes, yes, Keiko is already hating it. I think she'll get tired of it and quit, soon. And then things will go back to normal." A long, quiet sigh. "Thank you so much for your help."

Must be one of mom's friends from my school. Mother of one of my peers, I guessed.

"She was so adamant. But perhaps this is just a passing phase. I'm just glad she agreed to aikido. It's the least violent option of them all." A faint giggle. "She is normally so full of questions, but I think she was too excited to dig in…"

I couldn't take anymore. I turned on my heel and slipped back into bed, where I curled into a ball and tried very hard not to cry. My young body cried more easily than I was accustomed to and I made it a point to never let myself break down—but in that moment, I was tempted to let the tears fall.

My mom had _played_ me!

She knew aikido wasn't going to teach me to fight (not at this dojo, anyway), and so she signed me up for it _on purpose_ to _shut me up._ Dammit, why hadn't I asked more questions? I'd let excitement get the better of me!

Too bad I wasn't going to let my _mom_ get the better of me.

Not again, anyway.

Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice—well, you know the saying.

Mom wanted me to lose interest and quit? Well, joke was on her.

I was going to become an aikido master, no matter what my mother had to say about it.

* * *

Aikido lessons had the same format, for the most part.

We started each class with warm-up stretches and sprints, running from one side of the room to the other until we could barely stand. Then we practiced meditation until kids were falling asleep in their seats (I actually really liked meditation, unlike the others). After that we studied _ukemi_ , where the sensei juniors would throw us to the ground to teach us to fall properly. Only after that would we do anything even remotely resembling martial arts.

We didn't fight each other. Not at first, anyway. For many lessons we did this thing that felt a lot like tai-chi, where we ran through _katas_ —AKA, slow-motion versions of martial art moves arranged into flowing sequences, led by our sensei. Half of these _katas_ he called ' _tori'_ , and the other half he called ' _uke_.'

He didn't tell us what those words meant for a long time…but I went to the library and looked it up, because I wanted to know, dammit, and this was taking way too long.

Turns out _uke_ moves in aikido were offensive, and _tori_ moves were defensive.

I paid extra special attention to the _uke_ segments, as you might imagine. I practiced them at night in my room, between classes, on the playground—wherever I could squeeze in a minute to punch and kick at the empty air.

You can imagine my mother watched this from afar, and was less than thrilled by my enthusiasm.

When our sensei deemed us masters of the _katas_ (so basically when we had them memorized) he finally let us move on to partner work. That's when we actually started to learn to fight…about four months after starting lessons.

Not that I was bitter about the speed or anything. Nope. Not me.

Ahem.

Most of the other kids had dropped out, by then. It was just me and five others. He paired us up by height and weight, then ushered us into two lines of three, each of us facing an assigned partner.

He pointed at my line. " _Tori_."

He pointed at the other line. " _Uke_."

My heart sank. I was in the _tori_ line—the defensive line. I wanted to be on the offensive, where I could learn to hit and punch an actual opponent!

"Aikido is all about balance," Obuchi said. "Those on the _tori_ line will use _tori_ _katas_ to strike those on the _uke_ side. Those on the _tori_ line will use corresponding _tori_ to counter the attack."

He called up a junior, and they demonstrated which exact _katas_ we were to practice. Once we understood what was expected of this exercise, Obuchi clapped his hands and beamed.

"Now, children—begin!"

* * *

The moment class ended, I marched up to Obuchi and demanded to be put on the _uke_ line. My practice partner hadn't wanted to hit a girl and had swung gingerly at my face, as though fearing he might make me cry or something if he broke through my defenses. Insulting, really. I put all my heart into the _tori_ moves, but it felt more like fending off a mosquito than an attacker. Obuchi needed me to be on the _uke_ line. I'd learn so much more there—didn't he see that?!

Obuchi listened to my pleas with an expression I can only describe as 'mollifying'. He knelt when I finished and put a hand on my shoulder. I didn't like the thought of being coddled and shrugged out from beneath his grip. He put his hand on his knee, instead, and smiled.

"We practice mediation every day, Keiko-san," he said. "You're good at it. I've noticed."

I scowled, uncomfortable with the compliment. Why was he flattering me all of a sudden?

"We practice mediation because aikido hinges upon development of the mind as well as the body. And of all my students, you have the most focused mind." He chuckled. "You are also the smallest of all my students, and by quite a margin."

My cheeks burned. "What does this have to do with _uke_ and _tori_?"

"Everything."

I crossed my arms as I waited for him to elaborate. I expected him to say something to placate me. What I did not expect was a complete change of subject. He studied my face a moment before shifting the tide of conversation in a direction I did not understand.

"Keiko-san," he said. "The man who created aikido was named Morihei Ueshiba."

"I'm aware," I said.

He nodded. "Yes. I suppose you are. But do you know what he said of the _tori_ portion of aikido?"

"I imagine he said a lot of things, sensei, since he created it."

In spite of my dry quip, his expression didn't falter. "Yes. I suppose he did. But do you know what he said about _tori_ …and how it relates to death?"

Any cheeky response I'd intended to volley dissolved beneath the weight of his grave expression. I kept silent, cataloging the dire cast to his normally kind eyes. He looked at me with the same solemnity.

"Ueshiba said that those who practice _tori_ must be willing to receive 99% of an opponent's attack, and stare death in the face," he told me. "In order to use _tori_ effectively, one must be able to relax the mind and body even when under threat of death. To use _tori_ , you must have nerves of unbreakable steel. You must be bold, to meet an attack head on and manipulate them. You must be strong, to meet the intent to kill with confidence."

His hand was on my shoulder again. I did not shrug it off.

"Do you understand, Keiko-san?" he said. "I placed only the boldest of my students on the _tori_ line, because to use _tori_ , you must be unfailingly bold. To be placed there is an honor, not an insult."

I stared at my toes. Obuchi chuckled. Warm fingers ruffled my hair.

"Small as you are, you won't be able to directly engage a larger opponent," he said. "Instead you must redirect, misdirect, and counter attack. _Tori_ will teach you how. So long as you master _tori_ , no one can hit you, and you shall remain safe. Master _tori_ , and your small size will never hold you back."

"With your focused mind," he said, "you shall stare down death and laugh."

When I left the dojo that day, his words played in my head. They continued to play there for years.

_Learn_ tori _, and you will stare down death and laugh._

Much as I still doubted the effectiveness of aikido, Obuchi's words…well, they gave me hope.

And hope would have to be enough, for the time being.

* * *

Three years later, Yusuke lazed on my bed while digging a finger in his ear. I chucked a tissue at him and said to wipe any 'treasure' on the paper.

The little shit wiped earwax on my comforter, instead.

"Yusuke—gross!" I got up and blotted the stain with another tissue. "Seriously, you're so gross!"

"You wanna fight me about it?" he asked.

"Nah, I don't pick on the weak."

"Oh, c'mon. You know I wanna see what you've been learning in those stupid lessons of yours."

" _They're not stupid, you goddamn moron!_ "

Yusuke was always telling me my lessons were a waste of money. I confess I'd started to grow tired of his mocking—because much as I'd learned from Obuchi's lessons, I still wasn't good at throwing punches. I still wasn't good at attacking, outside of scripted _uke_ and _tori_ sparring.

Was Yusuke right? Were the lessons a waste, even after all this time in the dojo?

Oh well. Truth of the matter aside, the words came out more venomous than I intended. Too bad Yusuke had no intention of letting me just apologize like a mature human being or whatever. He gasped, made a show of looking offended, and used my snap as an excuse to attack. The kid launched himself at me from across the room with a roguish grin, hand raised as he made a grab for the front of my pale blue cardigan.

My mind stilled.

Trained reaction, that stillness. Obuchi hammered into his students' heads the importance of composure under pressure. Can't stare death in the face without a cool head. I waited until Yusuke's hand was mere centimeters from my sternum before ducking under his arm, spinning on my heel, and planting my foot right onto his backside. He careened across the room with a wild yelp, stumbled through my closet door, and landed in a heap atop my hamper. Clothing fell off the hangers above his head, decorating his hair with frills and lace.

"When are you gonna learn a direct attack like that will never hit me?" I stood over him with hands on hips. "Seriously. Are you capable of listening to me, or will opening your ears overload your tiny brain? Is that why you have so much earwax? To protect yourself from _learning_?"

Yusuke swiped a skirt off his head and glared. I leaned forward and fished a pair of leggings off his shoulder. He looked at my hand, when I offered it, the way most people look at enormous, hairy spiders.

"C'mon. Get up." I smirked. "Or do you wanna stay in there and play dress-up?"

Yusuke shrugged…and then my best friend grinned like a demon.

Next thing I knew, he'd flung a pair of panties in my face, shooting them like a slingshot off his index finger—a parody of the Spirit Gun he'd someday make his trademark.

Another fight broke out, because of course it did. Oddly enough that fight was the beginning of one of the fondest memories I had of my childhood with Yusuke. We wrestled on my closet floor until Mom heard thumping from downstairs. As penance for fighting, she made us scrub dishes until the restaurant closed. Too bad that 'punishment' led to a massive bubble-blowing contest with dish detergent. Years later, the kitchen ceiling still bore stains from where the biggest bubbles popped against the plaster. For that transgression she made us clean the lucky Buddha (or whichever god) statue by the restaurant's front door, which led to even more bubble-blowing—

Before I could sink into that memory, something cut through my recollection: a pale blue light, cool and refreshing and effervescent. It chased the memories aside like sunlight chasing away fog, and then…

And then I stared into the face of Genkai, because I'd returned to the waking world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did a lot of research about aikido for this. Felt I'd cut it here or risk the chapter being, like, six thousand words long. More Genkai next chapter, and then a chapter I think some of you will really, really like.
> 
> …so are any of you Sailor Moon fans? Asking for reasons.
> 
> This took a while to produce because of the research I put into it. Got most technical info off Wikipedia; consider my source cited. Didn't want it to get too dry, but I felt the technical aspects of aikido were important and deserved to be explained. But please allow for errors about the martial art. I've never taken it, and despite the research, I know I've made mistakes.
> 
> I know NOTHING about martial arts offhand, so I wouldn't know the difference between the various martial art forms if I was reborn as Keiko. Hence why I/she didn't know about aikido before agreeing to lessons.
> 
> Also, it's the same martial art the character Morgan uses on The Walking Dead, and it makes a point to not do lasting damage to an opponent…most of the time. More on that later, though.
> 
> MANY THANKS TO THOSE STILL READING!


	14. Girl of Many Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiko learns a hard truth, but leaves with renewed hope.

Everything glared pale blue, like when the sun dazzles your eyes with annoying phantom lights and you can't see for, like, five minutes. Ugh. Genkai's face swam into clarity as I blinked the shine away, but slowly, like an image loading on a bad internet connection.

Not that the internet was available in this day and age. My metaphors were lost on everyone by me.

…not that I had the skills to do it, but should I invent the internet in this reality? Write Harry Potter? Create Facebook?

Tempting, but something told me gigantic alternations like those went against even Hiruko's lax rules.

Genkai didn't help me sit up, but she did give me a minute to rub my eyes and collect myself before speaking in a voice like a cat's growl. "Returned to the land of the living, have you?"

"I guess." I mopped a hand over my face. "What happened?"

"I knocked you out."

My glare could not be contained. " _J'accuse_!"

Deep lines folded her brow. "What?"

"Oh. Nothing. I take it back." Habitual saying from my first life, courtesy of a French grandmother. I waved a hand, expression accusatory. "I barely saw you _move_!"

"But you _did_ see me," Genkai said. I knew better than to believe she looked impressed. "In fact, you even tried to block."

"Sure. Tried and failed."

"Fall down seven times, stand up eight." The proverb rolled from her tongue like water from a fall. "You managed to cushion the blow well enough to avoid getting killed. That's not nothing. It's not exactly _something_ , but it's not nothing, either." A smirk. "Looks like you're not completely useless."

Oh. Wow. Wow! That was almost a compliment! I began to let myself believe she was impressed, after all—but her wording bugged me. I blinked, parsing out her phrasing in my head, and when it all clicked my jaw dropped.

"You—you were trying to _kill me_?!" I levied a finger toward her face. "I take back the take-back. _J'accuse,_ after all!"

Genkai snorted at my theatrics. "Girl, make no mistake. If I'd intended to kill you, you'd be dead." Hair fluffed like grey-pink candy floss when she shook her head. "You saw the blow coming and defended yourself. Let me guess. Aikido?"

"Yeah." Took a minute to realize how impressive she was. My eyes bugged out of my skull. "Wait. You could tell I took aikido from one failed dodge?"

A shrewd pursing of the lips preceded: "And you've been taking lessons for…six years?"

My bugging eyes adopted cartoonish proportions. "H-how could you tell that from one failed dodge?

"I'm old, not blind." Another long, measured look up and down my body. "Your sensei has totally failed you, teaching you _tori_ , but I imagine your command of _uke_ is pathetic. It's a safe bet your parents put you into aikido lessons, and they chose the style of martial art for you, at that."

"I'm going to ask this again and I really don't mean the statement to be rhetorical but oh well: _You could tell all that from one failed dodge_?!"

My babbling voice cracked and squeaked, shock and awe and panic destroying my composure. I scrambled to my feet as my face heated, trying not to listen to Genkai's hacking laughter. Safe bet I looked like a ripe tomato just then.

"I know you're psychic, but can you read minds?" I grumbled as I brushed off my clothes. "Seriously, this is uncanny."

"Not really. Aikido is a favored choice of worrisome parents." A noncommittal shrug. "Low risk. Teaches a child to fall properly and how to take a hit. Teaches self-defense, but doesn't prioritize attacking at low levels. And it teaches aggression-management as opposed to fighting intent. Ideal for troublesome youngsters in need of an outlet."

She…wow. Wow. That's pretty much exactly why my mother chose it—or why I suspected she chose it, at least. I'd learned over the years that lots of rambunctious kids were sent to Obuchi's dojo for the exact reasons Genkai described. I'd never been a troublemaker, but it made sense my mom would pick a martial art that revolved around self-defense in lieu of an attack-based art. She didn't want me turning into Yusuke.

Genkai reached into the front of her robe and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. I braced myself for an onslaught of smoke. Hadn't like cigarettes in my past life due to asthma, hated them in this life due to habit.

"Much as it's good for kids, and much as it teaches a solid foundation of _katas_ and mental toughness, aikido suffers from a lack of realism in training." Genkai tapped the carton against her palm, knocking loose a cigarette. "Since it relies on memorization of _katas_ instead of improvised moves, it doesn't do jack shit to prepare you for actual fights." She perched a cigarette in the corner of her mouth. "You probably asked for karate lessons, and aikido was the compromise."

I laughed, helplessly. "Yeah. You're right. Down to the last detail."

"And I'm right in saying you've only been in a handful of real fights, aren't I."

It wasn't a question. She knew everything. No use hiding from this monster of a woman. I ducked my head, shame and affirmation battling for dominance. The only person I'd ever scrapped with was Yusuke, and good a fighter though he was, he used rudimentary strikes—a straight right hook was his go-to. I'd long since learned all the ways he'd attack. Countering them was just a matter of habit, at this point, and nobody else would fight me to give me practice. Kuwabara probably wouldn't hit me even if I begged, and most dudes would just let me hit them without fighting back when I chanced upon a potential sparring partner. Stupid chivalry, ruining my chances at a good fight. Hell, I'd debated dressing up as a dude and picking fights just so I could—

"I take it you're the only girl in your class," Genkai said around the cigarette. She'd pulled a metal lighter from somewhere; it rolled over her knuckles, winking in the sun even as it danced. "Not too many people willing to fight you, I take it." A dry laugh. "I hate chivalry. Sometimes you just have to hit first, prove you won't break if they fight back. Beat that you're not some delicate flower they have to protect into their thick skulls."

It took every ounce of my stunned willpower to mutter: "Did I ask you earlier if you could read minds, or am I just going crazy?"

"You asked. And the answer is no, I can't. And no, you're not, for the record." She looked almost surprised by that. "You're not crazy. I checked, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't actually wondering, but…" The pieces fell together like magnets in love. "Wait. That light. Was that the Spirit Wave?"

Her smirk confirmed my theory before I finished asking the question. My skin flushed and cooled as adrenaline pulsed to life.

"Why use it on me?" I asked. The thought of being subjected to something so powerful would've given me a panic attack in my old life. Thankfully, Keiko's body held firm. "What would using it on me accomplish? I'm no threat!"

"Don't you know the Wave is more than just an attack?" Genkai said. "I thought you knew my legend, girl."

"I do know it!" That sounded like a whine even to me. "I know the Wave can heal as well as hurt. But I didn't need much healing, did I?" I glared again. "Or were you actually trying to kill me for real, after all?"

"No." The lighter slipped between her palm and fingers, sparking as she thumbed the catch. "You knew things you couldn't about my life. I wasn't going to take chances, believing your story without proof."

"And the Wave proved I was telling the truth?"

"Yes. I used it to revive you. In the process, I saw the color of your psyche." The lighter snapped shut; the cigarette remained unlit. "Your soul is clean. Your mind is clear. You told the truth, and you're not being manipulated, either."

A little insulting, that she hadn't trusted me at first blush—but wait, why was I surprised by this?

"I'd say I'm offended you didn't take me at my word, but in retrospect, you did believe my story pretty quickly." Ugh. I was losing my touch. "Trusting someone so soon is out of character for you. Why didn't I see it?"

"Because no matter how many lives you've lived, you're still just a teenage girl." Her roguish grin took years off her face, somehow, igniting a playful spark in her dark eye. "I just pretended to believe you until I could verify whether or not you were playing me. But you're not. Not many people can play me, least of all you."

Genkai reached into her robe again. She stowed away the lighter and pulled out a pen and scrap of paper. Did she have a Walmart in her _gi_ or what?

"Where did you say you were from?" she asked.

"I didn't say, but Sarayashiki. Why?"

She jotted something on the paper, folded it, and with a quick snap of her wrist sent it flying toward my face. I grabbed it in time to avoid a papercut on my nose, but only barely.

 _Uehara Hideki,_ and then a phone number.

Genkai's handwriting, neat and spindly, had inscribed the words in both hiragana and kanji. I stared at them until my eyes watered.

Who was Uehara Hideki?

Before I could ask I heard a light scratching noise, and then the acrid scent of tobacco wafted past. I looked up. Genkai held the cigarette between two fingers, tip glowing and smoking, other hand shoved in her pocket. Her posture screamed boredom, but her eyes…

"That's the name of a sensei in your city. One who _won't_ treat you like a weak little child," she said. "Find him. Train with him. He'll beat you black and blue. You'll want to quit, or just keel over and die, but you can't. Not if you really want what you say you want."

The old psychic took a drag and blew the resulting smoke out her nose. It coiled around her face the way the incense had coiled around the Buddha's, like a cat's tail lashing with restrained energy. Part of me was disappointed she hadn't offered to train me herself, but then again, why would she? She owed me nothing.

Besides. It's not like my parents would let me quit school and live with an old lady in the mountains. Like Genkai said, I was just a teenage girl, beholden to parental whims and familial obligation. Having a sensei closer to home would suit me just fine.

Now, that still left the question of whether or not Genkai would make me psychic…

"Take every last lesson he offers," Genkai said. Her lips curled back over her teeth. "If you're up for a trip to hell, tell him I sent you, and he'll go even harder."

"OK," I said. "OK, but why—"

"If you want to be psychic, aikido isn't a bad place to start."

The words died on my tongue. Genkai took another drag. Exhaled. When the smoke drifted past, I held my breath. I'd have to sneak inside later tonight. Mom would go bananas if she smelled smoke on me.

"You're well aware of aikido's focus on the flow of momentum and energy in the body," she said. "Knowing how kinetic energy works in human anatomy is what enables aikido users to defend themselves and control an opponent's movements."

"I know," I said.

"Don't be arrogant. You haven't earned it." Another long drag. "Did you know knowledge of kinetic flow translates to knowledge of spiritual energy?"

Breath tangled on my tongue. Genkai chuckled. Her eyes fell closed.

"They've lost touch with the old ways," she murmured. "Aikido users used to call that energy _ki_. Perhaps now they think _ki_ too New Age for their tastes."

I got the sense she was speaking to herself, so I said nothing. Soon enough she opened her eyes and regarded me again.

"What's new was once old," she said. "You know that better than anyone, girl of many lives."

I smiled. She took another drag.

"Spirit energy is more than just raw power. It's a system that keeps the body running." One gnarled finger pointed my way, tracing a path up and down my limbs. "It twines into the muscles and bones and blood in an unending, flowing loop. Knowledge of this flow is the gateway to _ki_ manipulation. Learn to manipulate _ki_ , or spirit energy, and you can be what most would call a psychic. Understand _ki_ , and you understand psychic power."

Her eyes softened, thoughtful as she looked at me. Not for the first time, I wondered at what she saw.

Genkai said, "Aikido has already given you a head start on developing psychic power."

My heart cavorted into my mouth like a mountain goat on speed.

"So you're going to make me a psychic?" I blurted. "Genkai-san, that's—"

Her scowl could melt stone. "Did I _say_ I was going to make you psychic?"

"Well, no, but the implication—"

"I have no idea how to awaken psychic powers in a normal human."

For a second her words did not sink in. I stood there with my mouth open as a cool wind stripped by and set my pigtails to tossing. Somewhere to my left, a bird chirped, music crisp and out of tune.

"Sorry." The word did not sound like an apology. "I can't do what you want."

"Then—then what was all of that _for_?"

Something in my face, or maybe my voice, set Genkai's brow to wrinkling. The singing bird sounded like it was screaming, the wind felt like cold hands on my neck and chest, every brush of hair on my skin stung like nettle weed.

"Why were you baiting me?" I said. I hated how my voice trembled, hated how my hands shook, hated how a limping, impotent sadness lurched to attention inside my chest. "Why did you test me and bait me and give me a goddamn sensei if you were just—"

Her mild tone, so matter-of-fact and sensible, cut the air like claws.

"I could tell from just one look at your stupid, stubborn face that you won't stop searching until you find a way to get what you want," she said. "And when you find it, it's best you be prepared."

Her quiet words silenced the bird, and the wind, and the sadness. The feelings inside me deflated like punctured balloons. Genkai's steady gaze was like tides beating on the shore—unavoidable, quiet, and powerful in its persistency.

My hot anger just couldn't stand against her cool authority.

We stood in silence until my hands stilled and my breathing returned to normal, and the off-key bird sounded like it was singing again.

"Do you have any idea where I should look next?" I asked. My voice, I was pleased to note, held steady. "Books, people, places?"

She shook her head. "No. What you're asking for is not part of my expertise."

This time, when she smiled, it was different. Like maybe she was rooting for me. But that might've been a delusion. I wasn't sure.

"Keep looking, girl," she said. "Find Uehara. Take every lesson he offers. And never stop looking."

She turned toward the temple.

"Good luck," she said, and she walked away.

"Genkai—why are you helping me?"

She stopped walking. I clapped a hand over my mouth. I hadn't used an honorific in that outburst. Ugh, stupid me! Hopefully she didn't take offence…

Luckily she took my impropriety in stride, and merely shrugged.

"You're interesting," she said. "And in my old age, I've grown rather bored."

"If you're bored, maybe you should take on an apprentice," I suggested. "Pass on that Orb like you've been planning."

"Why?" A sardonic twinkle lit her eyes. "Think it should be passed to _you_?"

I felt myself pale. "Oh. No! _God_ , no."

"Thought not. Then who?"

The ground at my feet looked very interesting all of a sudden. "Oh. Um. You'll know when you find him."

"'Him'? So you're admitting I'm going to find an apprentice." Her laughter crackled against my skin. "Careful, girl. You just gave me a clue."

Schooling my features into careful, lofty neutrality, I declared: "I can neither confirm nor deny whether or not you will, in future, seek an apprentice. That decision falls to you, and you alone."

She snorted. "You're a poor liar."

"I can neither confirm nor deny—"

"Cut the crap, girl. Just tell me what he's like and be done with it."

One foot tapped impatiently at the flagstones as she glared. For a second I had no idea what to say, or if I should just repeat my confirm-nor-deny line, or if I should prepare to dodge because was she going to throw that burning cigarette at my face?

Yusuke's face popped unbidden into my head.

 _What—you scared of a little old lady?_ his image teased. _Big, tough, fancy-fighting-lessons Keiko?_

I closed my eyes and tried very hard not to laugh.

"He'll be the best, worst apprentice you'll ever have," I said. "And that's all I can say."

Genkai looked magnificently unimpressed. "Sounds annoying."

"Very. _Very_ annoying. But he'll be a good cure for old-age-induced-boredom, that much I can promise you."

I'd already said too much, I feared. Before she could ask anything else, I ducked my head and dipped a low, formal bow at the woman who would become my best friend's teacher.

"Genkai-san. Thank you very much for your help today. Your guidance and patience are gifts I will not soon forget," I said—and I meant every word. "I can't express the depth of my gratitude. I appreciate your direction, and I will repay your efforts as best as I'm able, whenever you should have need of me."

One moment passed. Then another. Sun slanted through the trees, limning the stones of the courtyard silver.

"What's your name?"

Spine spasmed. I jerked upright. Genkai watched with patient eyes.

"Your _real one_ , I mean," she said. "Not that Keiko crap you said before."

My lungs stopped working, then.

Out of nowhere, my throat ached.

My eyes pricked.

Genkai looked as surprised as I felt when I began to cry.

"Was it something I said?" she deadpanned as one tear, then another, slipped unwanted down my cheeks. I stifled a sob with a fist, chest heaving with repressed moans. My throat burned like I'd taken a shot of whiskey. "I know I've got a sharp tongue, but I didn't even use it."

"No, um," I said.

My voice cracked. I took a shuddering breath, and though the breath helped ease the sobs, my eyes kept watering. My chest ached like the first pang of love. A hiccup made my cheeks flush.

"It's, it's not you," I grated out. "It's nothing you said. It's just—"

I hung my head.

"Sorry, Genkai-san. I'm _sorry_."

Tears dotted the flagstones dark grey. Genkai let me sniffle and sob and cry until the tears stopped coming, silent in the presence of my raw sentiment. My eyes felt gritty, like I'd thrown dirt into them, but eventually I blinked away the pain.

"You're the first person who's wanted to know my name in 14 years," I said with my sandpaper tongue. "My real one, anyway. Forgive me. I got emotional."

"Don't get sappy," Genkai snapped, finally out of patience when it came to my melodrama. "Sentiment gives me indigestion. I just like to know who I'm speaking to, that's all." She waved her hand, cigarette ash puffing. "Your name, girl. Out with it."

"Sorry, Genkai, but I don't remember my name." A resigned shrug. "Everything else about my past, I remember. Just not that."

I half expected her to regale me with criticism of my own uselessness, but instead, the aged spiritualist said nothing. In fact, her impatience vanished, replaced by a look of blank surprised I'd not yet seen grace the old woman's features.

It didn't suit her. Genkai was meant to know things, not be taken by surprise.

Her eyes fell closed, after a moment. Thin lips pursed into an even thinner line.

"To lose one's name…that must be a terrible fate," she said.

Her tone, compassionate and quiet, set my eyes back to pricking. I swallowed the lump in my neck.

"I manage," I said.

"Yes. I can see that."

Genkai's eyes opened. They trained on me. Her chin jutted up and forward, haughty and imperious as a feudal warlord.

"If you remember your name, I'd like to know it," she said, and then she turned to the temple once more. "Goodbye, girl. I assume we'll meet again. In the meantime, I'll keep an eye out for my new apprentice."

I didn't stop her as she walked away. I stood there, empty and impassive, until she grasped the temple door and pulled it aside with a rattle. I didn't expect her to look at me again—but then her eyes glittered as she glanced over her shoulder.

"Stay out of trouble," she told me...but then she grinned. "Or don't. Makes no difference to me. But whatever you do—never stop looking."

She vanished into the temple.

I stood in her courtyard, bird singing in the trees, until the sun dipped low over the roof of her home and stung my eyes.

"Goodbye," I whispered.

Then I walked out of the courtyard, down the temple steps, and made my own way home—where I would never stop looking, just like Genkai said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's not what Not-Keiko wanted to hear, but this solution was just too easy. How do you think Keiko will seek out psychic powers next? Genkai was right: Keiko will not stop searching.
> 
> Yusuke dies soon, for the record. And then a twist I don't think you're expecting occurs…
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments. I scream every time I get a notification, haha!


	15. Truth Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko meets a new sensei and a new friend.

Waiting just wasn't my style. As soon as I got to the bus stop at the foot of Genkai's mountain, I slipped coins into a nearby payphone and dialed Uehara's number. It rang and it rang (thought maybe no one would answer at all, to be honest), but eventually the connection engaged. I heard a rustle on the line—paper, or maybe cloth. Wasn't sure, despite straining my ears to hear it.

Then a voice edged through the silence.

"…what?"

I damn near jumped out of my skin. The man on the other end had a curt voice, like he'd gargled with glass that morning. It made the impolite greeting sound all the more gruff. Didn't let it phase me, though. I had a Genkai-approved sensei to acquire.

"Hello and good afternoon," I said in my best taking-care-of-business voice. "I'm looking for Uehara Hideki. Is he available?"

A low grumble. "Who's this?"

"Yukimura Keiko."

"Never heard of you. What do you want?"

Very to the point, this guy. Two could play at that game.

I said, "I want aikido lessons."

A very long paused followed thereafter. If I hadn't heard another papery rustle, I would've assumed he'd hung up on me. Seemed well within his grouchy character.

Right as I geared up to say his name, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"What makes you think I'm offering aikido lessons, Yukimura?"

No honorific. And he had a totally mild voice all of a sudden, rough texture smoothing into bland inscrutability. His tone was so neutral I couldn't discern anything about what he was thinking, like he'd taken steel wool and scrubbed every last ounce of feeling from his vocal cords.

I girded my nerves with a deep breath.

"A woman named Genkai referred me to you," I said. "You know _her_?"

I hadn't wanted to pull the Genkai card so early. Not if pulling it meant getting a trip to training hell. But something told me the fastest way to get this man's help was to use the old woman's recommendation to my advantage…and if my aim was to be psychic, it was about time I started trusting my intuition.

Uehara didn't reply. The silence on the phone buzzed against my ear like wasps. Just as I started suspecting my intuition was a massive piece of untrustworthy bullshit, he spoke.

"Great," he said. "Another one."

"Excuse me?"

"Tomorrow at 7 PM. Block 12, building C. You know it?"

"Um." Wracked my brain a minute. "Warehouse by the bayous?"

"Right." His voice dipped back into its glass-gargling growl. "Do _not_ be late, Yukimura."

And with that, my new (and thoroughly weird) sensei hung up on me.

* * *

I considered it a small miracle when I returned to Sarayashiki at a reasonable hour—a reasonable hour by my standards, anyway.

My mom's standards were a bit different.

Before catching the bus to the mountains, I'd stashed my schoolbooks in one of the station's lockers. After I got back around 10 PM, I snagged the books and walked home on tired feet. Mom thought I'd spent the day at the library; the books were part of my cover story, though hopefully I wouldn't need a cover at all. Hopefully Mom and Dad were asleep, or busy, and hadn't noticed that I hadn't come home, or assumed I was with Yusuke…anything would work.

A narrow alley ran around the back of the ramen shop, where we kept the dumpster and received supply deliveries. As I rounded the corner down this alley, movement behind a pile of empty vegetable crates caught my eye. I tensed, but the only thing that sauntered out of the shadows was a pale grey cat with a white patch over half its face. My shoulders slumped.

"Oh, Sorei. It's just you."

Sorei didn't look at me, but he did take a moment to wind his rangy body through my calves before disappearing around the corner. I'd learned to not expect much more affection than that from the creature. Aloof little thing, but we had an understanding: he killed any and all of the rats that would inevitably try to invade the restaurant, and I left my window cracked at night so he could sleep on my desk out of the cold. Quid pro quo. Sorei was a no-nonsense sort of cat. He and Genkai would get along.

I pulled out my key and fit it in the back door. The concrete Buddha by the threshold beamed, cheeks pudgy from his beatific smile. I wasn't religious, but just the same I offered the statue a prayerful plea before turning the key in the lock. Couldn't hurt, right?

"Please let my mother be asleep," I whispered.

Too bad for me the gods just weren't listening.

From the back door I could see most of the restaurant: to my right I had a view up the stairs to the living area; to my left I could see through the doorway into the kitchen; directly in front of me stood an open archway looking out into the restaurant itself.

Mom stood in this archway. Glaring. She'd pulled her hair up under a sleeping cap and wore a bunny-patterned bathrobe over her pajamas.

It's crazy, how intimidating she looked despite the bunnies.

"And just where have you been, young lady?" she asked.

"Oh, um—the library." I pasted on a smile. "Studying ran late. Sorry!"

Deadly calm: "The library closes at 8 PM, Keiko."

"Well, afterward I went out with Yusuke—"

"Funny." Mom didn't look amused. "He came by an hour ago, looking for you."

Even though I was technically 40 years old and technically the same age as my mother, my spirit withered under the heat of her glare. In that moment I was a teenager again—but luckily I'd come more prepared than your average teen.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going. I just needed to be by myself a bit—to think."

"Think about _what_?"

"I'm quitting my lessons with Obuchi-sensei."

My intention with that non sequitur was to throw Mom off-balance. Sort of bamboozle her into not being mad anymore, or just distract her long enough to get to my bedroom without starting a fight.

My intention was not to make her cry.

That's exactly what I accomplished, anyway.

Mom looked like she'd been struck by lightning. Then, to my immense horror, her lips began to quiver. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Her blank expression cracked as a sob wracked through her, and then her face was in her hands and I was flying across the room in her direction. My book bag hit the floor with a thump.

"Mom!?" I said, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Mom, Mom, are you—"

"Oh, Keiko, honey—I'm so _happy_!"

I recoiled. She wiped tears on her sleeve and breathed quick, heavy breaths—and when she raised her head, she was smiling. Smiling this great big smile she usually saved for when I took top spot on exams, or when we had family dinner and Dad told a dumb joke and milk came out my nose.

"I'm sorry," she said, though she didn't sound sorry at all. "It's just—oh, Keiko, I've wanted you to quit for _ages_."

She started crying in earnest again, but she smiled all the while. A lightness colored her expression, a weight taken from her soul's heavy yoke.

She was crying…because she was happy?

I knew she wanted me to quit aikido. I knew she hated my lessons. But this level of unabashed _relief_ I did not understand.

Anger bubbled hot and bright. Words spilled. I couldn't stop them.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to defend myself," I snapped. Though I'd posed this argument a hundred times, and though this was a fight we'd fought before, Mom's smile faded into astonishment. "Most parents would be glad their daughter wants to stand up for herself. Most parents—"

"I am _not_ most parents, and you are _not_ most children!"

"—would want their kid to be capable of defending herself and others!"

"Keiko, if I had any other child but _you_ , I wouldn't mind them taking lessons!"

Until that moment, we'd followed the script of the aikido argument to the letter. Mom's last statement, however, veered _way_ off-book. I reeled back because _what the hell was that supposed to mean_? Mom clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with regret and surprise.

"If you had 'any child but me'?" I asked. My voice sounded fragile and hollow, an empty eggshell. "What's that mean?"

My mother took a deep breath. Her eyes flickered toward the stairs. For a second I thought she might tell me to forget it, go upstairs and avoid this conversation.

Instead, she stayed.

"It means," she said, every syllable metered and clipped, "that you have a pathological need to save people."

My heartbeat drowned out the hum of the florescent lights overhead. Air roiled in my ears like a giant breathing. Mom waited for me to say something, but when I didn't, she sighed.

"Ever since you were a little girl, you've saved people," she said. "First it was Yusuke. Then his mother—someone no child had any business saving. But you insisted. You took care of her." Her helpless shrug made her look frail. Were there more lines around her eyes than I remembered, or was I seeing things? "You've stood up to more bullies than I can count. Your teachers are always sending home notes."

My chest hitched. "Mom—"

"No, let me finish," she said. Her soft, stony eyes booked no argument. "You come home with split lips from defending Yusuke, and that's saying nothing of what you've done for the animals you've helped. Beetles floating in puddles. Baby birds fallen from the nest. Kittens on busy street corners." Her lips pulled into a shaky smile. "I'll never forget the day you ran into traffic to save Sorei. Nearly gave me a heart attack."

I'd bolted away from my mother the second I saw the bedraggled kitten lurch off the curb and into a busy road. Sheer luck had kept this lucky child from 'pulling a Yusuke' and getting both myself (not to mention Sorei) splattered on the pavement. I'd named the kitten 'ghost' in honor of that narrowly-avoided fate. Despite my success, Mom had never stopped lording that moment of impulsivity over my head. I hadn't known she'd connected it to aikido, though, or to my apparent savior complex.

Savior complex. Looks like there was a name for my behavior, after all.

"That wasn't very smart of me," I mumbled.

"It was kind, though," she said.

Warm fingers on my cheek. Mom cupped my face, thumb brushing beneath my eye.

"You are the kindest person I know," she said, voice gentle. "But—you put yourself in danger, to be so kind. All those split lips and skinned knees." Breath shuddered in her throat. "You're too in the weeds to see it, but teenagers think they're invincible."

I knew better than that. I wasn't even a teen. But I couldn't say as much.

Not to her. Not to anyone.

"I thought if you learned to fight, you'd put yourself into even more danger," Mom continued. "I thought you'd seek it out just so you could fix it and save people. But no matter how well you fight, you're still just one girl." Her voice rasped like she'd swallowed sand. "I don't mind you learning to defend yourself. I'm just afraid you'll go overboard, and—"

Her voice broke.

She started crying again.

"I'm just afraid you'll get hurt, trying to save people!" she gasped. "I couldn't take it if you got hurt, Keiko!"

I covered her hand with mine.

At that point, I was crying, too.

We stayed up another hour, just talking, about safety and kindness and the places where survival and altruism intersected and parted ways. About how much I'd worried her, and how I wished she'd told me how she felt sooner, because at least now I knew why aikido bothered her so much. Now I knew how to save her from pain—but there I went again, saving people. We had a good laugh at my expense over that.

When we finally went to bed, her tears had vanished in favor of a serene smile.

She seemed happier after our conversation…but I hadn't had the heart to tell her I was quitting Obuchi so I could get a different sensei. A new sensei, one who would likely prove infinitely more dangerous than the former. I couldn't bear to wipe the look of relief from her eyes.

As I fell asleep, I vowed to never let my mother know of Uehara. Much as I hated lying to her, something—perhaps my untrustworthy intuition—told me the truth would only break her heart.

I'd carry the weight of the truth alone. It was not her burden to bear.

* * *

The next day after school—after Yusuke ran off to do whatever it is he did after school, and after telling my mother I'd be at a friend's house studying (more lies, more lies)—I went to the warehouse on Block 12. Warehouse C sat on the edge of a drainage canal, behind a row of similar warehouses made of corrugated tin and splintered wood. It didn't look like a dojo. Nevertheless, as twilight faded and the sky turned violet, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Flickering lights overhead lit the space like something out of a bad mobster movie. The sparring mats in the middle of the warehouse gave the only clue to this building's true purpose.

Four people sat on these mats. All but one looked up when I came in. My heart thudded.

"I'm here for aikido lessons with Uehara Hideki," I said.

"So are we," said one of them.

Heartrate slowed. Good. Was in the right pace, after all. I left my bag and shoes near the door, next to a small pile of other gym bags and tennis shoes, and joined what I assumed were my fellow students on the mat. Four guys and a girl. Two guys looked my age, and one looked maybe 20. All wore standard aikido uniforms and sat in the style I'd learned from Obuchi. The oldest one had his eyes closed—meditating? Not sure. He was the one who hadn't looked up when I came in.

The girl, meanwhile, was only 10 or so, and way smaller than everyone else. She had black hair pulled back in a high ponytail; thick bangs fringed her forehead, framing her amber eyes like curtains. Looked like she was wearing her school gym clothes rather than a proper uniform. Interesting. I wore spandex pants and my aikido uniform top.

"Hi!" the girl said in a voice like a chirping bird. "It's sure nice to see another lady here!"

"Same," I said. "I'm usually the only girl in class."

"Yup." She had a smile like a sunbeam—more puppy than bird, eager and sweet. "Nice t' meet ya!"

Bold speaking patterns, frank eye contact, very little volume control. We'd just met and I could already tell she was the fearless sort—especially considering she'd come, seemingly by herself, to a warehouse on the edge of town and sat in a dark room with three men twice her size. Brave or foolhardy? Time would tell.

Before I could ask her any questions, maybe probe and see if her parents knew where she was, the door rattled again. Dim light spilled around the silhouette of a tall man with broad shoulders, frame thin but wrapped with muscle I could see even from this dim vantage point.

"Stand up," the man said.

We scrambled to our feet. The guys all stood with rigid posture, heads up, hands by their sides. The girl clasped her hands behind her back and rocked on her heels, beaming as the man walked across the room and stood before us.

I got a good look at him once he stepped into the light. Grey hair brushed his shoulders, and an equally grey goatee fringed his jaw, but he only looked maybe 40 years old despite the coloring. Craggy face, hawkish nose, narrow black eyes, pasty skin—he looked like a grim, pale specter, standing there with hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

Although his posture appeared lazy and relaxed, I noticed he kept his weight on his back foot, as though ready to duck out of the way or spring forward at any time.

His eyes swept over us.

Then they met mine—and they were blank. Perfectly, flatly blank, emotionless and cold.

My skin crawled. It crawled even more when he spoke. My classmates flinched at my sides.

" _Katas_ ," the man said. He had a familiar glass-gargle voice that could only belong to Uehara. "Now."

A pause as we collected ourselves, and then we ran through _katas_ at Uehara's behest. He watched us perform without expression, and when we finished, he swept his hair back into a low ponytail. Then he kicked off his shoes, walked through our ranks, and positioned himself in the middle of the mat. Although he didn't remove his hands from his pockets, a subtle shift in his stance indicated he'd moved his center of gravity low, even more prepared to strike than before.

Another shiver traced my neck.

"Form a circle around me," he said.

We did so.

"Now. Come at me. All at once."

His expression didn't change until we hesitated, students all exchanging uncertain looks—because one on five didn't seem fair, even if Uehara was our sensei. Lips curled back over his teeth in a savage grimace.

"I won't wait all night," he growled.

Another group-wide hesitation…and then the 20-year-old moved, hands fisting as he hunkered into a striking stance. He was tall, and had far more muscle mass than my lithe sensei. Not a fair matchup by any means, going on build alone.

"Yes, sensei," Big Guy said.

He flew forward, coming at our teacher with a basic but powerful strike to the chest. Uehara didn't move. His eyes flickered up and down Big Guy's body, and for a terrifying second I thought he wasn't going to dodge the hefty challenger's blow—but then in a move so fast I couldn't register the details, Uehara grabbed the guy's wrist, shifted his weight, and executed a flipping move that sent Big Guy into a rolling, forward dive. The guy landed on his back at Uehara's feet with a thud.

Uehara resumed his earlier, upright stance.

Hands returned to his pockets.

His expression did not change.

"Come. All of you at once," he said. "You won't beat me one on one, I promise you."

Silence pressed thick around us—and then to my right came a warbling, feral, ear-piercing _screech_. The little girl leapt at Uehara with both hands outstretched, using no recognizable aikido form whatsoever, face contorted into a lupine snarl as she flew across the mat.

She didn't get anywhere close to punching him, but to her credit, his eyes did widen in mild shock. He caught her by the wrist and shoulder and executed another flipping move—but this time he did something a little odd with his hands, fast and smooth and almost imperceptible. The kid's breath went out of her in a whoosh when she hit the mat. She rolled to her side, coughing and glaring as Uehara resumed his customary stance.

"Whoa," I said.

One of the boys my age shot me a look.

"He—did you see what he did with his hand?"

"No?"

"No talking," Uehara snapped. He pointed at the girl. "There's more ferocity in _that_ tiny thing than in the rest of you combined. Take notes."

"Hey! I'm not a thing!" the girl protested.

"Whatever. Now the rest of you—attack, dammit!"

As Big Guy rolled to his feet, the other two boys mounted strikes of their own. I stayed put, trying to analyze what Uehara had done while the boys kept him busy. He'd gone slower with the little girl. More than that, though, he'd somehow rotated her in the air so her shoulder—rather than her face or spine—took the brunt of the impact when he threw her.

He'd protected her. He'd protected her, and the guy so much bigger than him, even while protecting himself…and he'd barely even moved to do it.

Was this the true power of aikido?

The two other boys fell to the mat in short order. Uehara returned to his spot, then surveyed the room.

His eyes fell on me.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something?" he said.

I took a deep breath.

I threw my first punch.

I wound up flat on my back.

I got up, and I tried it again.

 _Fall down seven times, stand up eight,_ as the saying goes.

* * *

Fighting Uehara Hideki was like fighting a ghost.

For an hour we attacked him. For an hour he defended. No one landed a single hit. He fought us without expression, wordlessly, grappling and throwing and dodging like an untouchable phantom. If we stood idle, he'd break his lazy stance to strike and drag us back into the fray. He never let anyone stay still for more than the time it took to catch one's breath.

One by one we each sprawled to the mat in utter exhaustion. When we'd all fallen, and no one got back up to fight again, Uehara loosed his hair from its ponytail. It brushed his shoulders like strands of silken ectoplasm.

Man wasn't even sweating. I, meanwhile, was pretty sure I looked like a disco ball doused in bacon grease.

Uehara surveyed us for a minute. Then he raised a hand and pointed one accusatory finger at Big Guy.

"You," he said, "rely too much on power. Develop your agility."

Big Guy looked thoughtful. Then rolled so he could bow, forehead reverent on the mat.

The finger shifted.

"You," Uehara said, looking between the two other guys, "are both trying too hard to look cool. Cut it out."

Neither of them denied Uehara's words, but both looked remarkably unhappy to hear them.

It was the little girl's turn. To her Uehara said, "You are lacking in even the most basic of fundamentals. Study."

She pouted. "Meanie."

"Truth hurts. Deal with it."

And then he turned to me. His eyes bored into mine, and for a second I forgot the bruises budding on my back and ribs. I forgot my aching lungs and burning muscles. I forgot the sharp pain in my shoulder, the throb arching up my wrists.

Under Uehara's impenetrable gaze, I felt my very soul exposed.

"You," he said. I shivered again. "You think too much. Stop that."

I blinked—and then I snorted, laughter suppressed but heartfelt.

Uehara scowled, emotion finally cutting through. "What's funny?"

"I get told that a lot." His critique was no surprise. I'd been expecting much worse. I mimicked the older guy and pressed more forehead to the mat. "Thank you, sensei."

When I rose from my bow, I saw that he'd retrieved his shoes and slipped them on. He looked at us over his shoulder as he walked out of the warehouse.

"Today was an evaluation," he said. "Be back next week for actual lessons." For the first time, his lips moved into the ghost of a smile. "Don't eat beforehand. You'll throw up."

And with that, our specter of a teacher disappeared into the night.

* * *

As we gathered up our things, Big Guy briefly introduced himself as Ezakiya. He seemed cool, if not a little quiet. The other two boys left without a word, grumbling to each other as they followed Ezakiya into the night. Something told me I wouldn't be seeing those two again.

"What a big bunch of babies, right?"

The little girl stood at my elbow, grinning up at me despite the darkening bruise on her milky cheek.

"Not Ezakiya. I meant the others. Those two don't like criticism, but you can't grow without it!" she said. "I like Uehara. He doesn't put up with shit, I can tell. No place for babies in this dojo, no sir."

Wow, cursing from a kid this young? My kind of gal.

"Think you'll come back next week?" she asked. She tipped onto her toes and shadow-boxed, punching at an invisible enemy. She'd attacked with undiminishing enthusiasm all night, only lying on the mat when she couldn't breathe anymore. Tough little puppy. "I'll be back, and next time, I'll kick Uehara's ass!"

"And I'll be there to watch you do it," I said.

"Really?! You mean it?! Because I'll be real glad to know another girl will be here!" I didn't think she could smile any bigger. She proved me wrong as she stuck out her hand for a friendly, Western-style shake. "The name's Higurashi Kagome. Nice to meet you!"

Oh, a Western shake? Interesting. It was like being in my old life again. Not many Japanese people—

My hand froze midway on its journey to grasp hers.

Wait.

Higurashi…Kagome?

I supposed confusion and burgeoning alarm showed on my face, because Kagome pulled back her hand and tucked a strand of inky hair behind her ear.

"What?" she asked, frowning. "Something on my face?"

"Your name is…Higurashi Kagome?"

"Yup!" she chirped. When my expression didn't change, she frowned again. "What's wrong? Why are you being weird?"

I wasn't trying to be weird—it's just that as soon as she said her name, I saw it. I saw _her_. I saw the thick black hair and bright brown eyes and pale skin that earlier had looked normal, but now bore a striking resemblance to—

No. It couldn't be. It was just too improbable.

But I had to check, goddammit.

"Um," I said. "Um. Sorry. Sorry, it's just…" I shook my head, composing myself. "Shot in the dark, here, but do I look familiar to you?"

Her head cocked. "No. Not really. Why?"

"Um. What about my name?" I took a deep breath. "It's Keiko."

She did not react.

" _Yukimura_ Keiko."

Kagome continued to look nonplussed—and then her brow furrowed.

"Yukimura…Keiko?" she repeated.

"Yeah." I saw wheels turning in her head, or maybe I was just delusional, but either way I soldiered on. "And my best friend's name is Yusuke."

I stared straight into her eyes, with all the gravity I could muster.

" _Urameshi_ Yusuke," I said.

"Urameshi…" she repeated—and then her eyes opened so wide I feared they'd fall out of her head. "Urameshi… _Yusuke?!_ "

Was I striking it rich here? Was this actually happening? My heart beat like wild horses, adrenaline hot and thick. Time to go for the gold and find out.

"So, um." I heaved a helpless shrug. "You don't happen to know anyone named Inuyasha, do you?"

Kagome didn't move.

Then her mouth fell open.

She jumped back.

She pointed a finger at my face.

" _Oh my fucking dear sweet Jesus_!" she absolutely _screamed_. "Yu Yu Hakusho!?"

"Oh my god!" I pointed at her. "Inuyasha!?"

"Oh my god!" Her hands flapped. " _Yu Yu Hakusho_!"

"Oh my god!" My hands shook. " _Inuyasha_!"

"Are you—?"

"Are we both—?"

Kagome started screaming, wordlessly—but she was smiling, too, grinning so hard it put all earlier smiles to shame, and the next thing I knew she'd grabbed my hands and was pulling me along as she jumped in circles, screeching a banshee screech of unbridled joy so infectious it got me screaming, too.

Somewhere in the middle of the happy screech-fest, I felt tears on my cheeks.

It was the first time in Keiko's life I'd cried for joy, and though I hated crying, I couldn't keep the tears inside.

At last.

_I'd found someone else._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus begin the Inuyasha references.
> 
> I imagine Keiko would be SO RELIEVED if she found someone else in her position. More on this next chapter.
> 
> I was really sad people disliked Keiko's mom after chapter 11. Think my subconscious wanted to explain why she didn't want Keiko to learn to fight, hence that unexpected scene with her. That was not planned.
> 
> Keiko's cat's name translates to 'ghost.' I imagine Not-Keiko based the name on The Phantom of the Opera, as the cat has a white half-mask like the Phantom. I love that musical/book.


	16. What Are the Odds?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiko makes another startling discovery.

Kagome shoveled a huge bite of strawberry fro-yo and chocolate chips into her moth. I idly agitated my mango yogurt with a spoon, looking at my fellow switcheroo-character from the corner of my eye. Occasionally Kagome snuck a peek at me as she picked at her treat, but mostly she concentrated on her dessert.

As soon as we'd sat down, a silence—thick and heavy and as the fro-yo—fell over our table.

Not a lot of yogurt shops were open at 9 PM, but Kagome knew of one nearby that didn't think twice about someone her age stopping by so late. Girl came here a lot, it seemed. Once we'd come down from the high of our discovery, we walked over, ordered our fro-yo, and sat together at one of their patio tables. The silence descended not long after, broken only by the occasional car as it cruised down the quiet street.

…what the shit were we supposed to do now?

I'd been longing for someone to talk to for 14 years. Sure, I'd told Genkai just yesterday that I wasn't actually Keiko, but that hardly counted. Genkai didn't know what I was going through. Genkai wasn't in my position. Try though she might, she couldn't empathize. Not really.

Kagome, though? Theoretically, we had everything and more in common. We had theories and insecurities and plans to discuss, conversations about our fates and destinies to hold. She was the one person who might understand my worries—the one person who might be able to stand with me amidst all this incomprehensible bullshit.

…so why did my tongue tie every time I looked at her?

Was I intimidated by the thought of finally connecting with someone? Was I just too nervous to function? Was I afraid of what I might learn from her? Or was I so accustomed to keeping secrets that I'd forgotten how to tell the truth?

Looks like 14 years of silence and secrets had rendered me incapable of speech. What were the odds?

Kagome looked at me over the rim of her ice cream cup, eyes glimmering between strands of black bangs.

"I don't know where to start," she said.

My hand froze mid-stir.

"There's so much to talk about," she said. Her comically serious eyes didn't suit her childish face. "There's so much. Right?"

"Right," I said.

"I mean, I haven't told anybody. In this entire lifetime, I haven't told a soul anything about who I am. I haven't told anybody in my entire life. That's big. That's a long time to keep a secret." She spoke like even she was impressed with herself. "So what do I say now? Where do I start?"

"No idea. I mean, I'm in the same boat. Not knowing where to start and all that." Relief had me babbling. "I'm floored. Just floored. This is huge. Where do we even begin?"

Kagome slumped, head lolling over the back of her metal patio chair.

"OK, good," she groaned. "At least we're both gonna be awkward about this. That makes me feel better."

"Me too. I mean, 14 years of feeling completely alone in the world, and now…someone to talk to?" I rolled my eyes. "I've always wanted to meet someone who could understand, but now that I have, I'm completely speechless. That's not even fair."

"Agreed." She shoved another mouthful of fro-yo in her face. "Guess we should just...dive in?"

"Seems that way."

"OK, I'll start." A finger tapped her chin, amber eyes lifting skyward. "Um. So…how'd you kick the bucket?" A contrite, semi-horrified grin. "I mean, I'm assuming you kicked the bucket. Because that's what happened to me before..." She waved. "You know. This."

"Car wreck." Best not to sugarcoat it. "You?"

Matter-of-fact. "Drowned."

"Ouch." Curiosity got the best of me. "Was it painful?"

"Oh yeah. It was the worst!" Kagome looked strangely proud of herself. "Totally thought I was gonna die. And then I did! But it's OK." A curious glance in my direction. "How old are you?"

"Me, or Keiko?"

"Keiko."

"14."

Her fro-yo cup fell to the table with a pop. The girl smacked my arm, grinning ear to ear.

"Wow! Your plot's about to start! Yusuke get hit by a car yet, or no?" She frowned. "Wait. Is a car wreck how he dies? Can't remember. It's been a while."

"Yeah, car, and no, not yet. And how old are you?"

"10." Lips pursed. "I will be in a few weeks, anyway."

Interesting. This Kagome was super young. I'd never been a huge Inuyasha fan (I'd only watched the series because it came on back to back with Yu Yu Hakusho on AdultSwim), but even my brief flirtation with the series told me this Kagome was way younger than she had been in the anime. If my memory of the anime served…

"Doesn't Kagome fall down the Bone-Eater's Well for the first time when she turns 15?" I asked. "Seems you've got a ways to go before your own plot starts."

She sighed, long and dramatic. "Yup. That's right. I've got five years to kill before anything even remotely exciting happens." Another terrified grin. "Provided I remember the plot of Inuyasha correctly. Hopefully I do. I certainly don't remember anything fun happening to Kagome pre-well."

"I don't, either."

We lapsed into silence. Kagome ate her yogurt like it might be her last meal. I put my hand over my mouth and leaned my elbow on the table. Kagome was 10, five years from her plot, and here I was on the precipice of mine. Weird that we were at such different stages in our storylines. Why was that?

I wasn't sure. But no matter the 'why' of it, the fact remained that Kagome wasn't even close to meeting the demon Inuyasha. Part of me lamented I wouldn't get to meet more in-the-flesh characters (not for another five years, at least), but a much more prudent portion of me rejoiced. I had enough trouble managing my own canon. Getting stuck in a giant crossover would be a royal headache.

It helped that Inuyasha wasn't even on my top 10 favorite anime series list. I was in no great rush to further complicate my life with the addition of yet another bad-tempered demon, especially one I wasn't terribly excited to meet in the first place. I had enough to deal with, without Inuyasha crashing the party.

"So tell me," Kagome said. Her eyes glittered with mischief. "You taking fighting lessons to keep up with Yusuke?"

"Pretty much, yeah." A teasing smile. "Do you want to learn to fight so the Feudal Era won't be so scary?"

Her grin was sunshine and rainbows. "Yup!"

"Are you taking archery, too?"

"Duh! Figured I'd get a head start on that while I still could." She pantomimed drawing a bowstring. "Kagome is nothing without her arrows!"

"Are you doing anything else to prepare?"

Kagome's cheeks puffed out.

"Archery was all I could think of," she grumbled. "I don't remember if she had other skills."

"Well, I remember Kagome had to rough it a lot. Might be a good idea to learn to build a fire, cook, make a shelter, and other survivalist techniques like that."

"Oh shit. Good idea!" She dragged her hands down her face, pulling the skin below her eyes so she looked like that morose basset hound from Looney Toons. "Inuyasha was such a long anime! How's anybody supposed to remember all that crap?"

"I don't think I ever finished the series, to be honest," I confessed. Kagome shot me a look like one of her favored arrows. "Guess I lucked out with Yu Yu Hakusho. Short enough for me to remember all the major events. And I re-watched the whole series about two months before I died, so that was a stroke of luck…you OK?"

While I'd been speaking, Kagome had sunk down and forward until her chin rested on the table. She moaned and pressed her forehead to the tabletop. Her voice resonated against the metal surface. Girl sounded like a timid robot, but it was her words that set my blood to frosting.

"I never finished watching Inuyasha either," she said.

My jaw dropped. "What?!"

"I know, I know, it's terrible!" She threaded her hands into her hair and pulled, rocking from side to side in comical distress—but I couldn't laugh. "Oh, man! This sucks! I saw the show on Adult Swim a bunch of times but it's not like I was a super-fan or anything." The girl flopped backward, arm cast across her eyes. "Ugh! Why me? Why couldn't I have been sent into your fandom!? I owned the Blue Ray version of YYH!"

I stared at her in disbelief. Being unable to remember your own series—one you never even finished—must be terrifying. Downright, unequivocally terrifying. I'd be a nervous wreck if I didn't know Yu Yu Hakusho as well as I did. Grappling with the unknown was not my strong suit. Though I tried to look sympathetic, it was hard to not telegraph how horrified I felt.

"Do you want to talk about the series, see what we can remember together?" I suggested. "It might help to try writing it all down, too."

One doubtful eye peeped from under her arm. "You think so?"

"I do. That's what I did when I first got here."

"Really?" She cast the arm down. Her hair looked like a vulture's nest. "You did?"

"Well, the journals under my mattress certainly aren't full of cookie recipes."

The day my childhood hand gained enough coordination to hold a pen, I'd stolen a three-ring spiral from my father's workdesk and filled it with every last fact I could remember about Yu Yu Hakusho—and then I'd stolen another and filled it with memories of my old life. In English, of course, to protect my secrets from my parents' prying eyes. When my handwriting got better I transferred the notes to hard-bound journals. Whenever I thought of something new, or recovered another memory, I wrote it down. My notes were a record of my old life—the only record that existed, and one I meticulously maintained.

Those journals were my single most important possessions in this life.

"I started the journals because I suspected that, over time, my memories might degrade," I said. "I worried memories of my old life might be...replaced, sort of, by memories of this new life. I figured writing everything down while the memories were still fresh would keep them untainted."

Kagome looked ill. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Well, luckily I was proved mostly wrong. My memories have suffered normal degradation—no full replacement like I feared." Hopefully this would cheer her up. "And as a bonus, while writing it all down I actually triggered more memories and brought more details to the surface. So that was cool." I swirled my melted yogurt in circles. "Honestly, this whole thing is a puzzle of neurology."

Like a puppy, her head tilted to one side. "Neurology?"

"Yeah." I licked the spoon clean and held it aloft like a conductor's baton. "Neurology pretty clearly dictates that memories are stored chemically in the brain, yet you and I were born into new bodies with our old memories intact. Per conventional neurology, that should be impossible. Our physical brains have had no exposure to the events and resulting chemicals that forged our original memories. The fact that we remember our old lives defies everything we know about conventional neurology."

Kagome looked ill again, but this was the first time I'd ever expressed these theories aloud and I had no intention of stifling myself. If I was going to tumble down the existential rabbit hole, then dammit, I was going to take Kagome with me. She needed to get used to stumbling down dark passages. The Bone-Eater's Well was far scarier than this topic.

"All of this begs the question of how," I continued. "How and where were memories stored when our consciousnesses transferred into new physical forms? Is this situation of ours evidence of the existence of an incorporeal soul? Are memories stored not in the brain, but in some other form we don't yet understand? Or is conventional neurology applicable to most people, just not us due to extenuating circumstances?"

"Um. Good…questions?" She looked thoroughly uncomfortable. "I have no friggin' clue."

"Me neither. We live in a world with psychics, demons, and apparently time travelling wells now that you're in the equation. Conventional scientific theories are up for scrutiny, and I have neither the skills nor resources to conduct a thorough investigation." A resigned shrug. "It sucks. I hate not knowing how stuff works."

Kagome leaned backward, lips turned down, eyebrows raised in wary skepticism—like she was looking at a space alien. I fidgeted. What, was there fro-yo on my face?

"…you're a pretty big thinker, aren't you," she said.

Despite the phrasing, her words weren't a question. "Beg pardon?"

"Nothing you just said—none of that had occurred to me to think about." More of that space-alien look, but then it clarified into lightly impressed astonishment. "I've been in this situation for 10 years and…wow. Just. Wow." She shook her head and chuckled. "You are smart."

"Oh, I don't know about smart. More like well-trained." When she quirked a brow I said, "I went to college for philosophy, among other things, so…overthinking existential bullshit is sort of my jam."

A bark of a laugh, odd from the mouth of a 10 year old. "Not mine! I'm just trying to get by." Her irritable scowl didn't fit her young face, either. "Being a kid again is sort of fun, since there's less responsibility, but I do not like having a curfew." She stabbed her yogurt like it had personally wronged her. "Curfew is the sort of thing I worry about, not brain chemistry. I bet you think I'm pretty immature, huh?"

"No, no, you just…" I searched for words that would erase her exaggerated pout. "You have a very light presence. That's not a bad thing."

She slumped. "Uh uh. Sure."

"No, really. I appreciate it. I need someone like you around."

The pout turned suspicious. "How's that?"

"Well...my dad called me 'Eeyore' as a kid." I always thought I was more like Piglet, what with the anxiety and all, but nevertheless…I winked at Kagome. "Let's just say I could use a bouncy Tigger in my life. Keep things light, you know?"

She giggled. "Eeyore and Tigger, huh? I can see it. Seems we'll be a good match."

Quickly as it had come, her smile faded. She sat up and leaned toward me.

"Can I ask what year it was when you died?" she asked.

"2016. You?"

"Same. Huh. What're the odds?" Her expression morphed into one of grave importance. "Please. For the love of Christ, tell me you miss smartphones and email as much as I do."

The words exploded from my lips: "Oh my god, I would give my left kidney for the internet."

"And texting!" Kagome's eyes rolled back like she'd tasted something delectable. "MP3 players! FitBit! Facebook!"

I stifled a giggle—but then the thought of Facebook pinged around in my brain, triggering memories and associations until it settled on the most obvious thing I missed about 2016. Part of me didn't want to bring it up, but…

I set my cup of melted yogurt aside.

"Not to bring the mood down…"

Kagome scowled. "Good going, Eeyore."

"…but my friends. I miss my friends."

Kagome winced. "Yeah. I'd give up Facebook forever if I could just tell my bestie goodbye."

"Same."

My bestie. I tried very hard not think about how Olivia must have taken my demise. She'd lost her mother and both grandmothers less than a year prior to my death. We'd darkly joked 2016 couldn't get any worse, since literally all her mother figures had died within months of each other, but then…

Surprise.

2016 got in one last hit. Olivia lost her best friend—the person she'd leaned on in the wake of so much tragedy.

Not being there for her had nearly killed me again, when I realized what happened after I was reborn. Half the crying I did as an infant was for Olivia, not myself.

"I wish I could tell my family I'm OK," I said, pushing thoughts of Olivia from my head—not that thoughts of my family were much less devastating. "I wasn't close with many of my family members, but still. We lost my grandmother and great aunt in 2016. Losing me on top of that…I can't imagine how shaken they must be."

Kagome closed her eyes. When she opened them, sadness and loss swam in their amber depths. I knew exactly what those emotions looked like. I'd seen them in the mirror many times.

"I can't imagine how my husband must be faring." Pain ran her voice ragged. "I miss him so much. We were thick as thieves. Partners in crime and best friends till the end." Sadness faded into a fond smile. "Honestly, he'll probably die without me there to pester him into cleaning the house. He'll inhale toxic mold and our dogs'll eat him before the neighbors realize he's dead. That dummy." Her bangs shifted when she frowned. "Speaking of my husband. You know what else I miss?"

I shook my head. Kagome tilted close. She made a show of looking for eavesdroppers before cupping her hands around her mouth.

"I miss sex!" Kagome whisper-screamed. "I know that's disturbing coming from the mouth of a ten year old, but dammit do I miss sex! And it's not like I can get any at this age since that's illegal and gross and just plain wrong...so consider me fucked! But only metaphorically, and that's the problem!"

I laughed until I damn near went hoarse. Kagome flipped her hair and grinned.

"Oh man. I miss sex, too," I said, wiping tears on the back of my wrist. I'd left behind a certain special person of my own, but I didn't like to think about that. "So, you were married?"

"Yup. Five years."

"How old were you, before?"

"30."

If I'd been drinking something, I would've choked.

"How old were you?" she asked when she saw my face.

"26."

"Really?" Big eyes went bigger still. "I thought for sure you'd've been older than me!"

"Eeyore does have the temperament of a little old man." At least she and I agreed about our apparent ages—I'd expected her to be younger than me, for sure. "Anyway. Where were you from? What were you like?"

Kagome settled back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, I was from Colorado. I was a teacher." Her smile could melt butter. "I love kids. I'm a big kid at heart, so it fits. And I had to put that teaching degree to use somehow."

I personally didn't like kids one little bit, but I had enough teachers in my family to understand how dedicated a person had to be to become one. My respect for this Not-Quite-Kagome rose.

"And anyway, yeah, I was married, but no kids of my own yet unless you count my three dogs." She tapped her chin with a finger, thinking. "Parents died when I was twenty five, so not much family. One twin sister, though we weren't on speaking terms when I died. Husband's name was Jerry. Dogs were Julep, Raggedy Ann, and Buzz Lightyear. And…yeah. That's the basics." A hand flapped in my direction. "You? Where you from?"

"Texas."

"Oooo, John Wayne!" She pantomimed swinging a lasso. "Were you a cowboy?"

Her joking expression turned to one of surprise when I said: "I did grow up on a cattle ranch, actually, so…kind of. Yeah."

"Oh, wow. Could you ride a horse?"

"Yes. Did junior rodeo as a kid. And before you ask, yes, I wore a big hat and cowboy boots and said 'y'all' a lot."

"Really? I thought that was just a stereotype!"

"It is. Most Texans aren't landowners like my family. And I only wore that stuff when I was on the ranch. Wouldn't dream of it in the big city." Couldn't keep from giggling. "People from out of state joke about ten gallon hats and spurs, expecting me to deny it, but I actually owned both. It's funny how fascinated people get with Texas." I smirked. "Ironic, really. When I went to college out of state to escape Texas, Texas was all anyone would ask me about."

Her head tilted. "Why'd you want to escape Texas?"

I hesitated. Fingers fiddled with my spoon, twisting the plastic to the breaking point before easing up the pressure.

"Let's just say that despite my roots, I didn't really fit in in the South," I said at last. "Just wasn't where I was meant to be."

"Why not?" Kagome asked.

"Politics, mostly. It was tough, living in a red state." Thoughts of my conservative family made me laugh. I loved them, but man, the fights we'd had were the stuff of legend. "My uncles called me the 'Blue Sheep' of the family. My politics swing decidedly to the left. Add to that I was a vegetarian and more than a little queer…" A fuck-it-all shrug. "I don't know which was worse: coming out LGBT, or saying I'd never eat BBQ again. Or maybe it was the atheism. Who knows?"

Kagome swatted my arm. "You should've moved to Colorado, stayed with me! You would've fit right in!"

Relief felt like soda bubbles in my blood. I hadn't talked about these parts of my past for so long, I'd wondered if Kagome would be OK with my truths—if anyone would, in this time and place. Seems I'd lucked out, befriending a person so accepting.

"You OK?" Kagome asked. She put her hand on my arm—not swatting, just touching. "You've got major Eeyore-face."

"Sorry, just…grateful to have met you, is all." I put my hand over hers and squeezed. Her fingers were so tiny. "It's just nice to finally get to be myself. All of myself."

Her soft smile, edged with pity and understanding, gave me comfort.

"I get you," she said. "I've been in this situation for less time than you, but even I know how lonely it gets."

We sat in silence for a while, hands intertwined, silent companionship as easy as it was soothing. Eventually she withdrew her hand and tipped the remains of her yogurt into her mouth. Pink stained her lips like melted sakura petals—oh. That reminded me.

"Hey. So here's a weird and probably really important question," I said.

She licked the yogurt away. "Shoot, Eeyore."

"OK, that cannot be my nickname."

"You'd rather I call you 'Keiko'?" came her rhetorical retort. "Cuz I know that ain't your real name, and I know I'm sick and tired of getting called 'Kagome'."

She had a point—it sucked being called by a name that didn't feel like mine, even after 14 years of being stuck with it…but I still preferred 'Keiko' over a Winnie the Pooh reference, and by quite a margin.

"OK, yeah, 'Keiko' sucks," I said, "but I don't remember my real name, so..."

"I don't remember mine, either." Not-Kagome wore a roguish grin when she teased me. "Looks like we're Eeyore and Tigger, after all!"

I groaned. Kagome swatted my arm again. She did that a lot. It would be endearing until she had a growth spurt and gained some muscle mass.

"Oh, stop, you love the nickname," she said. "Now what were you gonna ask me?"

"I was going to as if you've met Hiruko yet."

Given what I knew of her personality, I expected Kagome to react to mention of the super-annoying Hiruko with verve and (possibly aggressive) gusto. Instead her lip jutted as she wracked her brain, hand cupping her chin.

"Hiruko?" she repeated.

"Yeah." Surely she knew who he was. Maybe she was just having trouble with names. "Little kid in straw sandals and a red robe?"

"Sorry. Not ringing any bells."

Despite the sincerity in her big brown eyes, I doubted her—or rather, I doubted Hiruko. Hiruko seemed like a total busybody. How could not have contacted Kagome? Kagome was far more important in Inuyasha than Keiko was in YYH. Between the two of us, she seemed infinitely more important.

"Fishhook earring?" I pressed. "Pink hair? And you'd have dreamed about him, not met him in person. Does that help?"

Kagome tittered. "I think I'd remember a kid like that, even if I met him in a dream."

Huh. Interesting. Definitely hadn't expected this.

"OK," I said. "Well, if you do have a dream involving a kid with pink hair and a fishhook earring, let me know. I think he's responsible for putting us in these bodies."

Kagome didn't react at first. She just blinked, staring with expression I can only describe as "nonplussed"—and then her eyes bugged out of her skull.

"Seriously?" Her voice rose an octave as she lurched from her chair, hands clapping the metal table with a clang. "Seriously!? Dude. Dude! Why haven't I heard from this jackass?! I've got a major bone to pick with him! Why I oughtta—"

Now there was the spitfire I'd been expecting. Not-Kagome ranted about wanting to meet the asshole who had upended her life for nearly two minutes before slamming back into her seat, arms locked across her chest. One of her legs bumped up and down, vibrating like an idling engine as she muttered and grumbled about the unfairness of it all, not to mention the decapitation she'd give this guy if she ever laid eyes on him.

I really, really liked this girl. Of all the people who could have been reborn as Kagome, I was glad it was her.

"Don't worry," I said once she quieted. One of her eyebrows popped. "I've given him an earful more than once. He knows he's on the shit list."

"Good," Kagome huffed. "He'd better."

"Regardless, if you do wind up meeting him, be sure to pile it on thick. Little shit deserves it."

"Oh, trust me. I won't hold back." Doe eyes narrowed. "Why do you think this guy is responsible for us, anyway?"

My lips twisted, caught halfway between a grimace and a smile. "Because he said he was."

"And you trust him?"

"That's…not an easy question to answer."

I told Kagome everything I knew. She listened with rapt attention, and when I finished, she sat back in her seat and scowled.

"A fate to defy, huh," she said. "This guy sounds annoyingly self-important."

"Can't argue with that."

"Ha. Asking if you trust him wasn't a fair question. It's clear he's involved, and that means we need to stay on his good side so we can mine him for information." Wheels spun behind her eyes. "I don't believe for a minute he has our best interests at heart. His obsession with us breaking rules rustles my jimmies."

"Agree," I said. "Too bad we can't risk alienating him. We might need him. We still have no idea what he wants, but I'll be damned if I let him use us without a fight."

"Oooh." Kagome's eyes sparkled. "He's playing us, so we're gonna play him right back. Smart." Her scowl returned. "But if he's trying to play people, why hasn't he tried to talk to me yet? Seems two pawns would be better than one."

"I have a theory on that, actually."

Kagome perked up. "Of course you do, you big thinker. Now spill!"

Fighting back a smile, I said, "The first time he showed up, he said it was because I broke the rules. I have the exact quote written down at home, but he said something like…breaking the rules 'made the tapestry light up,' and he could finally find me because of that broken rule."

"Tapestry? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Not sure. Maybe something to do with the threads of fate? I'm honestly not sure if he was being metaphorical, or what." I shook my head. "Anyway. The day Hiruko first appeared to me was the same day I met Kuwabara, and I met Kuwabara way before Keiko did in the anime. I think that was the event that counted as breaking the rules."

Kagome remained unmoved. "And this circles back to me, how?"

"Like you said earlier—Kagome's story didn't start till she was 15. Her life wasn't shown until she turned 15, anyway, and there weren't many characters, if any, in her present timeline who actually impacted the events of the series after she went down the well. There's no one she could interact with at age 10 who could change the direction of her life." I tapped the table with a fingernail for emphasis. "Maybe it's too early for you to be breaking rules, because in this part of the timeline—"

Kagome pointed at me, jaw dropping. "Oh—oh! I get it! Because Kagome's life was a giant question mark before the Bone Eater's Well activated, there are no rules for me to break yet!"

"Exactly!"

"This makes so much sense! No wonder Hiruko hasn't talked to me." Her lips curved. "Meeting you seems like a broken rule. Think I'll be meeting the infamous Hiruko soon?"

"Definitely keep an eye out for him, for sure. But don't get discouraged if he doesn't appear right away. He's elusive." I held up two fingers. "I've only met him twice. Once when I was seven, and then again two nights ago."

"Wow, just two nights? What rule did you break this time?"

"I made friends with Kuwabara." Hiruko had seemed pleased by this transgression, so I figured that was it. "Kuwabara and Keiko didn't really interact much, so…"

"Kuwabara…" Kagome thought on it a minute, then smiled. "Right. The one with the long red hair."

"No, that's Kurama."

"Oops. Too many characters in that anime have K names!" She tapped her chin, thinking—and then she snapped her fingers. "Right! Curly orange hair, loud, ugly? Dumb?"

I winced. "He's not actually dumb. Just unfocused. But yeah. That's the guy."

Kagome seemed quite satisfied with herself. "Cool."

"Yes. He's very cool." I'd have to educate her about the awesomeness of Kuwabara soon, but now was not the time to indulge my inner fangirl. "I also went to Genkai, which Keiko never ever did. Remember Genkai?"

"How could I forget. She's such a badass. But what'd you want to meet her for?"

I explained. Kagome nodded her approval.

"Good thinking. Even if she couldn't make you psychic, at least she gave you Uehara. He's supposed to be the best."

Now that piqued my interest. "He is? Really?"

"Yup. That's what my grandpa said." One small thumb jerked toward her chest. "That's how I heard about him. The guy worked at the shrine a long time ago. Grandpa says he's an aikido master and nobody would make a better sensei." Her glower burned intense enough to singe. "Pretty sure Grandpa thinks I'll give up and quit when it gets hard, but I've never quit anything in my life, so he's got another thing coming!"

"Funny—my mom thought the same thing," I said. "She hated when I asked to take lessons and was glad when I quit my old sensei. I haven't told her about Uehara yet." My feet shifted, nerves rising. I passed my hands through my hair, fiddling with the ends of my pigtails until the feeling settled. "Still don't know how I'll keep this from her. I don't like lying, but it's important I learn to fight."

"Parents," Kagome sighed, as if it explained everything (and perhaps it did). Her grin was positively roguish. "Hey—if you need a cover, just say you're helping out at my grandpa's shrine for extra credit. I'll get him in the loop. He'll cover for you, no problem."

Her offer—selfless and sudden and instantaneous—made me feel a whole heck of a lot better. I dropped the pigtail and put my hand on my thigh, calm and still once more.

"Thank you," I told her. "I mean it. That'll really help."

"No problem! I'm just glad we met, y'know?" Her expression turned serious. "This is one crazy coincidence, if you ask me. Think this was by accident, or by design?"

"No idea," I said. "I find design more probable, but if it's actually coincidence, then it's proof we live in a really small world—small even without the help of the internet." I shook my head and laughed, more out of desperate relief than humor. "I still can't believe I found someone else, you know? Hiruko mentioned something about 'other candidates' at one point, but I thought I was the only one he'd picked. Never thought I'd find another person like me, and—why are you looking at me like that?"

Kagome stared with outright alarm, like I'd pulled off a mask and revealed I was actually a chupacabra wearing human skin. I stared right back, what-the-fuck-is-wrong written all over my face. I got the feeling that if she'd been standing, Kagome would be edging away from me. Slowly.

"You…you never suspected there was more than one of us?" she said, incredulous and careful. "You? Miss Super Thinker?"

"Um. No?" Her expression set my blood to heating. "Did you suspect something?"

Kagome stared for another moment, and then her eyes fell shut. She took three deep breaths, then opened her eyes again.

They glittered. With humor? I wasn't sure.

"Hey, Eeyore," Kagome said. "I take it you don't follow the news much, right?"

"Not really." I had more pressing matters to attend to than politics in this new life. "Why do you ask?"

Rather than reply, Kagome stood. The legs of her chair rang against the pavement like bells.

"Follow me," she said—and the next thing I knew, she'd grabbed her gym bag and taken off down the street.

After scrambling to throw our trash away (being in a hurry was no excuse to leave your yogurt cup behind, Kagome!) I followed my new friend. With my longer legs, I caught up by the time she reached the corner. She turned left, then right, tracing a winding path toward the city's most popular shopping district. Many shops and restaurants were still open around here. People milled on the sidewalks, minding their own business beneath glimmering neon signs, only glancing our way when Kagome nearly barreled into someone and shrieked at them to watch their step. Man, did she have a pair of lungs! I apologized as we ran past. People jumped out of Kagome's way like she was an oncoming train instead of a particularly forceful ten-year-old.

Just as I was about to ask where the heck she was taking us, she skidded to a stop on the sidewalk and pointed.

"That newsstand," she said. "C'mon."

The man behind the counter of the newsstand barked at Kagome when she snatched up a local paper, asking if she was going to pay for that, but she dug into her pocket and tossed him a coin before the words were even out. The girl cursed as her small hands fumbled with the sheets, but soon she held aloft one of the back pages.

"Sorry to spring this on you," she said, angling the paper toward the light of the lamppost overhead, "but do you recognize her?"

I started to ask what the heck she was talking about, but as soon as I opened my mouth Kagome hissed through her teeth and rattled the paper. I sighed, exasperated, and leaned down to see what she was trying to show me—

Oh.

Oh.

I snatched the paper from her tiny hands and stared, stared, stared until I thought I might burn a hole straight through the blurry image printed below the article's bold title.

MASKED VIGILANTE FOILS YAKUZA PLOT, it said.

And the girl in the photo—

The one wearing the red domino mask and schoolgirl sailor uniform—

The one with the long blonde hair pulled back with a red ribbon, visible even in this out-of-focus shot—

The one kicking a tattooed mobster in the face with a red high heel, fighting stance unclear but recognizable in the center of the fuzzy photo—

"OK," Kagome said. "Don't keep me in suspense. Do you know her?" She laughed. "I'm guessing yes, if your oh-shit-face is any indication."

I swallowed. I tucked the paper under my arm and rubbed my temples with my fingers.

"She started showing up a few months ago," Kagome said. "Media loves her. Haven't given her a name yet, but I'm sure in a few weeks they'll come up with the obvious."

I hummed an affirmation. I wasn't capable of much else.

"I've been collecting newspaper articles, trying to find her, but no luck yet. Seems active mostly in Tokyo, but she's come here a few times." She chucked my arm, beaming. "Can't believe I saw this before you, Miss Thinker!"

"This," I said. I paused so I could collect myself. My heart pounded like the bass drum on a Megallica track. "This is insane."

"Insane, or awesome?" Kagome said.

"Insane. Definitely, definitely insane."

She chucked my arm again.

"Oh, c'mon! Cheer up!" she warbled. " You can't possibly be upset that Sailor V is out there!"

There it was.

She'd said it.

Sailor V.

Soon-to-be Sailor Venus.

Leader of the Sailor Scouts, and guardian of the Moon Princess, Serenity.

If I hadn't seen the photo with my own eyes, I'd have called Kagome a nutbar.

"This is…you mean to tell me Sailor Moon exists in this world?" I grated out when I found the will to speak. Kagome's chipper face reflected none of the anxiety mounting in my chest. "That's three separate fandoms in the same universe. How the hell does that even work? How the hell is that possible?"

Because it shouldn't work. It couldn't work. Sailor V could not be here. That was just not fucking possible, OK?! This was beyond anything I'd ever dreamed or suspected, even after meeting Kagome and realizing there was another—

Another.

No.

Others.

I smacked the paper with the back of my hand, because that was all I could manage just then and because oh my god, what the fuck did all of this even mean?

"I just. I'm beyond. I can't. I mean…dude. Bro. C'mon," I babbled. My voice shook like a sail in a storm. The syllables cracked and broke and strained, but somehow I ground the words out. "What are the odds at least one of the Sailor Scouts is like us? Low, right? Because this doesn't make any sense."

Kagome—another girl of many lives, another switcheroo character, my new friend and only confidante—grinned like the devils we were both destined to meet.

"Sorry, dollface," she told me, "but I'm betting the odds of that are pretty damn high."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though response to the last chapter was overwhelmingly positive (OMG GUYS, I LOVE YOU), people voiced understandable concerns about crossover elements becoming unwieldy. I assume there will be further concerns with this additional twist.
> 
> Be assured that crossover bits will NOT overtake the YYH elements of the story. As stated, we have five years to go before any more Inuyasha characters could appear, and if Sailor V is still around, Sailor Moon has not yet awoken to her powers. Rest easy. It's all YYH all the time. The rest is just for flavor.
> 
> Luckily, I've got some huge ones in store...and they're not even crossovers.  
> You'll see.


	17. Wouldn't It Be Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko has one last hurrah.

Yusuke died before I was ready.

But death never waits till you're prepared.

* * *

The day after I discovered I was not alone in this world, all I wanted to do was sleep through lunch.

Eimi—the pig-tailed friend of Keiko's from the anime—gave me a pitying look before I pillowed my head on my school bag. We sat in a knot of desks at the back of the class while other students dragged desks together and ate their midday meals. Yusuke was absent today, not that that came as a surprise. He'd been coming to school less and less lately. Since I hadn't seen him over the weekend, I hadn't been able to guilt him into attending. Too busy with Genkai and Kagome, although Yusuke was probably relieved to get me out of his hair…

"So where exactly did you go, again?" Eimi asked.

"Sleep," I groaned. "I want to go to sleep."

"Oh, c'mon, Keiko," said Michiko. She was, as you might recall, the short, bespectacled friend from the anime. "You look like a zombie. Now give us the details!"

I lifted my chin and set it on the bag, staring at my friends with expression most baleful. How the hell was I supposed to explain the events of the past two days to these two? "Oh hey, girls, I trekked into the mountains to talk to a crotchety old spiritualist in pursuit of psychic powers, and then I stayed up half the night talking to my mother about my savior complex, and then I took aikido lessons from a maniac and met a girl from an anime series that existed in another world I used to call home and stayed up all night again. Isn't that _interesting_?"

Something told me they wouldn't understand, much less approve of my hobbies.

"Look—I was up late studying two nights in a row, that's all." I put my forehead back on my bag. "It's no big deal."

"Uh-huh. Sure," said Michiko.

"You'd tell us if there was a boy, right?" said Eimi.

I sat up. I glared. The girls were not intimidated.

"Because Yuhata from class C said she saw you in the shopping district last night," Eimi said.

"You'd tell us if there was a boy, right?" said Michiko.

"A boy who isn't _Yusuke_ , we mean," said Eimi.

"He doesn't count," said Michiko.

Oh my god. Were they stalking me? Was the entire school invested in my private life? Could a girl not have some _privacy_ , I ask you?!

"People are starting to talk, Keiko," Eimi said. "You're always with Yusuke, and you turned down that upperclassman…"

I winced. A month ago, a ninth grader had asked me out. The guy hadn't taken it well when I said I wasn't interested in dating. Rumors started spreading shortly thereafter: _Keiko is frigid; Keiko is stuck up_ ; and, apparently, _Keiko is dating the school's resident delinquent_ , which was so untrue it was almost funny.

The rumors hadn't persisted, thank the fates. Michiko and Eimi had dispatched them like a pair of Yakuza hitmen. Nobody spread rumors about our friend group on their watch. They just wouldn't stand for it. _Friends for life,_ as they'd say. _We have to stick together._

Within our friend group, however, asking about those murdered rumors was fair game.

"People think you and Yusuke are _together_ ," said Michiko. She held a finger aloft as she made a solemn decree. "You need to go on at least one date, Keiko, preferably with an upperclassman. People are calling you an old maid, or worse—Yusuke's _girlfriend_!"

Took every ounce of self-control I possessed to not snark at them. I tamped down the urge and plastered on my most patient, warm, Class-Rep-Keiko Smile. It fit my face like a glove made for a child's hand, but I wore it well. I'd had practice.

"Girls, I know you're worried about me, but I'll be fine," I said, with warmth and patience and firm determination. "You know I'm not interested in dating. Yusuke is no exception, I promise."

"I refuse to believe someone as smart as you doesn't date because of their grades," Eimi said. She crossed her arms. "What's the real reason, hmm?"

"Are you and Yusuke secretly dating, after all?" Michiko asked. "Is that it?"

I cradled my head in my hands. These two never gave up when it came to my love life—not that I could blame them. My excuses for turning down dates weren't very good. 'I worry dating will affect my grades' was only plausible for so long, since my grades never dipped below straight As no matter what I did. And asking them to just lay off wouldn't work. These were teenage girls who cared very much about reputation. Perfectly normal for their age, to obsess over stuff like this.

Too bad it wasn't perfectly normal for _mine_.

They had no idea I was actually closer to 40 than 14. Dating anyone Keiko's age simply felt too pedophilic for comfort. So, nope. No dates for me, much as it drove my friends crazy.

Luckily they didn't get to interrogate me for long. Soon one of our classmates class asked me to help with her English homework. So much for my nap. I tried my best not to yawn while assisting her with her exercises. Grateful for the distraction, really. At least this kept the questions at bay. Wouldn't it be nice if this distraction lasted forever?

Too bad it didn't. When our classmate walked away, my friends picked up right where they left off.

Or they tried too, anyway. Just as Eimi opened her mouth, someone called my name from the classroom doorway. I looked up—

_Oh._

_What was_ he _doing here?_

Kuwabara stood outside, staring at me from the other side of one of the windows overlooking the hallway. He waved when I caught my eye, broad face alight with an eager smile.

He also had a black eye, bruise green at the edges and purple at the heart. Contrasted magnificently with his carroty hair and cerulean uniform. I was almost impressed. That amount of clashing took talent.

Beside me, Eimi and Michiko gave identical, muffled shrieks.

I lurched to my feet as my heart did a handspring. Eimi and Michiko whisper-screamed after me as I stiffly walked toward the door, asking _who is that guy_ and _why is his face all messed up, that's so indecent!_ I ignored them, stalking out the door as basically every eye in the classroom descended on me.

The hallway was nearly deserted, excepting Kuwabara—everyone eating in classrooms or the cafeteria, I guess. He turned to me when I walked up, but his grin faded a little when he saw my face.

Over his shoulder, I saw Eimi and Michiko. Watching. Whispering behind their hands as they stared.

Pretty sure I'd've been a nervous wreck if I'd been in my old body. Luckily Keiko's skin held firm around my spirit, wearing her best Class Representative Smile with aplomb.

Bless you and your nerves of steel, Keiko. Bless you.

"Hello, Kuwabara-san." I performed a polite, shallow bow. His smile faded into uncertainty. "It's good to see you. How are you doing?"

"Oh. Um. I'm fine?" He pointed at the green and purple halo around his eye. "It's not as bad as it looks, if that's what you mean." A bumbling laugh. "Urameshi's given me a lot worse than this before, that's for sure!"

"I imagine he has," I said. "So how can I help you?"

His smile dimmed further.

"I, uh, thought you might like this," he said—and he took a book from under his arm and thrust it toward me. "It's a 'thank you' for the weekend." The boy rubbed the back of his neck when I took the book, pleased. "Hope that's not weird."

"Not weird at all. And thank you." I bowed again. "I'll return it quickly."

His uncertainty shifted into outright confusion.

"Are…are you OK?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," I said, with a beatific smile for good measure. Eimi and Michiko's scrutiny weighed heavy on my shoulders—and then I got an idea. Angling so it wouldn't hurt the object, I let the book slip from my fingers.

"Oops!" I said as it hit the floor. "So sorry!"

Ever the gentleman, Kuwabara stooped to pick up the book. I knelt beside him, ducking below the line of classroom windows.

The second Eimi and Michiko couldn't see me, I dropped my Class-Rep-Keiko act and grabbed Kuwabara's shirt sleeve. He did a cartoonish doubletake between my face and my hand and blurted, "Yukimura!?"

"Hey, um, sorry—just act normal."

"Oh. OK?" Despite his consent, his expression was anything but normal. I'd never seen his narrow eyes so round. "What's wrong?"

"I'll explain later, just not now. After school." I pleaded with both my voice and my eyes, begging him to understand that this was a teenage girl thing and it was stupid and please don't think I'm too weird to be your friend! "Meet me by the back gates after last period?"

"S-sure." Genuine concern softened his stony face. "Really, though. Are you OK?"

"Peachy, just—my friends are _nosy_." The boy looked utterly mystified. I patted his elbow and tried to look apologetic. "It's dumb. You'll see. I'll explain later."

I plastered my Class-Rep-Keiko Smile back on and stood. Kuwabara followed suit and, with all the wariness of a person trying to feed a snarling dog, handed me the book again. I took it and beamed.

"Sorry for my clumsiness, and thank you very much for the book, Kuwabara-san." I gave him a deeper bow this time. "Please have a nice day!"

Then I turned on my heel and marched back inside.

Kuwabara's voice drifted after me like a misplaced wind.

"Um…you too, Yukimura?"

I didn't dare look back at him through the windows, but I didn't need to. Eimi and Michiko stared at him as he walked away down the hall, heads moving in unison I would've found comical if I wasn't so sure they'd pounce on me as soon as Kuwabara got away.

My predication came true when their heads snapped back to me.

"Who was that?" Eimi demanded.

"Kuwabara," I said as I sat at my desk. I put down the book and picked up my chopsticks, hoping if I began to pointedly eat they'd leave me be.

No such luck.

"What did he want with you?" asked Michiko.

"To thank me.

Eimi said, "What for?"

"Helping him with his homework."

"Right. So why did he have a black eye?" Michiko asked.

"Why does everyone have a black eye around here?" I grumbled. "He ran afoul of Yusuke."

"Is that so."

"Yes."

"And you're sure you're not dating Yusuke?"

I stabbed my chopsticks into my bento. Eimi and Michiko exchanged a look. Then Eimi picked up Kuwabara's book. Her brows lifted.

" _Butterflies of South America_?" she said.

"Yeah." I lifted a lump of rice to my lips. "You know I enjoy entomology."

The girls looked supremely unconvinced, but they didn't say anything more on the subject...for now. Something told me this wouldn't be the end of it. They'd dig into the rumor mill and confront me with the stuff they learned about Kuwabara before really doubling down on the interrogation.

In their own way, they were trying to protect me. I'm sure I would've appreciated it if I was their age, not a grumpy adult stuck helplessly in middle school.

Class resumed shortly thereafter. When it ended everyone headed for their respective afterschool activities: sports, clubs, and similar. I had duties as the Class Rep to attend to (filing, mostly, which I could do practically in my sleep). Time oozed like molasses, and when I finally got to leave, I all but sprinted to the back gate. Would Kuwabara even be there? I'd been pretty weird to him earlier, so it wouldn't surprise me if—

I couldn't keep from smiling when I saw his copper hair from a distance. He leaned on the gate, chin tucked to his chest as students passed him. Most gave him a wide berth, I noticed, but he didn't acknowledge them aside from a few bold stares to those who looked at him too long.

I was reminded, then, that despite our budding friendship, Kuwabara was still regarded as the second worst punk at this school. No one else thought he was as cuddly as I did.

Kuwabara saw me from the corner of his eye, and lifted a hand in greeting. He didn't smile, which made my heart lurch. I skidded to a stop before him and immediately started babbling. Nerves. Keiko had a steadier constitution than I did, but there were some habits I just couldn't break.

"Wasn't sure if you'd show up!" I said. "Thanks for the book, it looks awesome. Butterflies are cool. And I'm so sorry about earlier. My friends are really weird and they just pry into everything. As soon as you left they started asking who you were, so I played it off because otherwise they'd corner you and ask how you knew me and it would make your social life really, _really_ awkward, trust me. It sucks. Anyway." I held up the book and beamed. "Thanks for this. It looks cool. A few weeks ago I was watching this documentary about _Anaea nessus_ conservation efforts—"

Kuwabara stepped back and lifted a hand, index finger pointing directly at my face.

" _There_ you are!" he declared, like he'd located the lost treasure of Davey Jones. "I knew you were in there somewhere!"

I moved back a step. "What?"

"You're back! It's _you_." He waved at the school. "Whoever I was talking to at lunch today was a totally different person." Then his face flushed. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at my shoes. "Oh, uh, sorry. It's just…between out here and in there, it's like two different people. I was wondering where the girl I met last week was."

"Ah." I didn't blame him one bit for feeling confused. I gave him an apologetic smile—but _not_ the kind I'd give to people at school. "Today you got to meet Class Rep Keiko. She's polite, helpful, kind, firm, and a teacher's dream." A shrug. "I can't keep that up all the time, I'm afraid. Too exhausting."

"Oh, I don't mind," said Kuwabara. "I think I like this you better, anyway."

He'd spoken without thinking, if his chipper, innocent expression was anything to go by. I bit the inside of my cheek. Oh, shoot. This was just too good. Sly teasing edged my smile as I sidled up and nudged him in the ribs.

"You _like_ _me_ better, huh?" I said.

"Yeah, I—" He stopped. Thought about it. And then he was blinking and sputtering and the color of a fire engine. "H-hey, don't take that the wrong way! I—"

I slapped his back and nearly doubled over laughing. Kuwabara stared like I'd sprouted antlers. The joke sank in a moment later. His jaw dropped.

"Hey! That wasn't funny!" he said.

"Nah. It was actually pretty hilarious." I wiped away a tear. "Sorry. Couldn't resist. I know what you meant." When his scowl didn't fade, I clapped his shoulder. "But hey—as an apology for subjecting you to the polite stylings of Class Rep Keiko as well as my dumb jokes, how about we get you those albums we talked about the other day?"

The scowl evaporated. "Really? Because I was super mad I walked off without getting them last time!"

"Eh, it's OK. Yusuke practically dragged you." I nodded toward the street. "C'mon. Follow me."

The restaurant wasn't too far from the school. Kuwabara and I maintained a steady stream of chatter, mostly about the book he'd given me and the bands I was about to give him, until we walked up to the restaurant. A few customers were exiting through the front doors, so I tugged on Kuwabara's sleeve and bade him follow me around back.

As soon as we entered the alleyway, I saw my father. He sat on an empty vegetable crate near the fence way at the back, hand clenched around a length of pipe he was using to stir something inside a large plastic bucket. The man looked up when we came around the corner.

"Keiko, honey, welcome home!" he said—and then he spotted Kuwabara. His lips thinned at the sight of the Kuwabara's black eye. "Who's your friend?"

"Dad, this is Kuwabara Kazuma. He's a classmate." I nudged Kuwabara forward. "Kuwabara, this is my father."

Kuwabara 'eeped,' face reddening, and dipped into a 90-degree bow. I hid my laugh behind a hand. This guy would eventually stare demons in the face, but right now he was intimidated by my dad.

"It's nice to meet you, Yukimura-san!" Kuwabara said. "Your daughter is very nice!"

A smile slipped across Dad's mouth. "Isn't she, though?"

"Yes! The nicest!"

If there was any way to get on my father's good side, it was to compliment his only daughter. Even seemed to erase the stigma of a black eye. Dad grinned, stood, and walked over so he could clap Kuwabara on the shoulder. Kuwabara looked uncertain until my dad declared, "Bring your family by the restaurant sometime—any friend of Keiko's eats for free!"

"Oh, uh—that's too kind! I couldn't—"

"Nonsense." At age 14 Kuwabara was already taller than my father. I could see Dad was impressed by this as he looked Kuwabara up and down. "You seem like a strapping fellow. Carry Keiko's books sometime and we'll call it an even trade."

"Oh! Um. Yes sir!"

Although watching Kuwabara bumble around my dad was great fun, I was curious about something. I gestured at the bucket. "What're you working on, Dad?"

Dad trotted back toward the bucket, reached behind the crate he'd been sitting on, and dragged out a large plastic box printed with a colorful picture of a concrete Buddha surrounded by a greenery.

"Making an idol for the new restaurant," he said, showing us the box containing the concrete mold. "We're opening a second location next week. New place won't feel like a real restaurant until I pour up a new patron!"

Dad was more concerned with decorating the new restaurant than my mother, funnily enough. Here he went again with more décor. Mom would shake her head and sigh when she found out he planned on adding something else to the new place. We'd been prepping it for months and were just a few days from the grand opening. Seems Dad had forgotten one final touch.

I glanced at the Buddha sitting near the back door, the one that had watched over me all my life. That one sported a mild, serene smile, but this new idol grinned so hard, his cheeks threatened to come detached from his face.

"He's certainly a happy Buddha," I said.

"Buddha?" Dad said, blinking at me in surprise. He tapped the idol on the box. " _That's_ not the Buddha!"

"It's not?"

Dad rolled his eyes. "I didn't read you enough fairy tales as a kid. This is Ebisu—god of fortune and food." He winked. "Perfect god for a ramen shop, don't you think?"

Kuwabara put his hand to his chin and leaned toward the box. Then he pointed at the figure's hands, and the object held within them.

"Why's he carrying a fishing pole if he's the god of fortune and food?" Kuwabara asked.

"Um…good question." Dad laughed, head throwing back. "Looks like I didn't read enough fairy tales, either!"

I giggled. "Nice going, Dad!"

He shooed us inside shortly thereafter, saying we should go study (I guess he assumed that's why Kuwabara was here—I got the feeling that if I'd been so inclined, sneaking a boyfriend or girlfriend into the house would be easy if it was just Dad at home). I showed Kuwabara through the back door, where we removed our shoes before climbing the stairs to the second floor. My bedroom was at the end of the hall. He walked behind me until I opened the door and stepped over the threshold, but as soon as I did I heard him let out a little strangled sound of consternation.

"What?" I said, turning to look at him.

He stood with toes on the threshold, staring into the room with mouth agape. His mouth slammed shut when our eyes met.

"What's wrong?" I said.

"Is it—is it OK for me to be in here?" Kuwabara's voice had climbed at least two octaves. "I mean, is it OK—"

"It's a girl's room, not a minefield," I said. There he went being all needlessly chivalrous again. "Come on in."

When he remained unmoved, I grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged him forward.

"Relax," I chided. "Seriously. It's fine. Nothing will bite you."

After a moment's hesitation, he gingerly sat down at my desk, hands folded carefully on his lap. I suppressed a laugh at his prim posture. Ever the gentleman, despite that carved-from-granite face and tough-guy attitude.

I walked to the foot of my bed, where a short set of shelves houses my collection of CDs and vinyl records. The record player on top of the shelves gleamed with polished brass accents—super retro and awesome-looking. Played music like a dream. Kuwabara let out a low whistle when I lifted the lid.

"That's a nice rig," he said.

"Thanks. It was a birthday present." I knelt and dragged a finger down the spines of my records, arranged neatly by band name. "OK, so what did I say I'd pull?"

"Buddhist heaven," said Kuwabara.

"Nirvana, right." I pulled out their latest and set the record in the player. "And if you're going to listen to _In Bloom,_ you've gotta try—"

As music filled the air, I walked my fingers over my collection and pulled out a few choice records. I described each of them aloud, listing genre and influences, and Kuwabara returned the favor by recommending bands with similar sounds. Soon I found myself with my back to my record collection so I could look at Kuwabara while we talked. He had the most interesting mannerisms, characterized by wild gesticulation and exaggerated facial expressions. I found it hard to do more than just let my favorite anime character wax poetic about his favorite bands. He got especially animated when he talked about Megallica, and about the concert they were supposed to play in town early next year.

"I really, really want tickets," he told me, jaw jutting dangerously close to a pout. "Don't think I'll get to go, though. Dad says I can only go if I start getting better grades." He huffed. "Fat chance of that."

"What are your grades like, anyway?" I asked. Please tell me he scored better than a 7 on most tests.

"I'm good at science and I'm not bad at math," Kuwabara said, eyes drifting away from mine, "but literature and history aren't my best, and man, English is _tough_. I think I'd be OK with literature and history if I studied, but English…"

"Well if you need help with that, English is my best subject."

His voice pitched high again. "Really?"

"Yes," I said in Japanese—and then I switched over to English, letting my American accent run amok. "Truthfully, I'm actually fluent because I grew up in America. I'm a 40 year old woman from another reality trapped in the body of a middle school anime character. It's confusing and weird but hey, at least I can ace English class without trying."

Kuwabara's eyes opened wider and wider with every word. When I finished, he looked almost awed.

"Wow," he breathed. "You're pretty much fluent, aren't you?"

"Yeah. She is. Keiko likes to show off."

Kuwabara and I flinched at the sound of this new voice, but it was only Yusuke leaning against my doorframe, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his jeans. I slumped, relieved it was him and not someone fluent in my native language, Kuwabara lurched to his feet.

"Urameshi?!" he yelped.

Yusuke lifted one lazy hand, the very portrait of does-not-give-a-damn.

"When did you get here?" I asked from my spot on the floor.

"Why?" Yusuke slunk inside and sat on my bed, leaning nonchalantly against the headboard. "Afraid I saw something I shouldn't?"

My eyes rolled of their own accord. "Ha ha, Yusuke. Very funny."

"Yusuke, what—what are you doing in Keiko's room?"

Yusuke's lips pursed. He looked Kuwabara up and down, slowly assessing the other boy, sizing him up inch by inch—and then he shrugged. Kuwabara scowled.

"Why do you wanna know?" Yusuke said. "Somebody's nosy."

"It's not nice to just barge into a girl's room whenever you want," Kuwabara said. He shot me an apologetic look before leaning toward Yusuke and dramatically whispering, "What if she'd been _changing_? Huh? What then?"

Yusuke scoffed. "Oh, please. Like I haven't seen that before."

Kuwabara let out a startled "What?!" of shock and horrified surprised. I cursed. I reached out a toe and nudged Kuwabara's calf. He looked down, and the second our eyes met he looked away again, cheeks and ears turning bright pink.

"Yusuke doesn't know how to knock," I explained, glaring at the boy in question. "Asshole skipped that day of kindergarten. It was the same day they taught us basic human decency. He missed both lessons, as you can see."

"Aw, shut up," Yusuke snapped.

"That's not a nice thing to say, Urameshi," Kuwabara said. "Be nice to Keiko!"

"Who died and made you the authority on being nice to Keiko?"

"Nobody, because nobody had to." Kuwabara preened. "I'm better at being nice to her than you are!"

Yusuke sat up and glared. "You only just met her three days ago, asshole!"

I said, "You guys know I can hear you, right?", but neither of them reacted. Great. So I was furniture, then.

"Yeah, I might've just met her, but I'm already nicer to her than you are," Kuwabara said. "So why don't you shut up and—"

Yusuke shot to his feet. "Gimme a break! What are you, some kind of knight in shining armor swooping into save—?"

Kuwabara loomed over Yusuke, glaring at the shorter boy like he was a bug. "Keiko doesn't _need_ saving, like she said last time! I'm just—"

"You're just _what_ , trying to prove you're some white knight so she'll date you?" Yusuke said—and Kuwabara's face turned an alarming shade of scarlet. He pulled away from Yusuke, dinner-plate hands waving in awkward dismissal.

"What?! No! Keiko and I are just friends!"

"Really?" Yusuke said, arms crossing over his chest. "If that's the truth, then why are you calling her by her first name?"

I blinked at that. Kuwabara sputtered. I hadn't noticed Kuwabara had started calling me by my given name instead of my family name…but Yusuke had? Normally I was the observant one…

"Did you even ask her if you were allowed to do that?" Yusuke said, taking advantage of the awkward silence. "Even I know Miss Manners would say calling a girl by her first name is disrespectful. Wanna rethink that white knight status? Huh?"

"Well, no, I just—" He turned to me, eyes downcast. "Sorry, Yukimura, I should've asked—wait. What are you doing?"

While they were distracted, I'd stood up and walked toward the door. The pair of them had been too wrapped up in insulting each other to notice. Grabbing my purse from a peg by the door, I looked over my shoulder at them and shrugged.

"I'm getting out of here," I said.

"What?" Yusuke said.

"Why?" said Kuwabara.

"Well, since the two of you are apparently about to make out with each other, I thought I'd be nice and give you some privacy." I turned my back and marched out the door with a chipper, "Bye, lovebirds!"

I was halfway down the stairs by the time they finished processing what I'd said. I knew they'd finished processing because I heard twin, horrified yodels cut the air behind me. Smirking, I hit the bottom of the stairs and turned around. Soon footsteps pounded the floor and the boys appeared at the top of the stairs, pushing and shoving as each tried to get down the steps first. An elbow to Kuwabara's face declared Yusuke the winner—but then Kuwabara lost his balance, and the dingbats fell down the steps in a tangle of limbs.

I regarded the moaning mound of teenage boy at my feet a moment.

"Wow, full-on cuddling," I deadpanned. "I didn't know you two were so attached."

They immediately squawked and pulled apart. I threw back my head and laugh.

"That's not funny, Keiko!" Yusuke said, scrambling to his feet.

"Yeah, you shouldn't make jokes like that!" Kuwabara said.

"Nothing wrong with being gay," I said. "And now look. The two of you just agreed on something!"

Yusuke and Kuwabara exchanged a look of horror, then as one shoved their hands in their pockets and slouched, scowling with their backs to each other. I laughed again.

"C'mon," I said. "Let's get out of here."

They followed me in sullen silence to a nearby karaoke joint, where we rented a small booth and spent the next few hours screaming Megallica songs in each other's ears. Kuwabara and Yusuke fought for the microphone more often than not, until Yusuke stole another mic from the booth next door so they could have a proper battle. Turns out Yusuke was tone deaf, and Kuwabara had a voice like a personified boulder. Keiko's crystalline soprano floated above their deeper tones like a bird riding the fringes of a gale.

Watching the two of them fight for the mic, and steal food from each other when we ordered chicken wings, I found myself wondering if Yusuke and Kuwabara could've been friends sooner in life. Seemed like they were having fun, despite the insults and punches and glares. Yusuke had been getting moodier and moodier as of late. This was the first time I'd seen him smile so much in months.

"Wouldn't it be nice, if this could last forever," I said during a lull between songs.

Kuwabara looked curious. Yusuke scowled. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Oh—nothing." I curled a lock of hair behind my ear—and suddenly I felt shy, like I was looking at Yusuke and Kuwabara for the first time, and we didn't know each other, and I didn't love the two of them more than I could say. "Just that I'm having a good time. Middle school will be over soon. We have to make nights like this last."

Yusuke snorted and called me a sap. Kuwabara nodded, earnestly, but I wasn't sure he actually understood just how much I wanted this moment of light in a dark karaoke booth to last forever.

Too bad 'forever' just isn't meant to be.

Two weeks later, Yusuke died—and everything changed, completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to enjoy one last big moment of bonding with these three before things kick into gear and Yusuke kicks the bucket. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Calling someone by their first name in Japan is fairly intimate, and people generally ask permission first. Cultural tidbit.
> 
> Yusuke's death occurs next chapter, obviously. And depending on how long that chapter is, we might get to the next big twist (don't worry, it's not a crossover). Let's just say Keiko's rule-breaking bites her in the ass.


	18. Seeing Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything changes.

I felt Yusuke's death in my bones the way birds sense changes in the weather.

Takanaka called his name over the loudspeaker when I showed up that morning, and I felt it. No denial, no doubt, no uncertainty. Takanaka called his name—and I knew.

Then Takanaka asked me to look for Yusuke. I found him on the roof. We performed the lines of a script Yusuke didn't know existed, and when Yusuke flipped my skirt, my slap held no passion.

I slapped because I was supposed to. Because that's what the script decreed, not because my heart was in it. But today I was glad to follow my much-maligned script. Today, I was content to play the role of Keiko. Today, I didn't want to make choices.

Not if it meant risking Yusuke's eventual return.

When Yusuke left the roof, he didn't know it would be a much longer goodbye than he anticipated. I knew, though. I stood on the roof until I saw Yusuke in his green uniform cross the yard, a diminutive grasshopper so many stories before. My body chilled as Yusuke stalked off the school grounds, Takanaka barking at his heels, and disappeared into the streets beyond.

The streets where he'd meet his death.

I'd play my role in his death perfectly. I'd chased him from the school grounds and into the arms of death with aplomb. Every line delivered on cue. Every beat, every pause, played right on schedule.

Déjà vu. That's the only way I can describe it.

After school, I went to Yusuke's house.

"No, sorry," I told Atsuko, "I don't know where Yusuke is."

But that was mostly a lie.

Atsuko didn't seem to notice, if I was acting weird. She just shrugged, called her son a lazy brat, and turned on her usual soap opera. I sat in silence while she yelled at the TV characters. Let her have this moment of relaxation. Let her, for one last hour, remain blissfully unaware that her son was dead. That her life as she knew it was about to a screeching end.

It occurred to me, in a moment of surreal clarity, that I was witnessing the last happy moment of Atsuko's life.

The last happy moment she'd have for a while, anyway.

When the doorbell rang, I knew there would be a police officer on the other side. I knew what he'd say. Because I was prepared, I had the strength to support Atsuko when her knees gave out. I caught her before she fell, her face a pale mask of disbelief and burgeoning grief. I heard her heart break as she gasped her only, dead child's name.

Arms around her trembling shoulders, I watched Atsuko's world end.

* * *

I didn't cry over Yusuke's death. There was too much to do.

Atsuko was in no shape to plan a funeral. I somehow persuaded the police officer into calling my mother, and I held Atsuko's sobbing body until my mother could get there and provide backup. We took turns holding Atsuko, stroking her hair and murmuring comforts, as we called funeral and cremation services and arranged Yusuke's _tsuya_ —his wake.

I made careful note of the name of the crematorium. Yusuke's body wasn't getting burnt to a crisp on my watch.

We decided to hold the wake at the funeral parlor, in a traditional, ten-tatami house surrounded by gardens and koi ponds. Seemed easier than holding it at Atsuko's small apartment. They delivered Yusuke in a simple casket only a few hours after Atsuko claimed the body. My mother accompanied her to the morgue. She wouldn't let me come along for that process, not that I minded. The process of identifying and claiming Yusuke's body had turned Atsuko into a shell of her former, vivacious self.

I'd already seen her world end. I didn't need to see her spirit die, too.

The casket was placed with the head facing north, per Buddhist custom, and decorated with a photo I'd taken of Yusuke some months prior. Incense and offerings sat atop the simple wooden box. Yusuke would've scoffed; the offerings were too simple, generic, plain for his wild personality. We tried dressing Atsuko in black kimono, garment supplied by the funeral parlor, but the woman wouldn't cooperate. She either stared into space like the stone Ebisu outside our restaurant or sobbed behind the curtain of her hair. We placed her on a cushion near the casket where people could pay their respects…not that many did.

At first the only visitors were professional mourners, praying in corners in their black kimono like crow demons from legend. Calling them 'professional mourners' wasn't exactly accurate. They were just funeral parlor employees, paid to help the _tsuya_ run smoothly, but I couldn't help but wonder if their sad faces and murmured prayers were also part of the funeral package. When other people began arriving and diluted the number of dark-dressed demons, I felt a little more at ease. Tension in my shoulders unknotted as kids from school started to arrive, and as adults I recognized (people like Atsuko's landlord and hairdresser) followed close behind.

"Keiko—are you OK?"

I jumped. Mom touched my shoulder, brown eyes rimmed with red. We stood on the porch around the side of the house next to a small rock garden. The sun sank below the horizon behind her, red like gilded blood.

"I'm fine," I murmured.

"You haven't looked at Yusuke—"

Her voice caught on his name. She swallowed, eyes brimming, but she stayed the tears with the force of her iron will.

"You haven't viewed the body," she said. "Do you want to pay your respects?"

Truthfully? No way. No way in hell did I want to see that body, no matter how well it had been prettied up by a mortician. I wouldn't see Yusuke for weeks. Maybe months. I wanted to remember his snark, his smirk, his sneer, not the pallor of death sitting waxy on his features.

I'd seen enough bodies in my old life to know that looking at his dead face would corrupt my memory of his living one. I'd made that mistake too many times to risk it now.

"I'm fine," I told my mother. "I'll do it when everyone else leaves."

"Keiko…" She pulled close, hand light between my shoulders. "Honey…you haven't even cried yet. Are you sure you're OK?"

I tried to look like I was holding back tears, make a show of how brave I was by staying strong—but I knew it wasn't a convincing act. I'd been hoping Mom wouldn't notice my lack of tears. Was I not performing the role of Keiko well enough? She'd been a wreck at the funeral, and here I was analyzing foreign mourning customs—

"It's OK to cry," my mother said. Her eyes searched my face. "You know that, don't you?"

"I know. I just…it hasn't hit me yet. That's all."

My excuse sounded lame, even to me. Mom's pitying smile was as warm as it was sad.

"Always taking care of others," she said. "You did well today, supporting Atsuko. But you're allowed to grieve, too." She spotted something over my shoulder and lifted a hand. "Oh, good. Your father's here."

I turned just after Dad walked through the gate and into the garden courtyard outside the funerary house. He hadn't had time to change after work. He just wore a dark suit jacket over his cooking uniform. We stood out of the way, behind a group of people, so he didn't see us. He made a beeline for Atsuko. My father knelt on the floor before her, head touching the tatami. She didn't react. It was like she didn't see him, eyes glazed and distant, even when he sat up and spoke to her directly.

"Your son enriched my daughter's life," Dad said. His gruff voice sounded even rougher than usual. "He was a good young man. I'll be naming a new menu item after him. It's a small honor, unworthy of his life, but I hope it brings you comfort." Again he bowed. "Thank you for your son, Atsuko. I had hoped he'd work in my restaurant someday."

Atsuko did not reply. But her vacant eyes brimmed with new tears.

Mom ushered Dad over shortly thereafter. He stood on the porch with us and wrapped me in a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry, Keiko," he said into my hair.

"It's OK." I forced a smile when he let me go. "Dumbass got hit by a car."

Mom tittered at my irreverence, but Dad just nodded. "That he did. Saving a kid from traffic, I heard."

"Yeah."

I'd never witnessed my dad cry. Too much of a manly-man, I guess. Right then, though, was the closest I'd ever seen him come. His breath rattled through his red nose as he said, "Yusuke was rough around the edges, but he had a heart of gold—"

Nearby, around the corner by the front of the house, someone laughed. Dad's words stopped cold. Mom scowled.

"You'd think they'd be more somber at a person's _tsuya_ ," she said.

"None of these people were Yusuke's friends." Mom and Dad looked at me. "He didn't have many. They're probably here for extra credit."

Mom's mouth opened. Snapped shut again. "Keiko, I'm surprised at you! What a terrible thing to say!"

"It's true, though," came my heated reply. "And I'm not going to lie about him. Not now. Yusuke wouldn't want me lying about him. Not at his funeral."

Her ire cooled. "He was always a direct boy," she relented.

"Still," Dad said, glancing at the nearest group of people (kids from my school, all smiling, all casual in their blue uniforms). "They could at least pretend to be sad."

My family quieted. The nearby kids spoke at a normal volume, like they weren't at a funeral at all. I recognized most of them as from another class. Why were they even here?

Their words drifted to me in a quiet moment.

"—total thug," one of them said. "Beat someone up for their lunch money, is what I heard."

"Why would they even allow delinquents like him at our school?" said another.

I tensed. By my side, Mom gasped. Dad's hand weighed heavy on my shoulder.

I knew they'd insult Yusuke. I'd seen the anime. I knew people hated him. The anime made that very clear. But to hear these insults with my own ears, after knowing Yusuke since I was a child, after he became the closest person to me in the whole world, after he'd become a real person instead of a painted image on cellophane—

"Honestly? He probably pushed the kid intro traffic and tripped," one of my classmates said. "I don't believe for a second that he was trying to save anybody."

I lurched toward the speaker, vision flashing red. Mom let out a muffled shriek. Luckily Dad's arms went around me before I could move more than a step, because otherwise I'm pretty sure I'd be in jail for murder.

"Keiko, stop!" he said in my ear.

"How dare they!?" I growled. I struggled against his grip, eyes locked on the oblivious kids as they laughed. "How dare—!"

"URAMESHI!"

I froze mid-struggle at the sound of my best friend's name. The group I'd been two seconds away from slaughtering quieted at once. Every head in the room turned as a young man in blue, flanked by three other men in uniforms, hurtled into the house at a full sprint.

It was Kuwabara, of course. Ranting and raving about Yusuke's betrayal, about being left behind, calling Yusuke a coward who didn't want to fight anymore. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as he screeched and clawed and fought his way toward the casket. The only things that kept him from ripping open Yusuke's coffins were the restraining hands of his friends.

Dad's voice in my ear made me jump. "Is that that boy from the other day?"

I swallowed down a lump. "Yeah. Is it."

Dad let me go. I started to go inside, to talk to Kuwabara, but the stunned crowd didn't let me through in time. His friends dragged him off mere moments later, leaving me standing in the middle of the courtyard feeling cold. Dad and Mom appeared at my side soon after. Mom's face was ashen, like a ghost risen from the grave.

"Do you know his number?" she asked. "He was so upset. You could call and check on him when you get home."

Somehow, I hadn't gotten Kuwabara's number yet. I was so dumb. I shook my head. Mom gave me a pitying smile.

"Ah, well," she said. "You'll see him at school when you go back." Her hand on my arm radiated soft heat, comforting and warm. "Go pay your respects, Keiko. I think it's time you went home."

I shook my head. "I want to stay and help till the end."

"No, Yukimura," said a low, nasal voice. "Go home and rest. Our top student need not trouble herself over something like _this_."

My eyes fluttered shut. I didn't need to look to know who was speaking. And I didn't need to see him to know he was up to no good.

Dad, though? He hadn't met Iwamoto yet. He faced my teacher with a frown, then dipped an uncertain bow. Iwamoto's lips curled into a polite smile, but behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes burned icy cold.

I'd avoided Iwamoto as much as I could during my tenure at Sarayashiki Junior High. I'd seen enough of his jerk-ass ways in the anime to last a lifetime. Didn't need to see more in real life. Still, I'd encountered him enough times (mostly when defending Yusuke) to know that the anime had gotten his characterization down pat. He hated Yusuke, and if it hadn't been for Takanaka, I'm sure Yusuke would've been expelled long ago.

His cold eyes danced when they met mine. Guy could barely suppress his glee over Yusuke's death, and the body was still warm.

"Ah. So you must be Yukimura's father," he said to Dad. "Your daughter is an excellent student. She'll be even better now that Urameshi's gone."

Dad froze. Mom froze, too. Breath hitched high and painful in my throat.

"Surely you agree?" Iwamoto said. "Keiko was always looking out for that miscreant." His lips stretched into a grotesque smile. "With him out of the picture, she can concentrate on getting into a good high school."

My blood screamed inside me, heating like magma under the earth. Dad didn't react, though.

"That 'miscreant' was a good friend of our family," he said. How he kept his voice so steady, I would never know. "We mourn him, today."

"Mourn?" Iwamoto said. He chuckled like oil striking water. "If we're being honest, for your daughter's sake, you should be _celebrating_." He spread his hands, gesture of supplication belied by his sneer. "That boy was a roach infecting our star pupil. Surely you understand—"

We never got to figure out what we should understand about the death of a teenage boy, because I'd had enough.

"You are a _teacher_ ," I ground out, vision turning crimson. Iwamoto's eyes went wide. "At least pretend to act like one."

Her hand was on my arm in an instant. " _Keiko_ ," Mom snapped.

"One of your students has died, and you say we should celebrate?" My voice rose with every syllable. "You are a _teacher_! You should be ashamed of the way you're talking right now, and in front of your student's friends and family, no less. How _dare_ you speak this way?"

Iwamoto didn't back down from my bold stare. His lip curled back over his teeth. "How dare you speak to a _teacher_ this way," he corrected. "I can say whatever I want, especially about a worthless little punk like—"

And with that, I launched directly at the man with fist held high.

I didn't get to hit him, sadly. Dad stepped in too soon. But Iwamoto did fall on his ass with a shriek, like a little kid frightened by a boogeyman, gibbering as my father wrapped an arm around my waist and hauled me away. The crowd was staring but I barely saw them, and I only vaguely registered that Atsuko had started sobbing into her hands.

"Shut up!" I roared as I struggled against Dad's grip. "Don't you fucking talk about Yusuke like that, you ignorant, sadistic—"

Iwamoto listened to my tirade with his mouth open—but then his composure returned. He stood up, hand slicking over his hair before he adjusted his glasses.

"Well, well, well," he said. His quiet, razor words cut through my tirade, silencing me mid-word. "Looks like the cockroach infected our star pupil, after all."

"Shut up," I growled.

"Keiko, calm down," Dad said.

"I always knew he'd rot you from the inside," Iwamoto continued. "That boy was trash, and now look at you. You're no better than—"

"That's enough."

I didn't say that. Neither did Dad. Instead, Mom strode up to Iwamoto and levered a finger at his face. I'd never seen her eyes blaze like that, like they cupped the very core of the earth inside their spheres.

"That boy was a close family friend of ours," she said, voice low and dangerous, "and you will _not_ speak of him in that manner. Nor will you speak to our daughter like that." She bared her teeth. Iwamoto bared his right back, but my glorious lioness of a mother did not back down. "Like you said—she's your star pupil, a credit to your school. I will not tolerate a teacher speaking to her this way."

"And neither will I, for that matter."

I sagged in my father's arms when Takanaka emerged from the crowd. The one shining beacon of sanity and goodness at my middle school, arrived at last. My mother had met him a few times, and clearly she recognized him when he approached her, but she did not lower her guard until he bowed to her in clear deference. Only then did she relax.

"Yukimura-san," he said, and I was pleased to note his voice held a current of barely-restrained, quivering anger. "I apologize on Iwamoto's behalf. He forgot his role is to serve these children, not insult them." When he straightened, he shot Iwamoto a look so scathing, the other teacher physically recoiled. "Rest assured a report of his contemptible behavior will be delivered to the proper authorities in our school system."

"Thank you," my mother said, "but any apologies should be levered at Urameshi Atsuko, not at me."

The kind man's face fell. The same heartbreak in Atsuko's eyes filled his own.

I was beginning to know that look very well, it seemed.

"Of course," Takanaka said. "His mother has my deepest sympathies."

Mom sniffed. She drew herself up.

"Well," she said, head held high. "I'm glad to know at least _one_ teacher at my daughter's school in an honorable person."

I heard Iwamoto's teeth grinding from across the room.

Before Takanaka went to pay his respects to Atsuko, he dragged Iwamoto from the house. The man glared at me when he passed—and in his eyes I could tell I'd joined Yusuke on his list of despised students.

I tried not to think about that, though.

I let my father guide me home, but when I crawled into bed, the escape of sleep would not come.

* * *

Perhaps it was a good thing I couldn't sleep. If I'd slept, I might not have heard the rocks tapping against my window. Instead I got up, gave the sleeping Sorei an illicit pat, and peered through the pane.

Kuwabara stood on the street below. He waved when he saw me. Even from this distance, I could tell he'd been crying.

I put on a coat and grabbed my keys.

We didn't say much when I joined him on the street. We just looked at one another, silent, tired faces skeletal beneath the harsh streetlamp. Then I moved forward. Kuwabara made a strangled sound in his throat when I put my arms around my waist and leaned my cheek against his chest—but he didn't pull away, either.

"Shut up and hug me," I muttered.

Kuwabara obliged, stiff and awkward at first, but soon he relaxed with a shuddered sigh. He gave good hugs, once he got used to the idea of touching a girl, chin atop my head and hands firm against my shoulders. He smelled like aftershave, the kind teenage boys think makes them smell like an adult. To me it only reinforced how young Kuwabara was—youth I had somehow forgotten to consider as of late.

I needed that hug. But something told me he needed it, too, even if he'd never say as much aloud.

Eventually I pulled away. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Eyes fixed on the sidewalk, we walked aimlessly into the dark, quiet in the company of another person who could understand a pain unspeakable. The moon hung above us, bloated like a rotting corpse.

"This sucks," Kuwabara muttered as we passed moonlit houses.

"It really does," I replied.

A little while later, I found myself standing with Kuwabara outside Atsuko's apartment complex. When I stopped walking, startled by where my wandering feet had taken us, Kuwabara touched my elbow. He frowned. I pointed at Yusuke's apartment.

Kuwabara followed my point. Saw the mailbox, and the name written on it. His eyes widened.

"Sorry," I said. "Didn't mean to come this way." I ducked my chin. "Wait here a minute?"

He didn't mind. He sat on the curb while I went inside. I found Atsuko on the couch, passed out, hand loose around a nearly empty liquor bottle.

"Oh, honey," I murmured. I took the bottle and covered her with a blanket, kissing her tear-stained face. "I am so sorry."

She hiccupped in her sleep. Around her, remnants of Yusuke dotted the house like debris from a car crash. Shoes here. A shirt discarded over there. Bottle of hair gel on the bathroom sink. I wandered from room to room, gathering reminders of him in a plastic bag.

Atsuko didn't need to see these things when she woke up. I stashed the memories under the sink.

She didn't need to drink more, either. I collected all the liquor I could find and poured it down the drain—but when I found a cold six-pack in the fridge, I hesitated.

It was the same brand Yusuke had stolen, that time we drank together on my roof.

I absconded with that six-pack when I left the house. Something told me Atsuko wouldn't miss it. Kuwabara lifted an eyebrow at the beer, but he didn't question when I asked him to follow me into the night's cloying dark. He dogged my steps as we navigated the streets, following them to the edge of the neighborhood, where houses gave way to drainage ditches and warehouse lots.

One drainage ditch in particular called me. I guided Kuwabara to the top of the bridge crossing it, then pointed over the edge. You couldn't see the grassy bayou below, but I knew it was there. I half expected to see Yusuke's ghost standing in the bayou when the clouds skirted away from the moon and bathed the ditch in light—but no one was there. Not even a ghost. The only things that filled this place were my memories.

"That's where I met Yusuke," I told Kuwabara.

We sat on the bridge's rail. I told him the story of chasing of bullies away from a dirty, skinny kid in a baseball cap—the story of how I met my best friend. I told him about feeding Yusuke, clothing him, letting him stay with my family like the son my parents had never had. Kuwabara, in turn, told me of the first rumor he'd heard of Sarayashiki's number one punk, and how he'd challenged Yusuke to a fight that same day.

"Kicked my ass six ways from Sunday," he said as we gazed into the dark. "Didn't walk straight for a week. But I came back for another fight. And another. And he never turned me away. Not _once_. I'm only as good a fighter as I am because he kept beating me up. I owe him, forever." He swiped a finger under his running nose. "Do you think we were friends?"

"Yeah," I said. "You were, in your own way."

I pulled a can of beer from the plastic rings. It was still cold. Kuwabara held it like he didn't know what to do with it, watching as I pulled off two more cans and popped the tabs. Then I held up both beers. After a nod from me, Kuwabara held his aloft.

"To Yusuke," I said.

Understanding dawned. He lifted his can higher. Kuwabara said, "To the biggest, baddest punk at school."

"To my best friend," I said.

"To the guy who made me a better fighter," Kuwabara said.

"To the guy who made me a better person," I said.

As one, Kuwabara and I chorused: "To Yusuke."

As we tipped back our beers, I tilted the third over the edge of the bridge and poured it out into the dark, onto the spot where I'd met Yusuke all those years before.

He couldn't taste the beer, where he was—but hopefully, he knew what I meant by offering it to him.

Something told me he'd approve. Beer was certainly better than the oranges and incense that had adorned his casket at the _tsuya_.

When we drank our beers to the drags, Kuwabara crushed the cans between his hands. I served up another round. We sipped in silence, hunched like gargoyles on the bridge rail, elbows on knees. Kuwabara put his head in his hand.

"I don't get it," he whispered. "Yesterday we were fighting. How could he be—" Kuwabara couldn't finish that sentence. He couldn't say the word 'death' aloud. He sighed and settled on, "How did this happen?"

"Easy," I said. "Yusuke was an idiot."

Warning colored his expression. "Hey, there."

"It's true, though. He was god's perfect idiot, and he died because he was stupid." I sat up and glared at the ditch, at the image of his young face playing in my memory. I raised my voice. "You hear that, Yusuke? You're an idiot. An absolute, unforgivable idiot. And you're _selfish_. How dare you leave me all alone with people like Iwamoto? How _dare_ you? I _need you_ if I'm going to deal with these assholes, you asshole!"

"Keiko," Kuwabara said, eyes as round as coins, but I didn't stop. Beer made my blood buzz like TV static. I saw red again, anger and sadness turning my vision scarlet.

"And another thing, you enormous moron," I shouted. "My parents are fucking shattered by this. You were like a son to them! And don't even get me started on what your selfish, reckless behavior did to Atsuko! Don't get me started on what you're doing to me, either, because _dammit_ —"

My arm lashed. My can of beer flew into the dark. Something wet splattered against my cheeks—flecks of foaming booze, fizzing and cold.

I knew Yusuke was coming back _. I knew it._ But right there, on that bridge, the yawning dark below held no promises of Yusuke's return. It only held mystery and uncertainty, as perilous as the dark pit beneath my feet.

Had my actions today affected his return?

Had I played the role of Keiko well enough today?

Was Yusuke ever going to—

"Keiko."

" _What_?"

Kuwabara flinched—but then he leaned toward me. His mouth worked. When he spoke my name, his tone was infinitely gentle.

"Keiko," he said. "You're crying."

"What?" I touched my cheek. "No I'm not—oh. _Oh_."

My fingers came away wet, but not with beer. Kuwabara dug a tissue from a pocket and dabbed at my cheeks, a desperate attempt by a teenage boy to be helpful in the face of a crying woman. I swatted him away, but I muttered a thank you and wiped my tears on my sleeve.

Crying at last. All I needed was a beer to loosen me up.

Seemed like maybe I could play the role of Keiko effectively, after all.

As I looked at the moon, and the clouds casting silvery shadows on Kuwabara's sharp face, I hoped Yusuke's ghost hovered close enough to see the tears on mine.

* * *

Mom let me take the next day off from school—she was taking the day off, herself, so it was only fair. She declined to say why she was spending time away from the restaurant so close to our second location's grand opening, but I didn't press her for details. Didn't have the energy. I spent the majority of the day in bed, listening to the chatter of customers on the floor below.

Their lives went on, as always. Yusuke's death didn't affect them. That was slightly comforting.

Dad asked if I wanted to help in the kitchen, given Mom was absent, but I declined. Instead I played Yusuke's favorite band on repeat, and prayed that night I'd dream of his return.

In the anime, Yusuke told Keiko to save his body via dream. If Yusuke was coming back, he'd tell me to save his body from cremation—the cremation that was scheduled for tomorrow.

He had to tell me, and soon. Tonight. Or he wasn't coming back at all.

But that was a possibility I could not bear to consider.

I wiled the day away alone. Not long after the restaurant closed for the night, I heard my mother come home. I didn't get up to greet her. She and Dad discussed something in low voices down the hall, and then they knocked on my door.

"Keiko, honey—come eat dinner," Dad said.

"Meet us in the living room in ten minutes," said my mother. She kept her tone soft, compassionate, but firm. Something was up. "Are you OK?"

"Fine," I said—but I was suspicious.

I put on real clothes and went to my parents. Dad fixed me a simple dinner and set it on the _kotatsu_ in the middle of the room. He sat across from me as I sat down to eat, but just as I raised a bite to my lips, my mom came in. In her arms she carried a long, flat box tied with a red ribbon.

She and Dad exchanged a Look.

I put down my chopsticks.

"OK," I said. "What's going on?"

Mom didn't reply. She set the box on the table and took a seat beside my father. He patted her back, and they exchanged another look—this one of shared dedication, bolstering themselves for whatever they were about to say.

I'd seen them prepare to act as a united front before, in full parental mode…and it rarely ended well for me. My stomach lurched. Thank god I hadn't started eating yet, because I'd probably feel nauseated if I had.

Dad cleared his throat. Mom put a steadying hand on his knee.

"Keiko, the business has been doing so well lately—" Dad said.

"In no small part thanks to your help," Mom interjected.

"—that we can afford to make some changes around here. We can start giving you things we couldn't always give you," Dad said.

Um. OK. That didn't sound so bad…so why had my skin started to crawl?

Mom nodded. "We've been looking into this for a while, ever since our finances improved. And we actually submitted the paperwork months ago, but held off finalizing things until the new school year. And then yesterday, seeing the way that teacher spoke to you, and the way your classmates treated Yusuke—"

She looked at Dad, anxious for backup. Dad smiled.

"Well, honey—we don't think Sarayashiki is the right school for you anymore." He gestured at the box. "We've enrolled you in a new school. A _private_ school."

If I hadn't been sitting on the floor already, I would've fallen to my knees.

As it stands, I just sat there.

Unmoving.

Unfeeling.

Unbelieving.

Because _what the hell had this man just said to me_?

"Look, Keiko. I know it's a shock, but the school we picked is so much better than Sarayashiki," Mom said. Her eyes pleaded with me to get excited, but that was impossible just then. "We used the testing you did for cram school applications—you know, the IQ testing?—and they even want you to skip a grade."

Vaguely, through a fog, I recalled the cram school applications she was talking about, conducted the previous summer.

She'd used those test results—to switch my _school_?

"Isn't it exciting?" Dad said. He slapped the table, trying to force a reaction from me. "Earth to Keiko. Aren't you happy? You'll get to attend college that much faster!"

I didn't react. I had no idea how to react. Mom didn't like that. Mom grabbed the box. Shoved it into my numb hands.

"Look," she demanded. "Your new uniform. Isn't it pretty?"

Unable to process—unable to do anything more than what she asked of me—I yanked the ribbon with all the enthusiasm of a programmed robot.

I lifted the lid.

Mom and Dad's excuses, explanations, ineffectual arguments faded into nothing.

All I could comprehend was the brilliant scarlet of the Meiou High School uniform, folded like a funerary shroud upon my lap.

Red. The color of luck in Japan.

Even through my veil of shock, this lucky child sensed the unlucky irony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH OH.
> 
> Keiko earned her parents more money. Now she can afford to attend private school. She dug her own grave. SUCKS TO BE HER I GUESS?
> 
> A few things:
> 
> The girls' uniforms at Meiou are red, not pink/magenta. Apparently pink is just for the dudes.
> 
> I wish I could've introduced Iwamoto earlier, but he's not too interesting and will stop being relevant soon, so it felt like a waste of space.
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and support!


	19. A Role to Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visitors invade not-Keiko's dreams.

Yusuke didn't smile. He appeared before me with a face like solemn thunder, hands jammed into the pockets of his school uniform, and  _stared_ —silent like a deserted grave. I gasped, startled by his appearance, but he made no move to comfort me. Eyes gleamed hollow in his round face.

"Iwamoto was right," he said. "I _did_ infect you."

This was a dream. I knew it was a dream. I'd fallen asleep like falling into death, slipping into the black void of shock after my parents' revelation—that I was to switch schools, to _Kurama's_ school—and then Yusuke had appeared. This had to be a dream. I'd expected to dream of Yusuke tonight. He was supposed to tell me to save his body from the funeral pyre.

But he looked so sad.

If he was coming back to life, he should look happy.

He should look happy…right?

Even dreaming, I felt adrenaline pump inside my veins. My dream-mouth dried. I struggled to breathe like a beached fish.

"Yusuke," I gasped. "Yusuke—!"

"I infected you," Yusuke continued in that same, solemn voice—and then he punched my arm and started grinning like he'd won an Olympic gold medal. "I infected you with _ass-kicking awesomeness_!"

Yusuke's preferred Olympic sport? Being a total dick-weasel, apparently.

While Yusuke crowed about how freakin' cool I was for trying to beat up a teacher on his behalf, I marched over and bopped him on the head. He yelped. He ran. I chased him around the landscape of my dreams until I got him in a headlock, burying my fingers into his gelled hair (weird, his ghost wore hair gel, but of course it did) so I could give him a noogie. That lasted all of a minute before the headlock turned into a hug, and we just sat there, arms around each other, me sniveling into his dream-self neck as I breathed myself down from a panic attack.

No matter how smug he looked—no matter how many tricks he pulled—I was happy as hell to see him.

Eventually I calmed enough to pull away, to look at something other than Yusuke's mischievous face. The sky burned bubblegum pink above, spattered with stars suspended in ribbons of celestial, luminous purple. Green hills dotted with crimson poppies rolled into the distance, like the fields surrounding Dorothy's fabled Emerald City.

Yusuke made a face. "Pink? Flowers? You're such a girl."

"You say that like it's an insult." I flapped a hand at him. "I should be screaming at you right now. But I can't."

Yusuke frowned. "Oh yeah?"

"You saved a kid. You might be a moron, but at least you're a good one." I shook my head, twisting the fabric of my dream-pajamas in both hands. "Still. I should be ripping you a new one. What you did—"

"Oh, can it, you big nag," Yusuke groused. "I heard the lecture already."

My turn to frown. "What?"

"You and Kuwabara. On the bridge?" He crossed his arms and turned from me, smirking, nose tipped toward the bubblegum sky. "Yeah, Keiko. Don't think I didn't see all of that. You two gettin' all cozy the minute I'm gone? What m' I, chopped liver?" He shook his head, disapproving. "Body's not even cold and you get yourself a boyfriend. No respect." My best friend cackled. "Too bad your boyfriend's _ugly_!"

I slugged his shoulder, ignoring his indignant yelp. "I'm _not_ dating Kuwabara."

"Whatever you say," he said. I was about to punch him again when his hands dropped. Devious accusation turned to earnestness in the time it took to blink. "Look, Keiko, I—"

He stopped short. His mouth worked, but no words came out. He turned away, cursing under his breath while he dragged a hand through his hair—

I grabbed his sleeve. Yusuke looked at my hand as if he'd never seen a human hand before.

"What is it, Yusuke?" I said.

His eyes met mine. Then they slid sideways, toward the Oz-green hills.

"I'm glad you're not alone," Yusuke mumbled. My mouth parted with surprise. "Much as I hate the bastard, Kuwabara is a good guy." His lips curled. "An idiot, but a good one."

Fingers tightened on his arm. Gently, I said, "Just like you."

He shuddered. "God, I hope not." A sheepish chuckle accompanied flushing cheeks. "Anyway. If there's anybody you could go through this with…I guess I'm glad it's him. Because things are about to get _weird_."

My heart stammered like an embarrassed schoolboy.

"Weird?" I repeated.

"Yeah. And trust me, Keiko. When shit hits the fan, you're gonna need all the help you can get."

"What do you mean?"

Yusuke paused. I didn't dare press him to keep talking, despite my mounting impatience. I hated being kept in suspense like this.

Was he coming back to life, or wasn't he?

The balloon of dread inside me sputtered when his eyes met mine. In them I saw determination—not the look of someone who was about to say goodbye for the last time.

"What I'm about to say is unbelievable," Yusuke said, "but you have to trust me. Can you do that, Keiko?"

Not daring to speak, I nodded. Yusuke blew out a breath, cheeks puffing like an overstuffed squirrel.

"I'm…well, I'm not dead," he said. His nose crinkled. "Well, I _am_ dead. But I won't be soon. My body won't be, anyway. I won't be in my body, but I'll—oh, fuck it, I'm not making sense. The long and short of it is that I'm coming back to life. So, yeah. That's what's up."

I shut my eyes.

Relief flooded like a moonlit tide, suffusing the shores of my anxiety with calm—but I refused to let that show on my face. I refused to let Yusuke see that I'd been waiting and hoping and begging the universe for this.

I refused, because it was time for payback.

I opened my eyes. I quirked a brow.

"Really?" I said, in my very best I-do-not-believe-you voice. "You're coming back to life, huh?"

Yusuke nodded, pleased. Then he saw the look on my face. His brow furrowed.

"Yeah. I am. So why aren't you happy?" he said. Confusion turned to alarm. "Do you not actually want me to come back?" Alarm turned to outright horror. He leapt back, pointing between my eyes. "No way! Were the tears an act for _Kuwabara_?"

I couldn't contain my laughter. I doubled over, hands on knees, while Yusuke blinked at me in indignant surprise.

"No, stupid," I chortled. "It wasn't an act for Kuwabara."

"OK. So why—"

"I'm not acting happy because you're saying _totally unbelievable things_ , that's all."

He gaped like a fish. Then his lip jutted in an annoyance.

"Hey. You can trust me," he said.

"Oh really?" I countered. "Says the guy who put purple hair dye in my shampoo last summer?"

One hand scratched the back of his neck. Nervous shuffling and shifty eyes accompanied a low, guilt-ridden laugh. I tried very hard not to show how amused I was. Yusuke was just _adorable_ when he went on the defensive.

"That's what I thought." It was my turn to cross my arms and stick up my nose. "In light of that, you'll forgive me if I don't just believe you right off the bat."

Pout turned pleading. "Oh, c'mon, Keiko, don't be like this," he wheedled.

"Be like what?" I asked with fake sweetness.

"Be like, you know…"

"What, a hard-ass?" I interjected when he faltered. "Maybe you shouldn't have been such a liar, if you wanted me to trust you."

"Ugh, fine!" He threw up his hands before placing one firm on each hip. "Fine, Keiko. What do I have to do to prove I'm serious to you?"

I blinked. Yusuke's eyes locked on mine, as firm and immovable as concrete. I said nothing. He said nothing, clearly waiting for me to speak.

Wow. Was he serious? He'd just let me name some sort of test? Anything I could come up with?

"Come on, Keiko," he said when I didn't reply quickly enough. "Name it and I'll do it. Whatever will prove I'm real to you."

Whatever, hmm? Now _that_ presented quite a broad range of possibilities.

But what could I possibly do to embarrass him?

"Hmm…" I made a show of putting my hand on my chin and wracking my brain. "Let's see…you could possess a little old lady and kiss Kuwabara, maybe."

Yusuke didn't react. Then he paled. He paled so much that any ghost metaphors I might care to use would be both completely fitting and unforgivably cliché. Soon the pale complexion gave way to enraged red, however, and Yusuke skittered away from me on stumbling feet.

"Why would you even suggest that?" Yusuke said, octave skyrocketing, eyes horrified, hands shaking. "I thought I had the dirty mind around here, not you!"

Another giggle-fit consumed me. This time I had to sit down. Yusuke sputtered, watching me as I slapped my thigh and tried desperately to breathe.

Too easy. Messing with him was too damn easy.

Man. I'd miss the hell out of him, waiting for his return.

"God, Yusuke—you're so dumb," I managed to say through a curtain of raining laughter. "I'm _kidding_. You don't have to prove anything to me."

His jaw clacked shut. Warily, he said, "I don't?"

"Of course not. I was _messing with you_ , shithead. Calm down."

He eyed me sidelong, like I might ask him to kiss Kuwabara again. I offered a conciliatory smile. Time for jokes was over.

"I'd _never_ doubt something as serious as you coming back to me," I said, and his cagey side-eye vanished. The air between us thickened, charge with invisible static. "If there's any chance at all to get you back, I'm taking it. I'd do anything to bring you back to life— _anything_ , Yusuke."

He drew in a sharp breath. Our eyes met.

"That's a promise," I said. "I swear on my life, I'll bring you back to me."

Our eyes held a moment more. Then Yusuke looked down, face and ears flushing under the weight of my determination.

He looked so much younger, then. Like that kid I'd met under the bridge all those years before.

No way in hell would I mess up Yusuke's resurrection. Over my dead body—not to mention his.

"Anyway," I said, tone breezy to dispel the tension. "I'll run by you apartment tomorrow. See if your body really is alive." I stood and brushed off the front of my dream-pajamas. "What happens then?"

Yusuke's blush faded, now that we had something practical to talk about. "I have to go through an 'ordeal' to come back," he said, with air quotes around the word 'ordeal' (he pitched his voice high and nasally when he said it, too—an imitation of Koenma?). Yusuke heaved a sigh. "I don't know what it is yet, though."

I nodded, pretending to absorb this like it was completely new information, which of course it was not. "Interesting. Do you think you'll make it through the ordeal?"

He shrugged. I glared.

"You pessimist," I chided. "Call me crazy, but I believe when I wake up tomorrow, I'll find your heart beating." A shrug—a manufactured one, characterized by helpless doubt. Couldn't look too accepting so soon. Might seem suspicious. "Or maybe I'm delusional. Maybe I want you back so badly, I'm making all this up. Maybe checking on your body is just delusion, and when I find you dead, it'll just shatter me again."

Another sharp breath. He stepped toward me, urgency evident in his tight shoulders. "Keiko—"

"Delusional or not, either way, I'll find out tomorrow," I said with another shrug. "I _will_ check." I allowed myself a mischievous wink. "Maybe I'll even take Kuwabara with me. Bet you'd love that."

Yusuke scowled. "Hell no. The fewer people who see my corpse, the better. I want to be remembered as a badass, not a zombie. Kuwabara would never let me live that down."

True. Kuwabara wouldn't. I started to say so, but as Kuwabara's name formed on my tongue, I faltered.

Kuwabara.

We'd exchanged numbers on the bridge that night. We'd promised to catch up at school, maybe eat lunch and talk about Yusuke if we felt the need to vent. He'd called my house when I didn't come to school today, but I hadn't answered. He was so sweet, checking up on me, but I hadn't had the heart to talk to him just then.

Hadn't had the heart, because I knew I'd have to break the news of my new school to him.

Call me cowardly, but I didn't want to heap that drama onto him. Not so soon after Yusuke's death. Kuwabara thought I'd be there with him, suffering alongside. But now…

"You OK?"

Yusuke watched me, head cocked just barely to one side. I sighed.

"I'm fine," I said. "Just…you've been watching me, right? As a ghost?"

"Yeah."

"So you know my parents are sending me to another school?"

"I saw," Yusuke said. His cheeks flushed again. "Not that I was spying! I was waiting for you to fall asleep so I could talk to you, that's all, and…" He shook his head. "Whatever, yeah, I heard. They're sending you to…what was it? Mimo?"

"Meiou," I corrected. "Sucks, right?"

Yusuke grimaced. "Actually, no. It doesn't suck. Meiou will be better for you."

"What?!"

Of all the things he could've said, that was _not_ what I'd predicted. He shrugged, gesturing at me with one hand.

"You're too smart for Sarayashiki," he said. "I've always said so. Hell, you only went there to take care of _me_."

I winced. "You know that's not true."

"Oh, shut up," he grumbled. "I'm the liar here, remember?"

Little did he know I'd told more lies than there were stars in this dreamland sky. But I said nothing, and waited for him to continue.

"Even if I hadn't died, your parents would've done this eventually, now that they have money to send you to a private school," he said. "Seeing how Iwamoto acted, I can't blame them for switching you." He cracked a grin. "Hell, even my mom wondered why you were sticking around Sarayashiki, and she's as observant as a rock. But _I_ knew the reason. You were only there to take care of me." His grin widened, impish. "Looks like my death wasn't a waste, after all. Not if it gave you a better shot in life. It's high time you went somewhere that _deserves_ you."

I started to tell him to shut up, to not talk about his death that way—but his eyes glimmered, a wounded animal staring into the face of death, and I realized this was his way of making sense of things. His way of justifying what happened to him. His way of coping.

A lump of raw emotion clogged my throat.

He'd never said something so genuinely kind about me before.

For all his bluster, for all his bravado, for all his teenage-boy-bullshit—Yusuke was telling me he cared.

I cast my eyes to the poppy-covered ground.

"Maybe Meiou will be good for me," I said, voice thick, "but when you come back, I won't be—"

"Be there to clean up my messes?" he cut in. Yusuke shrugged again. "Maybe it's time I start taking care of those on my own." A sly chuckle. "And besides. You couldn't stay at Sarayashiki even if you wanted to."

"Hmm?"

"Iwamoto wanted to expel you."

Took a minute for that to sink in.

When it did I shrieked, "He _what_?!"

Yusuke stuffed his fingers in his ears. "Jeez, Keiko! Pretty sure they can hear you in the next prefecture!"

"Sorry, sorry—but what the hell do you mean, he wanted to expel me?!"

"I mean that he got another slimeball teacher to vouch for what you did at the funeral. They asked the schoolboard to kick you out."

I gaped. The idea that Iwamoto would stoop to that level was…well, not surprising considering his character, but it sure as hell was ballsy of that cowardly rat. Yusuke pinched his nose shut and contorted his jaw—an uncanny impression of Iwamoto both in expression and tone.

"'Keiko has hidden violent tendencies that belie her position on the student counsel and she must be expelled immediately, for the good of the student body!'" he quoted. He let his nose go and made a disgusted face. "Bastard lied through his teeth. Would've punched him if I still had fists."

"Defending my honor?" I teased.

"Shut up. I didn't do anything," he grumbled. "Your mom, on the other hand..."

My mom? She hadn't mentioned anything about an expulsion—just that she'd enrolled me at Meiou. Still wasn't sure how I felt about her just yet. I'd fallen asleep before I could do any real processing about my change in schools. All I could think about was being distanced from Yusuke. If I wasn't there, in his face, would he forget about me? Out of sight, out of mind? He certainly seemed the type…

I'd have to work so much harder to not be forgotten on the sidelines, if I wasn't in Yusuke's immediate presence. Keiko was already such a background player. Would being sent to Meiou condemn her to obscurity for good?

Had my mother condemned my second life to insignificance?

And more pressing…would I be able to forgive her for that?

She hadn't even asked me if I wanted to switch schools. Shouldn't that be _my_ decision, not hers?

Yusuke had no idea about any of that, of course. His eyes lit up; he bounced on his heels, grinning at me like he was about to recount the events of a particularly exciting boxing match.

"Man, Keiko. You should've seen your mom," Yusuke said. "She was on _fire_. I can see where you get it."

"Is that right," I said.

"Oh yeah. She marched into Sarayashiki and _demanded_ to see the principal. Guy almost pissed his pants. They were about to file for your expulsion—Takanaka tipped her off, by the way, really saved your ass—but it was your mom who pushed the transfer to Meiou right on time. Wouldn't take 'no' for an answer and did everything she could to take Iwamoto down in the process." He put his hands behind his head, lips pursing. "Probably won't stick. Iwamoto's a slippery weasel. But in the end, your mom saved you and damn near took him down, too. At the very least she saved your squeaky clean record. It's something."

"How do you even know about—?" I stopped and shook my head at my own stupidity. "Right. Ghost. You were spying."

He didn't bother denying it. "When I saw her leave the restaurant on a warpath, I couldn't _not_ follow. And watching her ream Iwamoto was priceless. Being dead has its perks."

Yusuke seemed pleased by my mother's actions. I'd had a temper in my old life, for sure, but maybe part of my temper in this life came from my determined warrior of a mom. I'd been prepared to resent my mother for this change in canon. I knew that most of this was my fault—earning my parents money for private school, getting mad at Yusuke's _tsuya_ and jeopardizing my place at Sarayashiki—but I'd still been ready to hold a grudge if my role in canon drifted astray.

Without my mother, though, the quality of my life in this world—the life that I would continue to live after the events of Yu Yu Hakusho came to a close—would have been threatened.

I'd forgotten I needed to worry about more than just Yu Yu Hakusho.

Sure. I was a character in this world.

Today Mom reminded me I was also a human being living in it.

Seems mother knew best, after all.

I guess I stared at the ground, stuck inside my own reflection, for a bit too long. Yusuke drew close, leaning in to scowl at my face. "Earth to Keiko. You in there?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." I tucked hair behind my ears. "Just have to thank my mother, apparently."

"Damn straight. She had your back today." His teeth gleamed like a tiger's maw. "Don't let her work go to waste, you hear me? Grab Meiou by the balls. Make it your _bitch_."

I snorted. "Eloquent as always, Yusuke."

"Yup." His expression darkened. "And don't you dare get caught up in your head."

"Get caught up in my—?"

"Every time something big happens, you do the same thing." He swirled a finger around his ear, inadvertently using the American Sign Language word for 'crazy'. "I've seen it a hundred times. You get caught up in your head and over-analyze _everything_. That big brain of yours isn't always a good thing, y'know?"

He knew me far too well. I'd done a poor job acting as Keiko, it seemed. I sighed and shook my head, lips trembling with a suppressed smile.

Yusuke looped an arm around my neck. I knotted my fingers through his. Even in the scenery of a dream, his body felt warm and comforting against mine.

"Even if we don't go to the same school, you'll still see me around once I come back," he said in my ear. "So stop looking like the world's about to end. OK?"

"…sure."

"...I know that dramatic pause. What's wrong?"

"Honestly?" I grabbed his hand and extricated myself from the hug. Although my next words were true, they weren't the real answer to his question. "Just dreading telling Kuwabara I'm going to switch schools, is all."

Yusuke threw his head back. "Ha! Yeah, he'll probably cry. That conversation's gonna suck!"

I glowered. "Not funny, Yusuke."

"Are you kidding? It's hilarious! He's totally got a crush on you!"

Call me dense, but I couldn't tell if he was kidding or serious. His laughter sounded the same whether he was making fun of me, or just having fun. I shoved my hands into my pajama pockets and hunched, trying not to look like a kid being picked last at dodgeball.

I mean, Kuwabara was amazing. He was my _favorite_. But we'd only just met. Sure, we were close already, and we connected on a lot of levels, but that didn't mean—

"Anyway," Yusuke said, "just tell him the truth. Rip the Band-Aid off. You don't have to go to the same school to be friends."

Ah. Looked like Yusuke was kidding about the crush thing. I put my hand to my forehead. "I guess I worry you'll both forget me if I'm out of sight, out of mind."

Yusuke rolled his eyes so hard, I feared they'd pop out of his head.

"Fat chance of that," he said. "With your loud mouth, there's no chance you'd _let us_ forget."

Leave it to Yusuke to remind me of my own tenacity. "True," I said, and then I shoved his shoulder with an open palm. "Speaking of loud mouths. How long till I get to yell at you again? How long should your resurrection take?"

He looked annoyed, staring up at the pink sky with a scowl.

"Not sure," Yusuke said. "They're being vague and it sucks. But I'll let you know."

I started to pretend to act like I didn't know what he meant (' _Who_ is being vague?') but then his eyes narrowed as he stared off into the distance of my dreamscape—sensing something beyond the scope of my perception. His hand drifted toward me, landing on my shoulder with an absent squeeze.

"I've gotta go," he said.

My stomach lurched. "So soon?"

Eyes slid my way, sardonic. "What? Will you miss me?"

Much as Yusuke knew me, I knew him, too. He expected me to deny his blithe accusation. He expected me to play coy, to tell him to shut up and stop being stupid.

Instead, I said, "Yeah. I will. I'll miss the shit out of you, every day, until you come back to me."

Yusuke recoiled, hand coming off my shoulder—but then our gazes collided like comets hurtling through space. I felt sincerity burning inside me. I just hoped Yusuke could see it.

Slowly, he put the hand back on my collarbone.

"Don't get mushy on me, now," he muttered.

That time, I played to his expectations. I grinned and said, "Fuck off."

It was like something out of a movie, when his knuckles chucked my chin. I think the motion even surprised him. His eyes widened, but then they softened above the curve of his reluctant smile.

"That's my girl," he said.

Yusuke turned away.

"See ya round," he said.

I didn't have time to say goodbye.

Between one moment and the next, Yusuke disappeared.

Between that moment and another, Hiruko took his place.

It happened so quickly, I wondered if I was seeing things. But then the kid kicked at the poppy-covered ground with the toe of his wooden sandal, and I knew it was him, after all.

"Hiruko," I intoned. "We have to stop meeting like this."

Eyes like the sea at high tide slid upward, meeting mine with faux innocence. He asked, "Oh?"

"Yeah. It's annoying. I can't call you, but you can show up whenever? Hardly seems fair."

His eternal smile widened. "Life isn't fair. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

"Don't quote my favorite movie at me," I said.

Said Hiruko: "You could just let Yusuke get cremated, you know."

For a second I thought I'd misheard him. He spoke with marked nonchalance, like he'd commented on mere weather as opposed to the fate of my best friend. As such, it took me a minute to find the gumption to reply.

"Excuse me?" I said.

A tired eye-roll. Hiruko began, "I said—"

"No. I heard what you said. I'm wondering _why_ you said it."

The pink-haired brat spoke like he was trying to explain something obvious to a child. "Yusuke dying—I mean dying for real—would be a huge broken rule." His head tilted, but I didn't believe his guiltless smile for a single goddamn second. "Wouldn't _you_ like to be the next Spirit Detective?

My response was as heartfelt as it was immediate: " _Fuck_ no."

"Such a fast answer," Hiruko said, laughing. "But are you sure? You seemed so intent on awakening supernatural abilities in yourself."

"Of course I want abilities. Who in their right mind _wouldn't_ want them, if they were transported to a world where being psychic was possible?" I countered. That logic seemed pretty freaking obvious, at least to me. Enough people had written self-insertion fanfic in my home world for me to know this must be the case. "But that desire doesn't mean I want to…to _usurp_ Yusuke's story to get those powers."

Hiruko looked genuinely surprised to hear that—and this time, I believed him. "You _don't_?" he asked.

"No! I want my own narrative, not someone else's," I said.

"Funny." His smiled reminded me of a shark. "You've been content to play the part of Keiko these past few days, without alteration."

…he had a point, dammit. Playing her role had felt comforting indeed. But Hiruko seemed to be neglecting one important factor.

"I only acted the part of Keiko to protect Yusuke," I said. "Let's call recent circumstance extenuating."

"Oh. So you admit you've grown attached to him, eh?" he said. Hiruko didn't look upset by that, but something about his smile tightened. My gut clenched in response. "Interesting."

It was then my turn to use a supercilious tone of voice. "Whatever you say. But I think switching schools is a pretty big alteration when it comes to Keiko's storyline."

"Perhaps it is," Hiruko relented. His smiled amped up a few watts, but in that moment I felt like he stopped addressing me. It was more like he was looking _at_ me than talking _with_ me. "You're more aggressive than the other Keiko. More ambitious, too. That aggression and that ambition are to blame for your new predicament, regarding your education." He chuckled, hands crossing in front of his archaic crimson robe. "Funny how a shift in personality alone changed your fate."

"Stop talking about me like I'm a science project."

Pink hair fell across his eyes. "Sorry. But you _are_ a project of mine."

"Care to elaborate?" I said—and just then I felt particularly bold. "Kagome and I would just _love to know more about you."_

Hiruko's smile froze.

It thawed just as quickly, though. The boy tutted, shoving his hands out of sight and into his sleeves. I waited for him to speak, but when his eyes drifted across the magenta sky and field of encroaching crimson poppies, I realized he didn't intend to reply at all.

"Of course not," I said with an exasperated sigh. "You're going to be as annoyingly cryptic as always."

Hiruko shrugged. He bent, plucked a poppy from the ground, and tucked it behind his ear. I rolled my eyes when he looked to me for wide-eyed approval.

"Look," I said. "I'm not going to let Yusuke die. Screw your broken rules and your puppy-dog eyes. On this matter, I'm following the script. I have a role to play, and I'll be damned if I neglect it on your account." I couldn't disguise the venom in my voice when I added, "Hope that's OK, despite what you might've hoped?"

Hiruko considered me for a moment. Indigo eyes raked the aubergine sky.

"For now, I suppose its fine," the boy eventually said—and then lid obscured eye in a conspiratorial wink. "But I have faith you'll stray again soon."

I wanted to tell him to go screw himself.

Hiruko ended the dream before I could form the words.

The purple and pink sky faded, replaced by the grey ceiling of my darkened bedroom.

When the sun rose in shades of lilac and gold, I walked to the funeral parlor to pay Yusuke one final visit.

I found his body breathing.

As I called for help through shrieking lungs, I hoped Hiruko could hear me.

Little bastard deserved to know Yusuke was coming back, and that I would play my role in his resurrection perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG. I love Yusuke so much. This chapter reminded me of that. Writing the two of them (us?) is so much fun.
> 
> Kurama will appear in chapter 21, so hold onto your hats! Also, Hiei's entrance is going to be hilarious. So excited to get there.
> 
> Anyone know what move/book Hiruko quoted? It's my fav!


	20. What Scares Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Keiko gets meta (really really meta) and is given valuable advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultural Notes (2):
> 
> 1/2: Apparently Japan has relatively low autopsy rates compared to other countries due to a combination of cultural and religious reasons (mutilating bodies is often seen as disrespectful). Yusuke lucked out. 
> 
> 2/2: Sticking your chopsticks straight up in a bowl of rice is SUPER bad manners, and is called "tsukitate-bashi" (突き立て箸). At funerals you put chopsticks upright in rice as an offering. You're basically summoning bad luck and spirits when you do it at the dinner table.

  
****Metallic beeping pulsed steady through the stillness. A whoosh of displaced air punctuated the rhythmic beat. Listen hard enough and you could hear the subtle drip of the IV line feeding fluids into Yusuke's arm.

Kuwabara stared at Yusuke's motionless, silent body without speaking.

Eventually he backed up until he hit the wall. He slid down it until he sat, knees to his chest, staring at the comatose body of our once-dead friend through eyes unseeing.

Gently, I asked, "Are you OK?"

Kuwabara's eyes focused. "Oh. Um." He looked at me for helpless reassurance. "I think I'm in shock?"

"Probably," I said. I slid down the wall next to him. "I'll give you a minute."

I'd found Yusuke the day before. His body had been rushed to the nearest hospital for evaluation, Atsuko delightedly screaming and fist-pumping next to me in the back of the ambulance (I wish I had a photo of the EMTs' startled faces). Ten hours of testing later, we were told the EMTs at the scene of Yusuke's car accident had somehow missed Yusuke's subtle heartbeat, and that if we hadn't found him when we did, he'd likely have died in the next few days—if cremation didn't get him first, of course.

Now he lay in the back bedroom at Atsuko's apartment, hooked up to a heart monitor, feeding tube, and breathing apparatus. An IV provided fluids. Nurses came by every few hours to check on him (not to mention change his catheter, which I'm sure Yusuke found embarrassing) but otherwise, there was little to do but sit at his side and wait.

Not that the doctors advocated waiting for him to wake up. They could barely detect brain activity. It was likely he'd never wake up, they said. We shouldn't put too much stock in hope.

They didn't know what I knew, though.

At my side, Kuwabara shifted. He reached toward Yusuke's shoulder, then stopped.

"So many tubes," he said, voice vibrating with nerves beneath the beat of the heart monitor.

"They're necessary," I said. "But yeah. Scary-looking, huh?"

Kuwabara nodded. You could barely see Yusuke's face beneath the plastic ventilator mask. At first I'd been shocked by the sight of all the tubes and medical equipment, just like Kuwabara, but for entirely different reasons than my carrot-topped friend. Yusuke had slept without assistance in the anime. In this world, he needed artificial support. I had no idea why this change had occurred, but honestly, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Even in stasis, you needed fluids and nutrients. I felt safer with him hooked up like this, even if the ventilator looked creepy.

"So he didn't die?" Kuwabara said. "The doctors just…missed his heartbeat?"

"No," I said. "He died."

Kuwabara's brow lifted.

"He died, and he came back."

I told Kuwabara everything about my contact with Yusuke's ghost, just like I'd told Atsuko when we were waiting on Yusuke's tests at the hospital (she'd believed me right off the bat, no questions asked—love that woman). Kuwabara listened without comment, eyes widening with every word.

"So he's coming back for good," he said when I fell quiet. "Not just in a coma forever?"

"Seems that way."

"You're not scared you're wrong?"

"No."

I wasn't scared I was wrong about Yusuke's intention to return—messing up Yusuke's resurrection through my rogue actions is what scared me. But Kuwabara didn't need to know that. He put his hand on his chin and glowered at Yusuke's body.

"You dreamed he was alive. So you went to his body, and it was alive just like you dreamed." His mouth parted, eyes roving over Yusuke as he thought this through. "Huh. I guess that proves your dream was real."

"Seems that way," I repeated.

"Do you often have prophetic dreams?"

Kuwabara looked oddly hopefully when he asked that. His face fell when I shook my head.

"No," I said. "Pretty sure Yusuke's ghost made this happen. I think I was talking directly to him, rather than having any sort of precognitive episode."

His nose scrunched. "Pre-cog…?"

"Seeing the future."

"Ooooh."

"Yeah. This was all Yusuke, not me." I toyed with the toe of my sock, picking at the seam. "He told me he'd be back soon. He has an ordeal to complete, and then we'll have him home again."

"Good thing he wasn't autopsied," Kuwabara muttered.

"Yeah. The guy really lucked out."

In truth, Yusuke's luck could be attributed to a quirk of Japanese culture. Turns out autopsy rates were relatively low in Japan, especially if cause of death was already obvious. Car accidents, as it turns out, are pretty fucking obvious. Yusuke should've been the child named after luck, not me.

"Anyway," I said. "At first I thought I was just dreaming. I thought it was all just wishful thinking…but then I checked, and here he was. Breathing. Heart beating."

I couldn't help but smile at Kuwabara, internally reliving the moment I'd gone down to the funeral home and asked to see my friend's body. The workers hadn't wanted to let me in to see Yusuke, but I put on an Oscar-worthy performance of a grieving girlfriend and managed to score entry.

Contrary to my earlier act, the joy I experienced when I felt Yusuke's pulse flutter beneath my fingertips was wholly genuine. I think Atsuko so readily believed my news when I called her because I sounded so perfectly sincere. Same with my parents. They hadn't asked single question when I called. They just shut down the restaurant, chased out all the patrons, and came running to the hospital. Good ol' Mom and Dad. They'd volunteered to personally help care for Yusuke's body before I suggested we hire in-home nurses, instead. Hospital would foot the bill, I bet. They owed us for nearly killing Yusuke, after all, and would want to avoid a lawsuit…not to mention Atsuko's Yakuza contacts.

She'd never admitted outright to having them, but the big black vans around the hospital that day spoke volumes.

Kuwabara regarded me with gravity. "So he's _really_ coming back?"

"Yeah, Kuwabara." My grin threatened to split my cheeks in half. "He is."

Kuwabara didn't react for a second. Then he sniffed, put a hand over his face, and lurched to his feet.

"Gotta pee," he said.

There was no disguising how thick his words sounded, just as there was no disguising his red-rimmed eyes when he returned from the bathroom.

His heart-melting grin told me that any tears he'd cried were borne of joy.

"So—did he say how long this ordeal of his would take?" he asked, plopping back down on the floor next to me.

"Nope."

"Hmmph!" Kuwabara crossed his legs and gripped his ankles with both hands, nose turning up. "He probably knows, that big old liar."

"Really? How do you figure?"

"He probably knows how long it'll take, but he didn't tell you so he could get the jump on me when he gets back! He's just scared to face me like a real man!" Kuwabara declared. He bent over Yusuke and shook his fist. "Hear that, Urameshi? I know your plan and I won't be caught off guard! Even if you jump me in the middle of class, I'll kick your ass!"

Kuwabara's aggressive scowl barely hid his burgeoning smile. I concealed a smile of my own behind my hair, listening as Kuwabara berated Yusuke for being a tricky son of a bitch. Typical teenage guy, hiding happiness behind hostility and insults. It was honestly adorable. They'd never tell each other to their faces that they admired and respected each other, but it was painfully obvious to me. Man, I was so glad to have Kuwabara by my side in all this. He—

"Hey, Keiko?"

I jerked up, tucking hair behind my ear. "Hmm?"

"When are you coming back to school?" he asked.

I couldn't help but stiffen at his question. I hadn't gone back to Sarayashiki since Yusuke died—mostly because I didn't actually go there anymore. Still hadn't told Kuwabara. He'd stopped by a few times and we'd talked on the phone every day since Yusuke passed, but the moment to tell him had never…well, it never felt right. So I'd kept quiet, for fear of the conversation going really, really wrong.

Bad policy. I knew better than to drag this out. I needed to be blunt.

Well, then. Now seemed as good a time as any.

Just as I drew in a breath to answer, however, Atsuko swaggered into the room. Kuwabara leapt to his feet and bowed, thanking her for letting him visit, but she didn't appear to hear. She only had eyes for Yusuke—happy, glittering eyes that had regained all the piss and vinegar she was famous for, spark rekindled in the presence of her resurrected spitfire son.

"Hey, kids!" she chirped, kneeling next to Yusuke so she could pinch his cheek. "How's my baby boy doing today? Strong and silent as always, I see!"

"His vitals look good," I said.

Kuwabara and Atsuko raised an eyebrow in unison.

"Since when have you been able to read medical equipment?" Atsuko asked.

"I had the nurses explain a few things last time they were here," I said. "Just how to monitor his breathing and heart. Nothing complicated. But they promised they'd show me how to insert an IV next time, so I'll be able to help out and—"

Atsuko started laughing before I could finish.

"You're a chronic over-achiever. What the hell do you see in my boy, anyway?" Atsuko said through her chortles. "Don't waste so much time around here. You've got a life to live, right?" She glanced at her watch. "And aren't you meeting a friend of yours…now-ish?"

When I first arrived at Atsuko's that afternoon, I told her I'd be getting dinner with a friend after I revealed Yusuke's not-corpse to Kuwabara…but surely I hadn't been in here for _that_ long. Right? I thought I had another hour to get to—

I looked at my watch.

My eyes promptly bugged out of my face.

"Oh, shit!" I bolted to my feet at a near sprint, doubling back when I realized I'd forgotten my purse. I dipped hasty bows at both Atsuko and Kuwabara. "Sorry, but I've gotta go!"

"Uh. No problem?" Kuwabara said.

"Come back tomorrow, Keiko!" Atsuko said. When Kuwabara stood and bowed, she grinned at him. "And you too, Kuwabara. It's about time my Yusuke started making more friends, even if he's not awake to enjoy them."

Kuwabara snickered at that. Then his hesitant, oddly hopeful eyes slid my way. "See you tomorrow here, Yukimura?"

"Sure, sure." I waved over my shoulder, unwilling to wait for Kuwabara to put on his shoes and walk with me because I was late, dammit, and the next train was set to leave ASAP. "Bye!"

Hurried through I was, I noted with satisfaction that Kuwabara stayed behind and talked to Atsuko. I heard their voices through the window when I ran down the porch, their words lapping at the glass like waves on the shore.

I wasn't alone in taking care of Yusuke, thanks to Kuwabara.

Neither, it seemed, was I alone in caring for Atsuko, once more thanks to him.

All the more reason I needed to be careful about how I told him about Meiou.

Turns out losing Kuwabara was one of the things that scared me most.

* * *

I glared at her while she laughed, her small face the color of a ripe cherry, little fist banging against her knee.

I said, "It's not funny."

"Au contraire, mon bon ami," Kagome said. "It's _hilarious_. You're going to Meiou!" Her cackle reminded me of a sadistic parakeet. "Looks like you really fucked yourself over, making your parents wealthy. Not to mention punching a teacher."

" _Almost_ punching a teacher.

"Don't be pedantic, missy." She stopped laughing long enough to point at me, grinning. "You've only got yourself to blame, Eeyore. You and your internalized guilt and lingering anxiety disorder." Her composure shattered; fist battered knee again. "Oh man. Little Miss Thinker, undone by her big brain. Never thought I'd see the day! Ha!"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I grumbled. "I'm the worst. Are you done mocking me yet?"

She was not done. Far from it. By the time she ordered a second cup of frozen yogurt, Kagome was still chuckling at my expense. Eventually she calmed down, thoughtfully picking at her mango custard and gumballs with a spoon.

"How bad a change do you think this is, anyway?" she asked. "Like, how much will switching schools change _Yu Yu Hakusho_ canon?"

"Honestly? I don't know."

Honestly? Not knowing scared the shit out of me. I'd suffered many sleepless nights worrying about this, trying to discern and predict all possible variables wrought by this change, but results slipped through my fingers like water through a sieve. Mom and Dad thought my reluctance to change schools was just because I didn't want to leave my friends behind, alongside embarrassment at my near-miss expulsion. Little did they know my truth was far stranger than their inadvertent fiction.

"Keiko was at the school all during the Saint Beast arc when those zombie-guys attacked her, so that's something I'll have to deal with," I said. "That's the biggest thing, though—the biggest I can remember, at least." I ticked off the next few comments on my fingers. "I can think of three other times the school mattered. The first time she met Botan, it was on the roof of the school. She saw the Rescue Yukina video tape in Yusuke's hand at the school. And I think she was shown at the school during the Sensui arc, too." I put the fingers down and massaged my temples. "But those were small moments. Easily accounted for. What scares me is the possibility those missed moments might add up to something huge."

Kagome tapped her chin, thinking. "So…butterfly flaps its wings and causes a broken-canon tornado?"

"Exactly." Relief felt even more refreshing than my green tea yogurt; Kagome understood me. Awesome. So happy we found each other. "And with Minamino being so close by…"

Her lips pursed. "Minamino?"

"Oh. I mean Kurama." Kagome's eyes lightened as understanding dawned. "I'm training myself to use his human name so I don't slip up and give myself away if I meet him."

"Good idea, smarty pants," she said—but then she pointed her spoon at me, glob of mango splattering the table. "Wait. 'If' you meet him?" She crossed her arms and glared. "Let me guess. You're worried associating with Minamino too early will change things about canon, aren't you?"

Kagome and I had only hung out a few times, mostly before our weekly lessons with Hideki- _sensei_ , but she already knew me pretty well. I nodded in affirmation.

She looked mildly alarmed by my response. "Holy shit. You're not gonna _not_ meet him, are you?"

"I don't know." The words felt like a long-kept confession, private and maybe a little shameful. "I mean, I _want_ to meet him. I really, really want to. I just worry it'll change things. He and Keiko barely exchanged two words in the anime."

Hell, I remembered one scene during the Dark Tournament where Keiko had asked Shizuru if Kurama was human. She hadn't used his name; she just called him 'that boy'. Did anime-Keiko even _know_ Kurama's name?

"They weren't friends in the anime," I said. "Would being friends, or even classmates, be too big a change?"

Kagome took a comically large bite of yogurt. Her eyes widened. She groaned and cradled her head in her hands.

"Brain freeze?" I asked.

"Fucking brain freeze!" she concurred.

I laughed. She glared, but then her look turned thoughtful.

"If you want to meet him, then you should," she said.

My hands tightened. "But what if—?"

"Hypotheticals!" Kagome declared. "Eeyore and her constant hypotheticals! Just take life as it comes and stop worrying, for once!"

"Easier said than done," I muttered. "I might not get panic attacks in this body, but I'm still anxious."

I hadn't been formally diagnosed with an anxiety disorder as Keiko, but as the years went on I realized very little about the way my brain worked had changed when I entered her body. I was still incapable of not agonizing over things most people would say aren't worth my time. I was still sleepless at night, wrapped up in paranoia and anxiety.

"Telling someone like me not to worry is like telling someone with a broken limb to _just stop having a broken limb_ ," I said. "It's not possible. Worrying is how I'm wired."

Kagome grimaced. She set her yogurt aside—and for a minute there she looked a lot older than 10.

"Shit," she said, all sincerity and severity now. "I'm sorry if I dismissed your feelings."

I swirled my yogurt absently. "It's OK."

"No, I should know better. My husband had obsessive compulsive disorder. I know better than to tell someone to just get over their emotions." Her somber look brightened. "But tell you what. Maybe this will help: Kurama is super smart, right? I doubt he'd let you throw him off course no matter how much you interfere in his life."

"That's…actually a great point."

No way could someone like me ever change the fox demon's fate—not if he had a goal in mind. He was just too sharp and focused to be led off course. Kagome's logical assessment of the situation had me heaving a relived sighed, because suddenly the power was in Kurama's hands, not mine. That diffusion of responsibility was like a balm to my worrywart soul.

"Thank you. I feel better, actually," I told her. "Probably won't stop worrying, but at least you took the edge off."

"You're welcome," she said. "Speaking of feeling better. Must be a relief to know Yusuke is coming back, huh? You've been worried about that, too."

"I'll say. The next big plot point is the fire where Keiko's hair burns off, I think." I fingered a pigtail and mimed cutting it off; I hated this hairstyle. "Gotta be on the lookout for that. I'm ready for a haircut."

She frowned. "Is that really what comes next? What about that time Yusuke possessed Kuwabara?"

"Yusuke did that because Keiko didn't believe he'd come back to life when he talked to her in a dream," I said. "I believed him in the dream, so there's no need for that storyline." My shrug felt like a declaration of defeat. "I'm honestly sad about it. Seeing Yusuke in Kuwabara's body would've been hilarious. But it's probably for the best."

"Really? Why's that?" Kagome asked.

"I'd rather cut out as much needless drama as I can. The possession episode didn't have much impact on the overall story, so cutting it just saves me the anxiety of saving Yusuke's body from cremation in the nick of time."

She started to nod, but then Kagome froze. Her hand slacked around her spoon. It tumbled from her grip and into her orange yogurt with a splat.

"Oh, shit!" she said, eyes as round as the gumballs in her dessert. "I just thought of something!"

I stared at her. "Are you OK?"

"Oh, I'm fine—but whatever you do, don't mention my name to Kurama!"

"…OK?"

"Just—if you feel the need to mention me, or if he were to ever see us together, make up a name for me." She looked utterly serious, as if asking for a life-or-death favor instead of something so small (small if not weird, but whatever). "Like…a name like 'Sakura' or something. As generic a name as you can think up!"

"OK," I said. "But why?"

She crossed her arms and winked. "You're not the only one of us who likes to overthink everything."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning just like you, I also want to cut needless drama." She jammed her spoon into her ice cream, very impolitely—it looked like one of the food offerings on Yusuke's casket. "I had a dream the other night that Kurama appeared in the Feudal Era. He and Sesshomaru had a pillow fight in their underwear." Her eyes rolled back like she'd tasted something sweet. " _Super_ hot."

Yogurt almost came out my nose. Kagome didn't appear to notice.

"It got me thinking," she continued. "Both _Inuyasha_ and _Yu_ _Yu Hakusho_ have demons. In this universe, both animes appear to exist at the same time. So maybe…"

"Demons from _Yu Yu Hakusho_ , like Yoko Kurama, might've existed in the Feudal Era," I said.

The notion had occurred to me before, though I hadn't given it much thought—mainly because I didn't see it affecting me. Keiko never travelled to Feudal Japan. Obviously Kagome had more reason to ponder these questions than I did. But why did Kagome want to keep her name from Kurama?

Kagome seemed please by my deduction. "Exactly! And as your school-switch so clearly showed us, things about our plots are changing. So maybe there will be a bigger crossover than just the two of us meeting each other and seeing fuzzy tabloid shots of Sailor V in the paper." She leaned her cheek on her hand, staring into space with a pout. "Maybe I'll meet Kurama when I finally go back to the past. The thing is, if we meet now when he's Shuichi, and he recognizes me, it'll give away whether or not our shows cross over."

She had a point. If Shuichi reacted to her face or name in the here-and-now, it would give away if she met him in the Feudal Era—

Wait. She _didn't_ want to know ahead of time if she'd meet him? Knowing information like that ahead of time would be like striking gold, as far as I was concerned. Anything that helped me gain control, I'd welcome. So why did Kagome not want to know details about her life in advance?

As if answering my unspoken question, Kagome said, "I don't want to know about any changes before I've had a chance to experience them myself." She seemed almost excited, bouncing a little in her seat. "I want it to be a surprise!"

I processed Kagome's subtext.

My jaw promptly dropped.

I said: "You…you want to avoid meeting Minamino in this era to avoid _spoilers_?"

Her grin was like sunshine bottled. "Yup!"

There was no stopping me: I cradled my head in my hands and groaned.

"This isn't a fanfiction, Tigger," I said.

"You sure about that, Eeyore?" Kagome chirped with maddening sincerity.

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure. This is real life."

" _Is it_ though, Eeyore?" she implored. "Is. It. Though?"

"We are _not_ fictional." I sat up, glared, and thrust out my bare arm. A quote from The Bard rolled ready off my tongue. "'If you cut me, do I not bleed?' We're fucking _real_!"

She turned up her nose. "Character in fanfics bleed. I mean, on paper. But still."

"Oh my god. This is not a fanfic." I spoke slowly, trying to disabuse her of the ridiculous notion we starred in some pathetic fanboy's lame fantasies, because that was ludicrous and _oh my god please kill me now_. "We are living _real lives_. There are no spoilers in _real life_."

Her stubborn eyes were like diamonds, unyielding and aglow.

"Maybe there _are_ spoilers," she said, "when real life happens inside a gigantic fanfiction crossover universe."

" _We are not in a fanfic_!" I snarled. Kagome leaned away, holding up her hands in wide-eyed surrender. I flashed her a sheepish look and tried very hard to compose myself. "Sorry. It's just, this whole thing is way too stupid to ever be a fanfic. No one would even read it! It's too weird!"

That got a smile out of her. "Yeah, it is pretty farfetched," she said—and her resolute look returned. "But like it or not, I don't want spoilers. Time travel is funky enough as it is without Kurama recognizing me too soon."

Hate to admit it, but she made sense. I'd not want to screw up time travel, either. I slumped back in my seat with a sigh, worry defeated once again by cold logic.

"Fine," I relented. "If it makes you happy, your name is 'Sakura' as far as Minamino is concerned."

Her charming grin all but lit up the night. "You're the best! And sorry to cut this short, but we should probably get going."

For the second time that day, I checked my watch and bolted to my feet. "Ah, damn! He'll make us run extra laps if we're tardy!"

Kagome hadn't thought of that, apparently. She shrieked an expletive before pouring the rest of her yogurt down her throat while I gathered up my things. Then—Kagome sprinting, me jogging to accommodate her short legs—we ran together to Hideki- _sensei's_ warehouse dojo.

I'd been attending lessons once a week since the day I met Kagome, and Hideki had not lied to us: that first lesson had just been a warm-up. The two boys who seemed unsure at the end of the first lesson hadn't returned for a third once they experienced the sheer, brutal torture of the second. It became apparent, quickly, that Hideki had been pulling punches that first lesson.

Like. He'd been pulling punches _a lot_.

Each lesson followed roughly the same format. We were made to run laps until we dropped, then meditate, then go over forms and learn new _katas_ before sparring with Hideki until none of us could stand.

And I mean it—we sparred until black spots stained the corners of our vision, breath like a knives in our ribs, every limb quivering like jelly in an earthquake. Hideki's ghostly dodging ability had turned into viper-swift strikes and grapples of steel. The man never seemed to tire, like the Energizer Bunny if it had been raised in a hidden ninja village that specialized in being sadistic and torturous. I came away with skin like a patchwork quilt of bruises, every joint creaking when I fell into bed, fireworks of pain sparking through my battered body.

I kept going back, though.

Hoping to gain an edge, I hit the gym and lifted weights on my own time. I ran miles every morning before school. I practiced _katas_ every chance I got. And although I never managed to hit Hideki, or even keep him from kicking my ass, I kept going back to lessons.

Every session felt like it unlocked something in my brain: a little piece of dexterity, or strength, or raw insight. Nothing about my previous formal training could possibly compare.

I would not waste the opportunity to learn from this man, no matter how badly his punches hurt.

When Kagome and I arrived that night, Hideki- _sensei_ and our other classmate, Ezakiya, were already there. Hideki looked as bored as ever, even when he barked at us to start running sprints up and down the length of the warehouse. Usually the sprints cleared my head, making the meditation that followed come easily, but tonight I couldn't focus. I couldn't prevent stray thoughts from flitting through my consciousness, cracking it like air bubbles in a concrete expanding during winter frost. My strikes during the sparring session lacked passion or motivation. I clung to the fringes of the fight, letting scrappy Kagome and strong Ezakiya take point while I brought up the rear in our assault on the untouchable Hideki.

_Were we in a fanfic?_

I dodged behind Ezakiya when Hideki sent him sprawling.

_No. That's stupid. Don't think about that._

Kagome screeched and threw herself at Hideki, but the man flipped her with a lazy twist of his shoulder.

_Don't think about that. Think about something fun. Kuwabara?_

Ezakiya roared as he charged our _sensei_ , but Hideki parried and forced Ezakiya to the ground.

_No, not Kuwabara. You'll feel guilty. You still haven't told him about Meiou—_

Grey eyes flashed like steel in my direction. Hideki's arm cut a path through the air before Ezakiya even hit the mat.

The next thing I knew, Hideki smashed my sternum with the flat of his palm.

I reeled backward and came down hard on my knee. Something inside it twisted and popped, but I barely registered the pain because something in my chest had popped, too. I went down with a gasp, curling in on myself as I tried to breathe. It felt like a train had hit me. Each gasp sent a spider's web of agony across my ribs.

Silence followed. Then Hideki's impassive voice drifted through the air.

"That's enough for tonight, I think."

I shut my eyes, dimly registering when Kagome ran to my side, snapping at Ezakiya to come and help me sit. I let them haul me up without opening my eyes.

When a shadow crossed my face, however, my lids lifted just a crack.

Hideki knelt in front of me. His eyes moved from Ezakiya to Kagome.

"Both of you," he murmured, "go home."

"But Keiko and I walk to the train together," Kagome protested.

The barest hint of a scowl twisted Hideki's lips. "Then wait for her outside."

No one argued with Hideki. It was tough to argue with a man that strong. Ezakiya gave my shoulder a supportive squeeze while I wheezed, and Kagome muttered that she'd wait for me, but both of them left, as requested.

Was it just me, or did Hideki look annoyed once the door fell shut behind them?

"You were distracted," he said. Sounded almost like an accusation. "You were in your head again. I told you to stop that."

"I know." My words rasped, sandpaper over taffeta. "Sorry."

"Apologize to yourself. You're the only person you hurt." He looked at my chest, then at the knees I'd pulled up to it. "Hold still."

He lifted his hands and placed them over my left knee—the knee that had earlier popped. The knee, now that Hideki drew attention to it, burning like a star inside my skin. A gash in my leggings showed a bruise purpling below my patella. Hideki spread his hands around the joint, fingers light atop my skin.

His hands began to glow.

"I spoke to Genkai," Hideki said. "She says you're in-the-know about _reiki_."

He was right. Too bad affirming words were impossible to form just then. A tingling coolness, soda on a hot day, suffused my knee in raw, soothing sensation, accompanying a dandelion glow so faint I could've written it off as a trick of the eye. I knew better than that, though. I knew what I was looking at, and I would've gasped in awe if I was able. As it stands, I just sat there, staring, trying to breathe as Hideki showed me the first example of _reiki_ manipulation I'd ever seen in this world. The Spirit Wave hardly counted—I'd been unconscious when Genkai used it.

The experience ended all too soon. When he pulled his hands away, the purple bruise had faded to angry red.

The pain had dissipated entirely.

"I think I cracked your sternum," Hideki said, shifting. "Sorry in advance."

He held his hand over my chest, but not touching me. Probably out of a sense of decorum? I wasn't sure. But the white light felt just as soothing as before, even if he didn't make direct contact. Soon the searing pain in my chest faded to a dull throb.

When he removed his hand, my breath returned to me in a heady, bracing rush. I gulped it down like I was dying of thirst.

"Tell me," Hideki said when I breathed normally at last. "Why were you so in your head today?"

Question knocked me off balance. I started to tell him there was no reason, mostly because I didn't think he actually wanted to know (he was a grown man; what did he care for the gossip of a seemingly normal teenager?) but something in his deadpan expression stopped me.

I got the feeling Hideki didn't ask questions unless he actually wanted to know the answer. Just didn't seem the type for smalltalk, my _sensei_.

"My best friend died a few days ago," I said, "but night before last I had a dream he was coming back, and when I checked the body yesterday, I found a heartbeat."

Hideki did not react. But I thought that maybe, just maybe, his eyes widened a fraction of a fraction.

"He's in a coma," I said. "And on the day of his funeral, my parents told me I'm switching schools. Apparently I got expelled, because at the funeral I almost punched an asshole teacher when he insulted my dead friend. My not-dead friend. Whatever." I shrugged. "It'll all work out eventually, but right now it's tough to keep a clear head. Lots of things keeping me up at night. I'm not the best at dealing with uncertainty. Makes me feel powerless, and I don't like that feeling." I smiled, attempting to look chipper. "But in the end, I apologize for losing focus. That's on me."

Hideki stayed very still for a moment. Then he blinked, slowly, twice.

"At least you have a decent excuse," he murmured.

I shrugged. He shook his head, stood, and offered me a hand. I took it.

"Are you meditating much?" he said as he helped me to my feet.

"At home, yeah. Mostly to deal with stress."

"Good. You need all the help you can get with stress."

Did he mean that as an insult? It sounded a bit like an insult. Hard to tell with him, though. I started to ask, but then he pointed between my eyes, tracing a path from my head to my toes.

"Meditate, but focus on the flow of energy in your body," he said. "Try to slow and speed your heart if you're able. Concentrate on breathing, and on feeling how energy connects your body's many systems." He shoved his hands in his pockets and slouched. "I can't promise you'll be able to do it, and certainly not on your first attempt—but if you're ever able to control your body, it'll be a step."

"A step toward?"

A near-imperceptible smile colored his blank expression

Hideki said, "Toward your goal."

My breathing hitched, but not from pain. Genkai must've told him about my wish. Why else would he have shown me his powers, given me this advice?

But why hadn't he shown me before now?

Maybe I had to earn it. Maybe I did something tonight that earned it.

I doubted he'd tell me, even if I guessed.

I bowed. "Thank you, _sensei_. I'll do my best."

He harrumphed and spun on his heel.

"Of course you will," he said as he walked away. "Ice that knee when you get home, and you can skip running tomorrow. Yes, I know you've been training outside of lessons." He held up a single finger. "But only skip _one_ day. I'll know if you skip more."

I suppressed a startled laugh. "Yes, _sensei_."

His hand extended toward the doorknob. I turned away, looking for my shoes—

"Yukimura."

I spun. Hideki stared over his shoulder at me. If he didn't have such a blank face, I might've said he looked…troubled, maybe. But I couldn't be sure.

"When you find yourself at your lowest point," he said, voice carrying despite its softness, "no matter how badly fear might hold you, you must push through. Fear is a liar. Do not listen to what fear might tell you about yourself."

I didn't say anything. Hideki slouched even further, spine a curving question mark.

"When we have failed, we are given the opportunity to discover our truest strengths. We are given the opportunity to discover our truest selves." He turned his back on me once more. "Do not disservice yourself by heeding the words of fear. They are not as important as your own."

With that cryptic message, _sensei_ walked out of the warehouse.

I stood in the dim room for nearly a minute before the door creaked open and Kagome slunk inside. She frowned as she trotted across the space, looking me up and down.

"What did he want?" she asked.

"Not much," I said. My words sounded distant, like someone else was speaking. "Just to fix my knee." I smiled at her. "He's got powers."

Kagome nodded sagely, un-phased as usual. "Ah. Neat."

"Yeah. He fixed my knee, and then he gave me some advice. Sort of. I think that was his version of a pep-talk, actually." I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. "Anyway. Walk to the station?"

The train station was only a few minutes away. I put Kagome on her train, then boarded my own and journeyed home.

Kuwabara answered the phone on the third ring, when I called him.

He took the news of my transfer better than I'd hoped.

"I mean, I'm sad," he said, sounding like a puppy who'd just been put in a kennel, "but this just means we gotta study together a lot to keep in touch, that's all! And we'll have to go to the Megallica concert together, and—"

I couldn't keep my heart from soaring.

Kuwabara wouldn't forget me. He was too caring for that, no matter which school I attended. Hideki had been right, it seemed. I didn't need to listen to fear—not where Kuwabara was concerned, at least.

Kurama, though?

The fox demon wasn't like Kuwabara. He possessed a terrifying capacity for cold indifference, the kind of which warm Kuwabara would never be capable.

Ask me to compile a list of what scares me in this world, and Kurama's cold, logical wrath ranks pretty damn high.

As far as I was concerned, my anxiety disorder wasn't even part of that particular terror equation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was, for me, a bit of a "fix-it" exercise. I always questioned two things about Yusuke's death: how he came back if he had had an autopsy when he died (I was under the impression most accident victims are autopsied, for legal or insurance purposes), and how he survived without eating or drinking while comatose.
> 
> So, in this version we learn that he wasn't autopsied thanks to Japanese cultural interference, and in this version he's placed under artificial life support. I find that more realistic, and I hope you find the changes plausible as well.


	21. Keep it Cool, Keiko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Keiko botches a first impression and makes a new friend — but not the friend she expected.

I learned three things on my first day at Meiou.

The first was that I couldn't outrun my past forever.

The second was that my reputation preceded me.

The third was that I only had two classes with Kurama—and he would not be the first familiar-faced friend I'd make at my new school.

* * *

Meiou eschewed traditional Japanese high school format (in which students were taught all subjects in their homeroom) in favor of an oddly American grade system. We all had homerooms based on our grade, but we travelled from class to class between periods and were taught different subjects in different rooms. This allowed students to pick and choose classes from different grade levels, based on their personal preferences and proficiencies.

Meiou insisted they place me in a 10th grade homeroom, but I was taking math class with mostly 9th graders. English I took with 11th graders. Science I took with 10th graders. And on, and on—you get the idea. Since Kurama was wicked smart, I was certain he took classes above his actual grade level, meaning we could have classes in common no matter what grades we were in.

Kurama was in the 9th grade, if my memory of the anime served. Sure enough, I showed up on my first day and didn't see him in my homeroom. Neither did I see him in math class, or English class, or my chosen elective. I kept an eye out throughout the day, forcing my best Keiko-at-school smile as students and teachers showed me the lay of the land—but try though I might, I couldn't focus on factoids about my new school.

What would I do when I saw Kurama?

I'd play it cool, obviously. Pretend like I didn't know his name. Let myself be introduced to him, not force an interaction like some rabid fangirl (OK, I _am_ a fangirl, but I most certainly wouldn't act like a rabid one...not at first, anyway).

I could see it now. I'd see Kurama from across the room, but I'd avert my eyes so he wouldn't think I'd been expecting him. Then I'd surreptitiously observe him, of course, calmly comparing him to his anime counterpart without being obvious about it. And finally, I'd don my very best Keiko-at-school face when someone introduced us. Probably throw in a look of surprise when someone called my name in order to get my attention for that introduction, for good measure.

'Minamino, was it?' I imagined myself saying as Kurama and I exchanged bows. It goes without saying I'd keep my tone polite, yet friendly. I'd smile and say, 'It's nice to meet you. Thank you for looking out for me at this new school.'

And we'd walk away from the conversation like nothing of significance had taken place.

Smooth, Keiko. Very smooth.

I wouldn't stare at him, obviously. I wouldn't make any overt attempts to be near him (he'd pick up on that right away). I'd never make the mistake of calling him 'Kurama' if I could help it, nor would I ever let on that I knew things about his past. And I'd negotiate my way into his life with subtlety, of course.

'I'm new here,' I'd tell him. 'Think you could show me around?'

Or was that too forward? Maybe I should go with—

I'd scripted my first meeting with Kurama in my head a dozen different ways by the time lunch rolled around. Preoccupied by introduction tactics, I allowed my class rep to show me to the cafeteria, where we ate together with other girls from our class. They all seemed nice enough, though I listened to them talk about the school with only half an ear.

I was too busy scanning the crowd for a shock of brilliant red hair to really focus.

"So you used to go to Sarayashiki?" my class rep, Amagi-san, asked.

"Oh. Um." Her head blocked the door to the cafeteria; I shifted so I could see it. "That's right."

Another classmate asked, "What made you decide to transfer?"

I paused, eyes roving across the milling students. "My parents made the choice."

She exchanged a look with Amagi. I hardly noticed. I was too busy staring out the cafeteria windows, hoping for a glimpse of red amongst the trees lining the school yard.

"Well. I hope you like it here," Amagi said.

Her voice didn't hold much warmth, like she was reading from a script. It occurred to me I'd been less than congenial just now. I drew my focus back to her and smiled my sunniest Keiko-at-school smile.

"Me, too," I said. "Thank you so much for showing me around today. I appreciate it very much. If you don't mine me asking, are there any teachers I should look out for?"

They took the bait. Amagi and company happily took the reins of the conversation and addressed my question, allowing me to continue my scrutiny of the cafeteria. I piped in on occasion and tried to look interested as they described the school; luckily they seemed more than content to leave the conversation one-sided.

In retrospect, I fear I came across as aloof since I didn't answer their questions about myself very thoroughly, but that was something I'd worry about another day.

Frustratingly, I saw neither hide nor crimson hair of Kurama during lunch. Maybe he ate outdoors, communed with plants or something, _whatever_. Tempted to inquire about him (surely he had a reputation at this school, right?), I rationalized that there was no way for me to ask after Kurama when I hadn't even seem him yet. I didn't want to be obvious about this. Didn't want to look like I was stalking him or something. We hadn't met yet, after all.

Best be patient, Keiko. And at least _try_ to breathe…

History class, which I took with mostly 10th graders, came after lunch. The room was just about full, all but a few desks occupied by the time I arrived. I sat in my newly-assigned seat (two rows back, near the middle) and resigned myself to yet another Kurama-free hour. Luckily my teacher wanted to chat, which distracted me from my burgeoning disappointment.

Where the fuck was the damn fox hiding, anyway?

No, don't think about it. Grades. Focus on your grades. Your grades haven't ceased to matter, Keiko. Concentrate. What was the teacher saying?

"Welcome to class, Yukimura-san," my teacher said. She set a folder on my desk and tapped it with a finger. "We only just started the term, but you'll need to make up a few assignments nonetheless. I've included them here."

"Thank you very much," I said.

"There is also a list of required reading," my teacher explained. "I expect you to complete it by—"

Somehow, despite my teacher's proximity and the chatter of my classmates, I heard the classroom door creak open.

A flash of red appeared in the corner of my vision.

The girls at my school all wore red uniforms. The boys wore a weird pink-purple shade.

Despite this assortment of warm colors, the second I saw this particular flash of red appear…I knew.

I _knew_.

I kept my eyes locked on my teacher's face. I didn't turn as the red smudge in my periphery walked behind me and out of sight. I carefully maintained a neutral expression, spine erect but relaxed, as I heard a chair rattled and slide across the floor. I did not react as, below the murmur of other students' conversations, a schoolbag hit the flat of a desk with a thump.

There's no describing how I knew, from nothing more distinct than a smudge, that Kurama had sat down somewhere behind me.

Certainty crackled across my awareness like electricity, biting and undeniable.

_Kurama was here._

_I could feel it._

"Yukimura—are you all right?"

My teacher's brows threatened to merge with her hairline. I blinked. "Hmm?"

"You're quite pale." Real concern darkened her expression. "Are you feeling well?"

I opened my mouth to tell her I was fine—but when I did, the world pulled back into focus.

What I felt, then, I did not like.

I did not like it at all.

It was as if, during the process of focusing so exclusively on Kurama, I'd gone out-of-body.

It was as if, when I'd gotten wrapped up in monitoring Kurama, I'd lost my connection to my physical form.

Now, though, my teacher's words yanked me back into my physical shell like a fish on the end of a line.

Sensation washed across my awareness in a heady tsunami rush.

Saliva flooded my mouth. When I tried to swallow, my throat tangled, breath catching and stopping midway down my neck. Pulse beat against my veins like moths in a jar. Spots danced in my periphery like inverted fireflies. My body warmed over, sweat misting across my face and back, but then my skin frosted as the sweat evaporated. My head threatened to detach from my neck and float away into the sky. When I tried to breathe, tried to breathe deep to calm my racing heart, my chest did nothing but hitch. My throat clenched around the breath fighting against my lungs, body wracking with chill I could not control, hands slick and cold and throat suddenly on fire—

Oh no.

It had been 14 years since the last time this happened, but I knew what was coming.

Good thing Amagi showed me the locations of the bathrooms before class.

I barely made it to a toilet before puking up every last crumb of my lunch.

So much for playing it cool.

* * *

I stayed at the nurse for the rest of history class, per my teacher's instructions. The nurse let me go when I explained the incident was merely a product of nerves about my first day. I threw up all the time when I got nervous, I said—and that was mostly true, if you were talking about my past life. I'd always thrown up in my past life when I got nervous. Seems that habit had finally caught up to me in this one.

I made it to my next class—foreign literature—just as the bell rang. The teacher placed me on the first row near the window after giving me a textbook, telling me which page to turn to, and briefly explaining the course syllabus. Would've preferred the back of the class, but whatever. At least I had a good view.

A good view to look at while I tuned out the lecture and thought about _how fucking stupid I was_.

 _Of course_ my nerves overtook me. How had I not seen that coming? _Of course_ I threw up at the barest sight of Kurama. I'd been a fool to think I could evade all physical symptoms of my anxiety disorder in this life. Keiko possessed a certain serenity my old self had not, but even that serenity wasn't impervious to my nerves—especially when meeting one of the Yu Yu Hakusho characters mostly like to see me for what I was. _Who_ I was? Whatever. The point was that—

"—participate, Yukimura?"

I jerked my chin off my hand. My teacher—a tall man with a thin face and oval glasses, surname Hamaguchi—regarded me with a cool expression over the top of a textbook.

"I'm sorry," I said, cheeks flushing in spite of myself. "It's my first day—"

"Stand up when you speak to me."

My classmates murmured. Cheeks on fire, I slid out from behind my desk.

"I apologize," I said. "As I was saying, it's my first day—"

"I'm afraid I'm not one for excuses," he said, neatly brushing my words aside. My mouth fell wide open. "Now tell me. Do you or do you not agree with the Marxist interpretation of _Romeo and Juliet_ we've been discussing all class?" His lips curled. "Or did you not pay enough attention to form an opinion?"

I glanced at my syllabus, lying face up on the corner of my desk. My eyes narrowed. Apparently reading some sort of literary article about Marxism in Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_ had been last night's homework—homework this teacher knew full well I probably hadn't completed, given I'd only just enrolled at this school.

Was he trying to embarrass me or something?

But why?

Oh, well. Too bad for him, two could play at this game.

"Actually, I prefer a sociological approach when analyzing this particular play," I said, in top Keiko-at-school-being-perfect form. "I believe this play functions as a cautionary tale, of sorts, applicable to—"

My teacher rolled his eyes. "Oh. So you're one of _those_ girls."

I blinked at him, words dying on my tongue, because _excuse me_?

"I see it every year," he said in a simpering tone I really, really didn't like. "You think denying this play's romantic elements will make you seem…what's the word? Mature?" He pushed his glasses up his nose with a smirk. "Most young women find the play romantic. Not you, though. You're not like the others girls, or so you wish to seem. You'll write off our protagonists as idiotic children, as though you somehow know better than they do, but I'm afraid criticizing other teenagers does not make you an adult."

A few people gasped.

I couldn't move.

Why the hell was he coming after me like this?

And with such harebrained, dramatic accusations, to boot?

"Attempts to make yourself seem better than your peers will not work on me, I'm afraid," Hamaguchi said with mocking sympathy. "You insult your classmates, putting on airs like that."

My classmates tittered. I could do nothing more articulate than stare at him.

I'd only just gotten here. Why was this teacher laying into me like this—and with such unrestricted venom?

As if answering my unspoken question, Hamaguchi said, "I'm friends with certain teachers at your previous school. I know all about you, Yukimura. Don't think you can get away with slacking on my watch."

Oh, for fuck's sake—this guy must be friends with Iwamoto. Of all the goddamn luck!

"I do not intend to slack off, sir," I managed to grind out. "And your assessment of my thoughts on _Romeo and Juliet_ is incorrect. My criticism of the text does not place fault on Romeo and Juliet themselves, but rather their parents."

Hamaguchi opened his mouth. I did not let him cut me off.

"If you'll reference the opening stanza of the play," I said. "Lines 4, 9, and 10 in particular."

Hamaguchi (not to mention the rest of the class) reached for their books.

I did not touch mine.

Instead, I rattled off the passage rote—first in English, then in Japanese.

Hamaguchi looked quite alarmed by this, I was pleased to note.

I said:

_"Two households, both alike in dignity,_

_In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,_

_From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,_

_Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean._

_From forth the fatal loins of these two foes_

_A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;_

_Whose misadventured piteous overthrows_

_Do with their death bury their parents' strife._

_The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,_

_And the continuance of their parents' rage,_

_Which, but their children's end, naught could remove,_

_Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;_

_The which if you with patient ears attend,_

_What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend."_

By the time I finished, the room had gone quite silent.

"As is plain to see, this passage indicates that the rivalry between the Capulets and the Montagues was of such antiquity, their descendants did not know from whence their familial enmity sprang," I said. "If the origin of the grudge mattered, it would have been mentioned. Thus, the tension between families is nothing more noteworthy than a mere tradition of hatred, lacking any practical value whatsoever…aside from influencing their children to commit suicide, of course."

Hamaguchi's face had turned an alarming shade of puce. Around me, my classmates had begun to murmur. I paid no attention to what they said.

"All told, this means _Romeo and Juliet_ can function as an allegorical critique of social prejudice," I continued. "Racism, sexism, homophobia—all of these prejudices are based on outdated and invalid assumptions. It is the role of parents, teachers, and other influencing members of society to critically examine tradition, not merely adhere to it blindly, and determine what traditions spring from harmful notions of outdated prejudice. Authority figures must excise what is no longer moral or ethical in favor of ethical social progress."

Hamaguchi's hands hung limp at his sides. His eye bulged so far I feared they'd touch the backs of his eyeglasses.

"Had the heads of the Montagues and the Capulets been more aware of their duty to place value on morals over outdated traditions, like grudges against other families," I said, "the deaths of Romeo and Juliet might have been avoided." I smiled, trying to look helpful rather than combative (and you better believe I was feeling combative just then). "So, no. I place no fault on Romeo and Juliet themselves. I place blame entirely on the shoulders of their elders."

I sat down.

A graveyard hush fell over the classroom. My teacher chewed on air. Good. Hopefully now he'd leave me alone, so I could lay low. Play it cool, Keiko.

Behind me, someone began to chuckle.

The chuckling brought Hamaguchi out of his trance. He shoved his glasses up his nose and sniffed.

"Do you find something amusing, Kaito?" my teacher said.

The chuckling ceased.

"Yes," said a dry, amused voice. "You. I find _you_ amusing, Hamaguchi-sensei."

Hamaguchi said something in response.

I barely heard him. I was too busy staring at the wall, mouth abruptly dry.

That voice—

_I knew that voice!_

Three desks behind mine, at the very back of the class, sat a boy with curly black hair, freckles, and thin glasses limning his narrow eyes with cool silver—cool silver that seemed warm in comparison to his cold stare. He regarded Hamaguchi over the glasses' bridge, wearing a look of such imperious disdain even I shrank into myself.

"You tried so desperately to put words in her mouth," the boy said. He sat with arms and legs crossed, tapping his fingers on one bicep. A smirk curled his thin lips. "Too bad it didn't work."

Hamaguchi's cheeks colored. "Mind your manners, Kaito."

He shoved his glasses up his nose with a finger. "My apologies." Cold eyes slid my way—at which point they warmed a little. "While I have the floor, allow me to express my admiration for your analysis, Yukimura-san. It's unconventional. I find that refreshing."

"Thank you," I said.

He nodded. But then: "However—"

He promptly launched into a speech. A long, complicated speech dissecting every last hole and flaw in my interpretation of Shakespeare's play, picking apart every tiny detail of what I'd said with laser-like precision and unflinchingly critical aim. He talked for a good five minutes before falling silent. He sat back in his seat when he was through and stared at me, head cocking the barest bit to one side.

"Any response?" he said.

A tracery of mocking irony adorned his tone like an understated necklace.

Every face in the classroom swung in my direction, shocked and wondering and expectant.

Part of me knew I should probably just nod, thank him, and sit down.

But I think we all know by now that that's just not my style.

"I understand your points, and agree with some of them," I said. "However, I think you're neglecting to take certain contextual factors into consideration, especially regarding the time period in which—"

And with that, I delivered my own speech, picking apart his points with just as much ferocity as he'd picked apart my own, leaning on every last scrap of literary theory I recalled from my previous life's college education. I went on for nearly as long as he did, vaguely aware that the entire class stared at me with their mouths agape. Here I was, the new girl, challenging this school's resident literary genius.

Because that's what Kaito was, I recalled out of nowhere. He was a published author of literary criticism, whose Taboo territory ability would revolve around words and language—a psychic reflection of the focus of his superior intellect.

Well. Crap.

I'd just gotten into a pissing contest with a genius.

Just my fucking luck.

Deciding not to dwell on my poor decisions of the day, I pressed on until there was nothing left to pick apart. Eventually I fell quiet, took a deep breath, and blasted Kaito with the sunniest smile I could muster.

"Any response?" I said.

All the faces in the classroom swung in Kaito's direction, like this was some sort of godforsaken tennis match or something.

Kaito's lips curled.

"Of course," he said.

You'd better believe we were still going at it by the time the bell rang.

* * *

It came as a surprise when Hamaguchi let me go without lecturing me for disrupting class.

It came as an ever greater surprise when Kaito approached me in the hallway.

"In case you didn't catch it," he said, "the name's Kaito. Kaito Yuu."

He looked bored, but also maybe expectant, when he held out a hand. Hesitantly, I took it. He approached the American-style shake with ease. Up close, I couldn't help but notice his pale skin, the silky texture of his curling hair, the light tint to his narrow eyes. Was he half Japanese? I wasn't sure.

"I'm Yukimura Keiko," I said.

"I know," he said. His nasal voice, low and biting, held an edge of dark humor. "I don't know why you got kicked out of your last school, but I can't say I'm sorry about it."

His phrasing, 'kicked out,' gave me pause. How did he know that? My expulsion wasn't public knowledge…right?

He kept talking. I'd wonder about this later.

"You're the first person to match wits with me in the field of literature in quite some time," he said. "I look forward to debating you again, if you find the prospect agreeable."

"Sure," I said.

"Good." His teeth glinted between his lips. "Have you read anything by Hegel?"

"Uh…the philosopher?"

He rolled his eyes as though scolding me. "Yes."

"Oh. Well then. Yes, I have. Why?"

Kaito's eyes glittered, and he launched into an impassioned verbal dissertation about the role of the Hegelian dialectic method of interpretation in literature, right there in the crowded hallway.

And that's how Kaito and I became friends.

It was a good thing, too—because later that day I learned I'd need all the friends I could get at my new school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's less Kurama than you were expecting, I suspect. I must confess it's soooort of intentional. Keiko was SO PUMPED to meet Kurama, and didn't get to meet him, and I imagine you feel the same. Call it art mimicking life, I guess? EEEK. Wish that didn't sound so pretentious!
> 
> Rest easy, though. They meet for real next chapter.
> 
> No one mentioned Kaito in the comments. Did y'all forget about this literature nerd? :P I nearly forgot about him, myself, but I'm glad to introduce him so early. Also yes, canonically, he's a literary genius, even better than Kurama. Cool dude. Keiko will NOT be able up keep up completely, but she'll darn well try!
> 
> Also, yes, I can recite certain passages of Shakespeare (including that one) from memory. My uncle made me memorize monologues as a kid. I'll write about it eventually.
> 
> I'm posting a story/collection with deleted scenes from this fic called "Children of Misfortune". First installment is about Keiko's friends Eimi and Michiko and how they handled Yusuke's death. Cut that scene because the chapter got too long. Second scene is Keiko/Kuwabara cuteness. Check it out if you'd like!


	22. Our Eyes Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Keiko observes, then comes to a decision.

Kurama and I had the last class of the day in common.

Lucky for me, I'd thrown up every last scrap of my lunch a few class periods prior. If that didn't prepare me for seeing him, nothing would.

I arrived before him. Probably a good thing. Gave me a chance to meet my teacher and get settled before he breezed through the door. His entrance made my empty stomach fold into a pretzel, but I somehow didn't start hyperventilating as Kurama walked in, nodded at the classmates who greeted him, and sat at a desk two rows in front of me. I watched from beneath my bangs as Kurama pulled a book from his bag and began to read.

Our eyes hadn't met. Not even once. He'd walked in like any other high school kid and had been treated no differently from them, too.

…honestly?

I found Kurama decidedly underwhelming.

No fangirls tackled him, for one thing. Nobody greeted him with notable enthusiasm. People were friendly, sure, but nobody gave him googly eyes, and none of the girls in the class approached him for conversation, either. In fact, most of our classmates gave him a wide berth as he quietly read his book. As our peers arrived and greeted each other, standing at certain desks for pre-class conversation, the structure of this group's cliques became obvious.

Obvious in the sense Kurama wasn't a part of any of them.

Like I said: underwhelming.

Hell, even his _looks_ were underwhelming. I'd expected a paragon of human beauty to walk through the door, not… _this_.

Don't get me wrong. Kurama was a far cry from straight-up ugly. The partially obstructed, surreptitiously-staring-from-underneath-my-bangs impression I got indicated good looks aplenty, for sure. Can't go wrong with silky skin, huge eyes, and refined features, right? Right.

It's just that I'd been expecting a POW of amazingness. A one-two-punch of suck-the-breath-away glory, like in all the fanfics I'd ever read. And that's not what I was seeing.

Mainly because his hair was just _wrong_.

This Kurama's hair was red, yeah. But he didn't have the flaming red hair from the anime. It was darker, more like garnet in shadow than the hue of a melted Crayola. In fact, Kurama's hair did a pretty good impression of looking like plain black hair, no more unusual than Yusuke or Atsuko's, until the light hit it just so. Only then did Kurama's hair sparkle with ruby pigmentation, vivid highlights coaxed forth by illumination's careful fingers.

Pretty much anyone could achieve the look if they got creative with hair dye. Not that I was an expert. I had never dyed my hair, in this life or my previous.

Still: underwhelming.

…or was this hair color actually accurate not to the anime, but to the manga? Wasn't Kurama's hair black in manga? And what heck color were his eyes in the manga, anyway?

I hadn't gotten close enough to see his eyes.

Something told me they'd be a lot less in-your-face-emerald than fanfics suggested.

When class commenced, I spent the better portion of it trying not to stare at the back of Kurama's head. I fixed my eyes firmly on my desk when he approached the blackboard to answer a practice question.

Despite my efforts, however, I found my wayward gaze drawn back to him over and over again.

It's when you're trying _not_ to look at something that you can't help but stare.

Thankfully, even though I failed to play it cool, Kurama didn't appear to notice me. When the dismissal bell rang, he didn't look my way. He just picked up his books and walked out.

I waited for him to leave the room—breath held tight, lungs bursting—before gathering my things and making my own way home.

My first day at Meiou had not gone as planned. Getting picked on by a teacher, throwing up, the total let-down that was Kurama's appearance and his non-interaction with classmates…nothing had gone according to my meticulously planning, that's for sure. All I wanted to do, at that point, was crawl into a hot bath, followed by a subsequent slither into bed. I walked home with eyes trained on the grubby sidewalk, gritting my teeth as my throat thickened and my eyes pricked.

I would _not_ cry over this.

Nothing that happened today was a big deal, in the long run.

I mean, I'd switched schools in flagrant defiance of canon and I'd pissed off a teacher and barfed in front of everyone and a character I'd been excited to meet didn't know I existed and he totally didn't have the right hair and that wasn't fair at all, and today could've _at least_ gone well considering the possible canon-fuck-ups I might wreak by switching schools, but I mean, small potatoes, right?

This was not worth crying over.

It _wasn't_.

Dammit, Keiko, pull yourself together—

"Hey, Keiko-chan!"

I looked up. Kuwabara stood on the sidewalk in front of my parents' restaurant, waving, face lit from within by a gigantic, eager grin. As soon as our eyes met he trotted over, schoolbag slung casually over one shoulder.

"How was your first day?" Kuwabara said. "Did you make any new friends? Is the cafeteria yucky? I sure hope it wasn't yucky! And I hope it's OK I stopped by, I just wanted—"  
He frowned, eyes scanning my face. "Hey, are you OK?"

No. The answer was no, that I wasn't OK. I wasn't OK at all.

I tried to say as much aloud. I looked Kuwabara in his anxious eye and opened my mouth to tell him I was fine, no worries, how was _your_ day?

I opened my mouth to say that.

Instead, I burst into tears.

Kuwabara graciously allowed me the use of his shirtfront for the better part of ten minutes, awkwardly, right there on the sidewalk. He patted my back and once or twice even touched my hair a little, which felt nice, but soon I realized people were staring and I pulled away. It was one thing for me to embarrass myself, but I'd be damned if I embarrassed Kuwabara.

"Thanks," I said, sniffing. I hated the feeling of crying, but tears bore a certain practical utility. Crying equalized my emotions, allowing me to lance my swelling feelings and think clearly again. Hopefully Kuwabara understood. "Needed to get that out before I saw my mom. Don't want her to worry about me."

"Uh, sure. Yeah." He shoved his hands in his pockets, face resembling that of a worried puppy, rocky voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "What the hell happened to make you cry like that, Keiko?" His expression darkened, a wolf instead of a puppy. "Hold on. Do I need to beat sense into anybody? 'Cuz I will." And then he was a worried puppy again. "You know I'd do that for you, Keiko, right?"

I knew. I definitely knew, and I loved this guy so much for it. I smiled and dabbed my eyes with my sleeve, unable to keep from smiling.

"You're the best, Kuwabara." I was pleased to note the words made him smile, too, bashfully and adorably. Ugh, this guy. My favorite character for a reason. "But we can't talk here. Karaoke? I'll pay."

The karaoke joint, around the corner readily accepted my money (and Kuwabara's; he would not allow me to shoulder the cost alone). We played Megallica on low volume and munched on a plate of sushi in silence. Kuwabara shot me a few concerned looks, but the boy didn't press for details. I think he knew better. Maybe Shizuru had taught him good dealing-with-girls manners; I don't know.

Eventually I worked up the nerve to speak. Obviously I couldn't tell him about Kurama and my associated disappointments, nor could I tell him about my worries over canon and the school-switch—but there was plenty else to vent about. Hamaguchi and his connection to Iwamoto, for starters. And I swapped the timeline of when I'd thrown up so it made more sense in conjunction with the Hamaguchi altercation. Kuwabara looked progressively more pissed off as I explained that little exchange.

"That bastard," he said when I was through. "Iwamoto, that _bastard_! First he makes you leave Sarayashiki, then he poisons your new school before you can even start, and _then_ his crony makes you so upset you throw up? Who the hell does he think he is?!"

"God, apparently," I remarked. "He certainly seems determined to send me to hell."

"Well, I won't have it!" Kuwabara stood up, pacing around the small karaoke booth like a caged animal. "Next time I see his ugly mug, I'm gonna—"

I latched onto his sleeve when he passed close to my chair. "You're gonna do _nothin'_ ," I said.

The anger in his eyes glowed molten. "But Keiko—"

"I will _not_ have you getting kicked out, too! Not because of me. Do you understand? I'm not worth that!"

"Of _course_ you are!" Kuwabara rumbled, face scarlet. "You're—"

He bit back whatever he'd been about to say, cheeks coloring. He passed his hands through his hair with a scowl. I let go of his sleeve; he sat heavily in his chair again, eyes on the dark floor.

"Look. You standing up for me—that makes me happy. So thank you," I said, trying to keep my tone gentle. Kuwabara looked momentarily pleased by this. He didn't look as pleased by what I said next. "But the thing is, I can handle whatever Iwamoto might try to throw at me. He's too far away to have real power over me. You, though, he can fuck with. I don't want you to do anything that could jeopardize your future. Not on my account, OK?" I cracked a wry smile when I caught Kuwabara's malcontented eye. "And besides. Since when have I ever needed a white knight to come rescue me?"

He sank down in his seat with a comedic frown.

"Never, I guess," he mumbled.

"That's right. I kick ass."

"Yeah." He looked at me, ghost of a smile flanking the frown. "You do, now that you mention it."

Even though, after a little more cajoling, I coaxed a promise to not risk his own status at Sarayashiki from Kuwabara, something told me this wouldn't be the last time we'd have this conversation. Kuwabara was too protective, too much of a knight in shining armor to ever give up on protecting someone he cared about. That's what made Kuwabara _Kuwabara,_ after all.

I just prayed our canon-defying friendship didn't hurt him somehow.

* * *

Kagome was just as disappointed as I was, that Kurama's hair was so dark and no fangirls mobbed him after class. I called her that night—and every night thereafter, more or less—and gave her all the details. Gotta admit, it was nice feeling validated in that regard. Good old Kagome. I needed her around in the coming weeks, to listen to me vent as I made a study of my fox demon classmate.

Every day for the next week, I kept a careful eye on Kurama. Observed nothing out of the ordinary, much to my chagrin. He was quiet in class, didn't engage with the other kids, and acted unfailingly polite and pleasant whenever anyone chose to speak to him.

I use the word 'acted' intentionally.

I know the look of a faker when I see one. I'd seen my bogus Keiko-at-school-smile in the mirror enough times to recognize similar affectations in others.

The other kids didn't notice his manners were a facade, of course. They didn't notice that Kurama only wore his agreeable smile when speaking with them. They didn't see that as soon as they turned their backs, the smile vanished. They didn't see the distant expression that replaced the smile, nor the longsuffering patience that hardened his mouth into a brittle line.

I noticed, though.

After a week, I was practically Kurama's stalker.

Or rather, I _would've_ been his stalker if he wasn't so damn slippery.

I never managed to catch a glimpse of him during lunch hour. No idea where he ate every day. It certainly wasn't in the stairwell with Kaito and I, that's for sure.

Speaking of which: the day after we met, Kaito walked up to me when I'd gotten midway to the cafeteria during lunch hour. He didn't bother with a greeting. He called my name, marched over when I stopped walking, and handed me a book sans any form of preamble whatsoever. Amagi-san and the other girls I'd been walking with watched this interaction with their mouths open.

"Have you read this?" he said as I took the book.

I scanned the cover with a raised brow. _The Mind's I_ by Douglas Hofstadter. I'd written a series of papers on it in college. Fascinating stuff, but criminally dry if you weren't into philosophy of mind the way I'd been.

"Theory of consciousness interests you, Kaito?" I said.

"Only in regard to how it may be applied to the concept of perceptive relativism in literature." Despite his slouched posture and hands jammed deep in pockets, he looked pleased. "Come with me. We're discussing the applications over lunch."

My brow shot up. "It's cute, how you think you can order me around like that."

Kaito rolled his eyes. "Fine. Would you _please_ discuss the applications over lunch with me?"

I tapped my chin, pretending to think about it.

Kaito sighed. "Yukimura. I exist in an intellectual vacuum. Take pity on me. I only pray you might provide a measure of academic respite."

"Well, when you put it that way—sure. But I need to buy something to eat first."

Amagi and company were more than happy to let me go with Kaito, murmuring behind their hands as I went to commune with a fellow nerd (not that Kaito left me much choice in the matter). Kaito dogged my steps as I bought food (and scanned the room for Kurama), then insisted I follow him to his favorite lunch spot: a nook halfway up the stairwell in the back portion of the school library.

The nook had a window, which provided a good view of the school grounds. It overlooked the baseball diamond, the athletics shed, and a green glass building that appeared far more expensive than anything Sarayashiki's budget could afford.

"The greenhouse," Kaito told me when I asked about it. "Botany club's headquarters. Not worth troubling yourself over, _believe me_."

He pursed his lips when he said that last bit, voice dry and oddly insistent. I remembered that Kaito didn't exactly care for Kurama—not according to the anime, at least. Kaito resented that Kurama beat him on exams and held quite the little grudge against the fox.

Was Kaito's disdain for the greenhouse and the botany club evidence that Kurama frequented that building, perhaps?

Certainly seemed like the kind of place a guy who stored plants in his hair would fancy. But what the hell do I know.

There was no way to get answers without asking awkward questions. I still hadn't met Kurama. Asking about him would be suspicious—and I didn't want to risk upsetting Kaito, if his rivalry with Kurama did indeed mirror that of the anime. I filed my suspicions away for another day, keeping one eye on the greenhouse while Kaito regaled me with his theories on literary solipsism.

I ate with him every day thereafter, too, watching for a flash of telltale red-black hair amid the glowing greenhouse below.

* * *

Kurama sat behind me in history class. But in biology, our last class of the day, he sat in front of me. This made for my most productive observation period, as you might imagine. I tuned out the lecture in favor of staring at the back of Kurama's head, wishing I could read his mind and wondering how I might someday get introduced. The fact that it hadn't happened after a solid week weighed heavy on my anxiety.

What if I just wasn't fated to meet Kurama before Keiko was supposed to?

No. That was stupid. Fate did not define me. _And he was sitting five feet away, dammit!_ I should just walk up to him and say 'hi' sometime. Take the initiative. Take fate into my own hands. Stop being passive and lock eyes with destiny.

…but walking up to him was so _forward_! I had to have a good reason to approach, I rationalized. Otherwise he might guess I had an ulterior motive.

Or maybe he'd assume I had a crush on him. Why else would a teenage girl approach a cute classmate out of the blue?

At that thought, I had to put my head in my hands. I'd died at 26. I was now 14. There was no way I could justify my forty-year-old self _ever_ dating a teenager. The thought alone repulsed me.

…although, Kurama was technically older than 14. He was in my boat in terms of not looking one's age. Of all the characters in _Yu Yu Hakusho_ , he was the one I could most easily justify dating, and—

Nope. NOPE.

STOP IT, KEIKO.

You have way too much on your plate to consider romance—not even in the abstract, worry-about-everything way you're infamous for.

I set the thoughts aside, hypothetical though they were, and tuned back in to class. Midway through the day's lecture on cell division, however, there came a knock on the classroom door. The principal needed to talk to our teacher for a minute—something about an assembly in a few days.

"Everyone, discuss how to identify phases of cellular reproduction while I'm gone," our _sensei_ said before leaving. "Be right back!"

No one did as she asked, of course. Instead, everyone launched into casual conversation. Cat's away, mice'll play. I flipped to the appropriate page in my textbooks, dutifully reviewing information I'd already memorized just like the real Keiko probably would have. Suited me better than idly chatting with the other kids in the class. No use getting close to them when I was mentally so much older. We'd have nothing in common, anyway.

That's what I told myself, at least.

Aside from Kaito, I hadn't managed to make any friends at Meiou yet. Amagi-san only invited me to lunch because I was the new girl and she was class rep. Was my lack of friends due to some deficit of my character, or—

"Hey, um. You just transferred here, right?"

I looked up, jolted from my reverie by an unfamiliar voice. Two girls and one boy stood around my desk, hemming me in against the wall at my back. I put down my book and folded my hands in my lap, smiling my very best Keiko-at-school smile. Maybe this was an opportunity to make friends, at last.

"Yes," I said, all pleasantness and sun. "My name is Yukimura Keiko. And you are?"

The boy said he name was Takashi; the girls were Haruka and Junko. They exchanged a look after we finished our respective introductions—a look of bolstered courage, fidgety nerves, and barely-masked curiosity.

Uh oh.

This interaction didn't feel quite so casual, all of a sudden.

Haruka licked her lips before speaking. "We were just wondering if you were friends with…you know." She leaned in close, a barely-there apology on her face, and whispered: "We were wondering if you were friends with _that_ _boy_."

"The one who died," Junko added.

Her words took a minute to register. "I'm—I'm sorry?"

"There was this guy, this punk at Sarayashiki who died in an accident," Takashi said with a shrug. He didn't bother to look at all reticent. "We want to hear what happened."

My blood ran cold.

They…wanted to hear what _happened_?

Junko crossed her arms over her chest. "There's a rumor going around that a friend of his transferred here. We wanted to know if that was you. Do you know how the car—"

I knew where she was going with that question. I knew, and I would _not_ allow it. Yusuke's death (even though it hadn't stuck) was _not_ going to be the center of their morbid fantasies. Not on my watch. His resurrection and coma weren't public, but _still_. My temper rose in a hot and spitting surge, oil overheating in an unattended fryer. Somehow I choked down the impulse to glare (though only barely), instead arranging my features into a mask of neutral indifference.

"Let's say I was this person's friend," I said, tone cool. "If I was, I'd be grieving. In light of that, do you think asking me about him to my face is appropriate?"

Haruka's cheeks colored. "Hey, we didn't mean anything by it. We're just trying to get to the bottom of—"

"Of a _rumor_ ," I cut in. "You're trying to get to the bottom of a rumor involving the death of a _child_."

The trio looked stricken. I picked up my book. Opened it. No idea to what page. I was only going to pretend to read, anyway.

"Your questions are insensitive, inappropriate and rude," I said, eyes not focusing on anything at all. "If you'll excuse me—"

Before I pulled my eyes down to my book, I saw Junko's mouth open, her gaze narrow and intense. She was going to fight me on this, I could feel it. I hid my face behind my textbook and held my breath, hoping she'd reconsider, hoping she wouldn't pry, because this subject was not—

"Junko-san?"

He had a voice like a cool wind in swaying trees, or calm water over river stones—soothing and melodic and soft.

My head snapped up.

Kurama stood a few desks away. He smiled an affable, supplicating smile I hadn't seen him wear before.

He wasn't looking at me. For this I felt grateful. My stomach had started tap dancing at the mere sound of his voice. If he'd been looking at me directly—

"Oh. Here there, Minamino," Junko said. She looked confused by his interruption, although she hid it well. "What's up?"

"I was wondering if you had your notes from the last lecture," Kurama said in his cool-water voice. An apologetic shrug, palms up. "I seem to have misplaced mine, and with the test on Friday—"

Junko's mouth formed an O of understanding. "Let me get you mine. You can keep them for—"

Junko walked away. With her went her two friends, who spared me one final glance of disdain before taking their seats. Strength in numbers, I guess. They didn't have the courage to grill me without Junko around.

Not that I could think about that just then. That realization would come later.

In that moment, I was far too distracted by Kurama for any other thoughts.

As the trio walked away, and as Junko opened her school bag to find her notes, Kurama looked at me over the top of her stooped back.

Our eyes met.

Not that that was a big deal or anything. Eye contact wasn't special in and of itself.

It's just that when I looked at Kurama, and when he looked at me, I found I couldn't move. I couldn't move because Kurama's eyes were more than just eyes, more than just amalgamations of various tissues that performed the function of seeing.

Windows to the soul.

As we looked at each other, the cliché popped unbidden into my head—and it fit. It fit because in the tight lines around his eyes, I read a pattern of subtle irritation. In their gleam I discerned the edge of calculated action. Beneath their pleasant veneer I saw wheels turn, spokes spin, gears grind, in a way that belied and contradicted the smile ghosting across his mouth.

The smile didn't touch those eyes of his.

And then he looked away, and I was left with nothing but the sense he'd done what he'd done on purpose—that no one with eyes like that would ever do anything randomly, without intention, without control.

Had Kurama…helped me, just now?

Somehow, despite my lack of evidence, I found myself convinced he'd called Junko's name on purpose. And that if you looked through his notebook, you'd find the notes from last chapter tucked away in a place no one but Kurama would think to look.

Our teacher came back into the room shortly thereafter. Kurama did not deign to look at me again—not when the bell rang, not when we walked out of the room, not when he passed by me in the shoe locker hall.

I didn't need him to look at me again, though. I knew what I'd seen. Kurama had helped me today, for reasons I did not yet understand.

I walked toward Atsuko's house for one of my many weekly visits staring at the ground, thinking of his actions, his words, his eyes. Somewhere along the way, a realization hit me—something I hadn't had the chance to appreciate in the scant moment Kurama and I had shared. Something that, now that I remembered it, I would never be able to forget.

I'd guessed wrong, I realized.

Kurama's eyes were very, very green indeed.

* * *

I ran into one of Yusuke's caregivers when I arrived at Atsuko's apartment. She pulled me aside and said, "Keiko-chan, look after Atsuko tonight. She's in a bad way."

The nurse didn't have to say anything else. I knew I'd find Atsuko drunk and crying even before I went inside and found her on the kitchen floor. When I walked in, our eyes met. Only one thought had time to flit across my brain before she spoke.

_This would be a long night._

"Keiko," Atsuko hiccupped. Her arms stretched out. "Oh, _Keiko_!"

I held her, right there on the kitchen floor, for almost an hour. I stroked her hair and assured her Yusuke was coming back, just like he promised. His resurrection was real. She'd have her son back eventually. She just had to be patient. She just had to trust Yusuke. It would all be OK. She'd see that, soon.

Atsuko had good days: days where she bounced chipper around the house, sunny and smiling and centered.

And then there were days like this, when doubt crept in on the heels of heavy drink.

Not that I blamed her. We hadn't had any word from Yusuke in weeks—not since the original dream about him waking up. I'd been the one to witness the dream, not her. Her trust in Yusuke wasn't built on the bedrock foundation of firsthand experience. That was a foundation only I possessed.

Atsuko had nothing but blind faith—faith in a boy she hadn't even been able to trust to go to school each day when he was alive.

No wonder she had a hard time believing he'd come back. Not when breaking promises was his specialty.

I stayed with Atsuko that night, lying next to her on a firm futon while she thrashed. I stared at the ceiling, eyes burning, as she muttered Yusuke's name in her sleep. Nightmares gripped her. Tears coursed down her slumbering cheeks. She woke in cold sweats, scrambling for my hand, crying into my neck as she sank back into the depths of restless darkness.

I spent the night alternating between a fitful doze and a state of almost meditative worry. I turned the day over in my mind, the faces of Kurama and Atsuko and Kaito and Junko bleeding into one another, over and over again until the moments blurred into an unrecognizable strip of anxiety.

And then my weary brain was just too tired to think. So I didn't try to anymore.

I just lay there—not awake, not asleep, but as close to death as any living person could come.

When the light of dawn slunk across the ceiling, I cooked Atsuko breakfast, washed Yusuke's unfeeling face, and headed to school in the same uniform I'd worn the day before.

I ironed it, though, so it didn't appear rumpled.

I needed to look my best today.

I'd stared at the ceiling all night, listening to Atsuko cry. Fate held her in its merciless grip. She had no power to change her fate. She spent her nights sobbing, helpless and desperate for any modicum of control she could cling to. That's why she drank. She wanted to feel in control, and drinking helped her get there.

Why should I not take control, when I had such accessible means to do so?

Why should I be miserable, like Atsuko, when I had the power not to be?

Letting fate have its way seemed like a waste.

Maybe this was fatigue talking. Maybe this was a night of staring at the ceiling talking. Maybe I wouldn't have come to this conclusion if I didn't feel so exhausted—but as the sun rose, I realized I was both tired, and tired of passively waiting around. A sleepless night had quieted the voices of anxiety inside me. My brain was just too drained to host any voices but those of my own cold rationality.

There was no reason not to talk to Kurama, my sleepless night had taught me—so I'd talk to him.

And I would do it _today_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I get insomnia. After a night when I can't sleep, I've found my anxiety voices are often much quieter (almost the same sort of quiet I experience when I take anxiety medication). Brain just doesn't have the processing power to worry after a sleepless night. Wanted to incorporate that into this story. It feels terrible to not sleep, but sometimes it's all that helps me overcome anxiety. I'll occasionally not sleep to force an anxiety reset, of sorts. It's not healthy. But it's me.
> 
> So next chapter she's going to talk to Kurama. Thanks for the courage, insomnia!
> 
> Hope no one is mad about Kurama's hair. Went for manga/anime happy medium.
> 
> I think I'm going to start scheduling updates for either Tuesdays or Wednesdays. Thoughts?
> 
> Also, I now have Twitter. Username CharterOfStars. Follow for updates and random rants. Thanks!


	23. Like Recognizes Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Keiko meets Kurama and is given a dubious gift.

Kaito looked me over as I trotted up the stairs toward him. When I skidded to a halt on the stairwell landing, he set aside his book, folded his hands, and placed his elbows on his knees. Light from the landing window caught his glasses, theatrically obscuring his gaze from view.

He said, "Are you unaware that you look like hell, or are the bags beneath your eyes an intentional aesthetic choice?"

I glared, flopping on the step next to him. "Shut up."

"Sorry, but silence is not in my nature."

"If that was an apology, it stunk."

"I'll work on my delivery."

"Or you could do me one better and tell me about Minamino Shuichi."

Fatigue had too tight a grip on me to allow for delicacy. My brazen, out of the blue request managed to catch Kaito off-guard. He blinked in stunned silence before shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He used his middle finger. I suspected this was not by accident.

"Come now, Yukimura," Kaito said. "Don't tell me you've become one of Minamino's _groupies_."

He pronounced the word with noticeable distaste. I frowned, partially because I didn't like the accusation and partially because, _what_ groupies? I hadn't seen any groupies in my time stalking…um, _observing_ Kurama. What did Kaito know that I did not?

"Pity. I pegged you as too smart to fall into such a trap," Kaito continued. "I might become a very bad friend after learning this about you. I do not take being proven wrong well. Sore loser, I'm afraid. It's one of my few flaws."

I couldn't suppress a snort. "And I suppose humility is one of your strong suits, in that case?"

"Of course. I am the paragon of the humble genius."

"Whatever you say, Kaito." His dry sarcasm would normally get me laughing, but my heavy eyes and muddled thoughts didn't leave much room for humor. "And no. I'm not a groupie. I've got too much pride to ever place myself at someone else's beck and call."

Kaito believed me, judging by his satisfied smirk. "As I suspected. I'm rarely wrong."

"Yeah, yeah, you're beyond compare." I leaned back on my elbows, shoulder blades against the stair above us. I stretched out my legs and crossed them at the ankle. "Some of my classmates tried to pry into my business yesterday. Minamino stood up for me. I'd like to thank him. Any idea where he hangs out?"

Kaito didn't answer my question. He merely replied with one of his own. "What business, pray tell?"

"None of _yours_ , that's for certain."

Kaito was not phased. "Is it about your friend who died?"

I lurched off the step, eyes practically bugging out of my head. "How do you know about that?"

"I might not participate in the rumor mill, but that does not mean I am ignorant as to its machinations." He picked up his book, holding it open before his face. "You have my condolences, for the record."

I ducked my head and mumbled my thanks. I didn't like lying to people about Yusuke's return to life (albeit one lived in a coma), but Atsuko insisted we not make his resurrection public. Didn't want people swarming the miracle boy, asking too many questions about his return. Eventually I might tell Kaito, but after just a week of friendship, it didn't feel like the time.

"And in answer to your dubious inquiry…Minamino spends much of his free time on campus in the greenhouse." Without putting down his book, Kaito lifted a hand over his head and pointed out the window. "I believe I indicated as to its whereabouts earlier this week, as you may recall."

"I remember." Just as I suspected, natch. "Anything I should know about him, lest I make a babbling fool of myself?"

Kaito licked a thumb and turned a page of his book. At first I thought he intended to ignore me, but as I looked at him—studying his profile, his upturned nose, freckles, fluffy hair—I realized his eyes behind their corrective glasses did not focus on the pages before him. He stared without seeing, thoughts elsewhere.

His voice, when he spoke, held infinite, heavy gravity.

"Shuichi Minamino," he said, "is my _nemesis_."

Even with his deadpan delivery, it took me a minute to realize he wasn't joking.

"That's…a strong word," I said.

"Yes."

"Seems a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"As I despise melodrama," Kaito informed me, "I assure you I chose that particular descriptor with care."

"OK. I believe you. But what exactly makes him your nemesis?"

He eyed me askance, lips pursed. "Minamino routinely bests me on placement exams." Kaito spoke with obvious effort, uncomfortable admitting his own defeat. "Not in literature, of course. No one outranks me on the literary portion of exams. But in math and science I am afraid he possesses an edge." He licked his thumb again, turning a page he hadn't read. "Unhappy consequence of so thoroughly applying my intellect to one subject."

"Jack of all trades, master of none, is oftentimes better than master of one," I said, in English. Felt good to speak my native tongue for once.

Kaito frowned. "I follow the grammar, but the meaning eludes me. Translation?"

"Just an idiomatic version of what you posited. You specialized your interests to the point of neglecting others. That gave Minamino an overall edge, no matter how slight."

"Ah." He closed his book with a clap and handed it to me. "If you would turn to page 394. We have more important things to discuss than my nemesis."

"Nemesis, nemesis. You talk like you think you're a super villain." I laughed, nudging Kaito in the shoulder with my elbow. "Does Minamino wear a cape when you two battle it out over exams?"

"Ha. Very funny. And no. He wears a polite smile. I assure you that that is infinitely more infuriating than any cape."

He didn't look amused at his own joke, for once. Whoops. Because I was such a good friend, I stopped teasing Kaito (for the time being), and listened as he explained his latest theory regarding the intersection of solipsism and literary analysis.

…it was way less boring than it sounds, I promise.

* * *

Light hit the greenhouse at an angle, illuminating the glass structure from within. It looked like it had been carved from jade, colorful panes of glass cupping the darker of the plants inside, shielding them from the crisp day beyond the crystalline walls.

Sort of magical looking, if we're being honest.

Exactly the kind of place I'd imagine a _kitsune_ disguised as a teenage boy to hang out after school during club period, if you want to get specific.

Hot air and distinct humidity suffused my face when I pushed open the door. While the greenhouse was not large, tall cases of succulents, troughs of seedlings, and mazes of hanging pots obscured my view of all but the nearest plants. It smelled of earth and damp, of growing things pushing their roots deep into dark soil. Olive light filtered in from overhead. The air held a luminous, thick quality, like I moved through thin water instead of heavy air.

I took a deep breath, shut my eyes, and smiled.

A greenhouse like this had kept my original grandmother's favorite orchids alive in wintertime. I'd spent many hours in the greenhouse with her, wrapping pots in old socks when the weather dropped into the 20s. She rewarded me with hot cocoa and cookies for my efforts, chafing my small, chilly fingers with her withered hands—

"May I help you?"

I opened my eyes.

Kurama—Minamino, I reminded myself—had stepped out of the heart of the greenhouse on silent feet, a dryad observing an interloper in a sacred forest. The green atmosphere erased the red pigments in his hair, turned his magenta uniform a shade of muddy brown, but his eyes…

His eyes glowed like chips of razor seaglass, in this light.

My own eyes hurt. I squeezed my lids together, moistening dry irises.

"I'm sorry to intrude," I said, "but your name is Minamino, right?"

"Yes." A polite, if not hollow, smile. "And you are?"

"Yukimura Keiko." I bowed at him, as was customary upon introduction. "We're in the same history and biology classes."

"Ah," he said, returning my gesture. "I thought you looked familiar. It's nice to meet you." Despite the apparent recognition, his not-smile and even-toned speech did not warm up. "What brings you to the greenhouse?"

I took a deep breath of comforting, humid air.

"I wanted to thank you," I said. "For yesterday."

Kurama reacted by frowning—but the expression came a split second longer than seemed natural. A split second most people wouldn't notice, I was certain, but one I could not miss.

I'd had too much practice faking smiles to miss that telltale delay.

"I'm sorry," Kurama said, "but I don't know what you mean."

If it had been anyone but him, I'd have sworn he was telling the truth. He sounded so earnest. Like he really, really didn't know what I meant, and was trying very, very hard to understand, because that's what polite people did, and gosh golly gee, he was so confused by me!

Too bad this _wasn't_ anyone but Kurama.

"Yesterday in history class," I said. "Junko-san started grilling me. You distracted her."

Green eyes widened one astonished fraction. He nodded as though at last remembering the incident, that big faker. I bowed again, lower this time.

"Thank you for distracting her," I said, staring at his polished shoes. "I appreciate your actions."

By the time I straightened up, Kurama already wore an apologetic smile.

"I'm afraid you've misunderstood," he said, voice tinged with precisely-measured regret. "I spoke to Junko simply because I wanted to borrow her notes."

Damn, he was good. He looked totally sincere. "Is that right?"

"Yes."

When he did not elaborate—just looked at me with that same reticent expression, damn him—I crossed my arms over my chest. "So you distracted her at that exact moment, because…?"

"I confess I wanted her notes because she has the most legible penmanship in the class," he said, as though admitting something mildly embarrassing. It was his turn to bow. Hair fell over his shoulder in a glossy wave. "I apologize for misleading you. Whatever ulterior motive you ascribed to my actions, I assure you it doesn't apply."

"…uh huh." I breathed a snort through my nose. "Well. OK, I guess? Whatever. Just…thanks."

"I really don't deserve thanks," Kurama insisted. "My timing was mere coincidence. I didn't do anything." He spared me one last bow, still wearing that infuriatingly regretful expression—like he'd just had to tell a delusional child there was no Santa, sorry to burst your bubble. "If you'll excuse me…"

He turned to go. Vanished around the side of a trellis of creeping vines.

Call it exhausted bravado. Overtired overconfidence. Fatigued swagger, audacity born of an insomnia-caused loss of my faculties—whatever.

I waited a beat. I gently sat on the edge of a long trough of blooming irises, because my legs were tired.

I spoke.

"So does the plausible-deniability act work on anybody, or just on idiot teens?" I called into the greenhouse. "Because I'm afraid I'm neither."

For a second, nothing happened.

And then Kurama stepped around the edge of a trellis. His earlier smile had vanished. Now he wore a thin-mouthed grimace, eyes wary and alert as he looked me over. He studied me more thoroughly than he had before, I noticed. Like he'd actually _noticed_ me at long last, or had realized whatever earlier assumptions he'd made about my character weren't valid, and must be readdressed.

Something, anyway.

Despite the increase in my heartrate, and the cold sweat beading on my cheek under the chill of his stare, I had to fight back a yawn.

Maybe this had been a bad idea, after all. How could I hope to keep up with him when my eyes felt so damn heavy?

"I'm afraid," Kurama said after a moment's exchanged glance, "I don't know what you mean."

"How's your English?" I said.

One thin brow arched. "It's decent."

"Good." I shifted on my perch, hands digging into the trough's rough wooden slats. "Ever hear the saying 'You can't play a player'?"

That brow arched further. "I'm afraid not."

"Well, add it to your repertoire." I tossed my bangs out of my eyes and attempted a _laissez faire_ smile. "Your polite, top-of-the-class schoolboy act might have everyone else fooled, but you'll find I'm not so easily duped."

He took one, slow step toward me.

My heart beat a little faster. My fatigue abated just a smidge.

He said: "Oh?"

I hummed an affirmative. I wasn't capable of much else.

"So you accuse me of being dishonest," he said with his cool, musical voice. He sounded amused—but wary. "I can't fathom why."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Be that way. Keep on denying it. But I know what I saw."

His head tilted to one side, almost imperceptibly. "And what do you believe you saw, precisely?"

"I saw a person who never does anything accidentally, accidentally help someone in trouble."

Kurama did not blink at my accusation. "And how, exactly, do you know I'm that kind of person?"

"Occam's Razor. Intuition." I pointed two fingers at my eyes, then pointed them at him. "Like recognizes like. So don't bother playing."

At first Kurama held his wary expression—but slowly, bit by bit, the look dissolved into amusement. Amusement with a razor's edge, yeah, a hair-trigger breath away from turning savage, tension coiled behind his eyes like a jack-in-the-box spring…but still. His full lips curled into a smile.

"All right." He spread his hands, palms up. "You've caught me. I _did_ help you on purpose."

I smirked; finally, I'd worn him down. "There. See how easy that was?"

"You're very forward, Yukimura-san," he said. Did he sound bemusedly impressed, or was that the fatigue talking? "I suspected as much after yesterday, but now…"

Kurama moved to stand across from me. He leaned back, half-sitting on the planter box opposite mine. He crossed his arms over his chest and placed one ankle atop the other—a perfect mirror of my current position.

…interesting.

I'd studied this in psychology class. Mirroring a person while having a conversation made them subconsciously approve of you, want to help you, want to please you.

Had Kurama just mirrored me on purpose, to curry my subconscious favor? I wouldn't put it past the fox to know manipulation tactics like that, and to use them to his advantage.

Before the silence could stretch too long—and to cover the fact I'd been psychoanalyzing Kurama's actions—I tossed my hair and smirked. "Those girls from class would probably say I'm so forward because I hang out with too many delinquents. And they're not wrong."

"I see. But may I ask—how did you know I was helping you?" His eyes narrowed, expression terrifyingly contemplative (a thinking Kurama was a dangerous Kurama). "I thought I was being appropriately subtle."

Although he smiled at me, once more I saw the smile did not approach his eyes. He had phrased his inquiry politely enough, but I knew my answer would determine much of his opinion about me: whether or not I was a threat, an ally, or maybe just an eccentric classmate.

I wasn't sure which one I'd prefer.

"Like I said," I said. "You can't play a player. Like recognizes like and all that." I shrugged. "I do enough of my own faking to recognize another creature just like me."

His polite smile faded.

"Just like you?" he repeated.

"Yup," I said. I waved, indicating him head to toe. "We both wear a mask at school, if not for different reasons."

He started to say something, eyes narrowing above his open mouth, but calling the two of us alike already toed the line of saying far too much. Time to show him I didn't mean we were both old souls trapped in young bodies, nooooo, not us. Time to show him I just meant we were both fakers in school. That's all. Of course that's all. I rolled to my feet, dusted the back of my skirt, and bowed again—and I pasted on my most brilliant class-rep-Keiko smile.

"Thank you very much for taking care of me yesterday, Minamino-san," I chirped, sunny and sincere. "I appreciate your efforts and will repay you in kind when I am able."

Kurama looked at me a moment, brow knit—but then his mouth curved.

"I see," he said. He looked almost impressed. "Perhaps this is a rather crass compliment, but your societal mask is nigh flawless."

I let the smile drop, grinning for real this time. "Thanks. I've worked hard on it. Just don't go telling anyone I'm a liar, OK?"

"Only if you afford me the same courtesy," came his smooth reply.

"But of course." I jerked a thumb at the door. "Anyway. I'll get out of your hair. I just wanted to say thanks and introduce myself." I glanced up at the rafters and downed another lung full of warm, earthy air. When I looked at him, I smiled my real smile—the one from my past, right corner of my mouth a hair higher than the left. "Take care, Minamino. See ya 'round."

He stood, too, but before I could reach the door and make my exit, he called my name. When I turned, he dipped yet another bow—the lowest I'd yet seen.

"I apologize," he said, voice softer than before, "but I confess I overheard Junko-san. Your friend died recently, correct?"

I inclined my head. "Correct."

When he stood, sadness adorned his features. It looked real. But with him it was hard to tell.

"I imagine it has been difficult for you, lately, to lose a friend and switch schools in such a short amount of time," he said.

He had no idea my friend wasn't actually dead, of course, but he was right—switching schools wasn't fun. I opened my mouth to say as much, but as I did, a yawn surged up. My eyes squeezed up so tight they started to water.

Kurama was smiling when I finally opened my eyes—a pitying smile, but an understanding one. I think? Hard to be sure. Must, take, nap…

"I don't mean to be rude," he said, "but you look tired. Have you and members of the deceased's family been sleeping well?"

I snorted. "What, the bags under my eyes aren't obvious?" I pointed at them, grimacing. "I have it on good authority I look like I've been in a prizefight."

Kurama chuckled—a melodic sound, velvet made audible. Oooh, boy. Now _that_ was a laugh to weaken your knees. That said, I did my best to look unmoved.

"I didn't want to make assumptions," he said, "but I do suppose your condition is rather obvious. Apologies. I will, in future, be more direct with you. That seems to be your style." He held up a hand. "Wait here a moment?"

"Sure."

Kurama turned to a nearby plater box. He lifted a pair of pruning shears from a crate below the box and snipped at a plant dripping with sprigs of blue flowers, blossoms still clamped tight in new buds. Once he assembled a small bouquet, he wrapped it in a bit of newspaper and twine from the crate, fingertips ghosting over the petals in a lingering caress. Eyes like living emeralds glittered with the colors of the forest made flesh.

"I apologize if this is forward," Kurama said as he handed me the bouquet, "but if I may, I'd like for you to have these."

I froze.

Because honestly? I didn't want those flowers.

Allow me to reiterate: _I did not want to fucking touch, smell, or get within ten feet of any and all plants that had been in, around, or adjacent to the immediate presence of Kurama, the plant-manipulating fox demon._

Allow me to further clarify: _I_ didn't want that.

Keiko, however?

_Keiko_ was a normal teenage girl. Keiko was a normal teenage girl who, supposedly, had no knowledge of demons, let alone Kurama's predilection for plants that could eat your fucking face with gigantic plant-y teeth.

I didn't want those flowers…but what I wanted didn't matter, when Keiko had no reason not to take them.

Still…oh my god. My heart beat like a whisk in cake batter. No. _Nope_. Please, don't make me—

Kurama frowned. He held the flowers out a little farther.

"I assure you, these flowers do not represent a declaration of romance, if that is the reason for your hesitation."

Well thank god Kurama came up with that excuse for me, because I sure as hell was too tired and freaked to come up with one myself. I tried to look like he'd caught me red-handed (easy enough just then) and gingerly took the flowers. Was super careful to keep my fingers away from the greenery, of course, but despite my efforts to keeps fingers firmly on newspaper, the jostled blossoms released a familiar scent. I held my breath, but too late. The scent wafted from the closed buds on an unseen breeze, sweet and delicate and familiar.

Kurama said, "In English, they are called—"

"Forget-me-nots," I grated out.

Kurama looked pleased. "Correct. Do you like flowers?"

I shifted the bouquet under my arm, moving it as far away from my face as I could. When the scent of the flowers abated, I let myself relax.

"My grandmother was an _ikebana_ champion," I said—and this was sort of true. My grandmother in my past life had arranged flowers at state fairs, winning awards and earning catalogue features many times. "She used to give seminars on wildflowers, and always scattered seeds in winter." Despite how uncomfy I felt, I smiled at the memory of days spent in her greenhouse, labelling plants and hearing their stories. "She taught me their names and meanings."

"I see." Something moved behind his eyes before he smiled. "Then you _must_ know the legend of the forget-me-not."

I frowned. "Can't say I do."

Kurama's lips ached.

He said, "Well, that won't do at all, now will it?"

Kurama, despite his pretty face, looked like any average teen—but in that moment I could believe he was an older person trapped inside a younger body.

Specifically, I could believe he was a little old man on the inside, excited to tell a young whippersnapper a story long forgotten by today's youths. Kurama eerily resembled my past-life-dad just then, when Dad wanted to tell me one of his favorite fishing stories (the kind in which the fish got bigger with each retelling).

"May I tell you the tale?" Kurama asked.

"Um. Sure."

Kurama nodded. He took a deep breath.

Oh god. He was really going to tell me a fucking fairy tale, wasn't he?

Given he began his story with " _mukashi mukashi_ ," the Japanese equivalent of "once upon a time", I realized pretty quickly the answer was "yes."

"Once upon a time," Kurama said, "a mother lost her child."

My internal, screaming jokes dried up at once.

"The mother grieved for weeks, refusing food and water," Kurama continued. He spoke softly, as steady and vital as a heartbeat. "Her child's spirit watched in anguish as his mother faded away. One night, when the mother's grieving reached its peak, the child shed tears for his mother. He wept at her side, begging her with words unheard to eat, drink, and set aside her heartache."

Kurama reached out a slender, silk-skinned hand. I held my breath as his fingertips brushed the edges of the forget-me-nots. The hue of the flowers brought out the color of the veins in his wrist, lapis set amidst smooth ivory.

He didn't look at me. He only had eyes—distant, emerald eyes brimming with emotions I suspected honored his own mother—for the flowers.

"The next morning, when the sun rose," Kurama murmured, "the mother woke. All around her forget-me-nots had sprung…an unending field of blue, the color of her child's eyes."

His eyes moved to my face, but he didn't see me.

"Their color comforted her, reminding her of the child she had lost," he said. "She carried the blossoms with her as she pieced her life together, in memory of her child. And she lived happily ever after."

We stood in silence for a time. Soon his hand dropped to his side again.

"Forget-me-nots were born of the desire to comfort and console," Kurama said. His eyes actually saw me, this time. "Place these flowers near the bedside of the bereaved, and they will ease a weary heart."

"That's a terrible story."

Kurama blinked, mouth opening with surprise. I resisted the urge to clap a hand over my mouth and instead waved a frantic, apologetic hand.

"Sorry, sorry!" I said. "It's just—her kid's still dead no matter how many flowers he gave her. It's sad no matter how pretty it sounds."

"Yes," Kurama countered, "but the ending is hopeful. The mother lived, and set aside her grief knowing her child lived on in some small way."

_Remind me to introduce you to Atsuko._

I wanted to say that. Really, I did. There was no setting aside the grief of losing a child, no matter how many reminders of their life you received. I'd known parents of dead children in this life, and in my past. Their wounds healed, over the years. They grew accustomed to the void left by their missing child…but grief never, ever stopped. Not really.

I bit back the words, though.

Something told me Kurama had already made his choice, to sacrifice his life to save his mother's. His little fairy tale seemed way too allegorical for comfort.

"Well, even if you have a point," I eventually said, "that story sounds made up."

A reply as logical as it was silky: "Aren't _all_ stories made up, at some point?"

"Sure. But yours sounds made up, like, as of two seconds ago."

That got a full-throated laugh out of him, an explosion of downy feathers as opposed to subtle velvet. Damn, he looked pretty with his head thrown back like that, eyes squeezed to glittering crescents in his flawless skin. Even behind Keiko's lovely face I felt self-conscious.

Eventually Kurama's laughter abated. With faux regret he said, "I suppose my skills as an orator leave something to be desired. But that matters little. The scent of forget-me-nots is a sleep aid, one I believe will benefit you."

Not for the first time, I wished for Google and a smartphone to fact-check his assertion. Instead I swallowed my skepticism and said thanks. Kurama seemed pleased, nodding and smiling at my willingness to accept his gift.

"It's nothing. Just a small token." He gestured at the greenhouse behind him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm afraid I have duties to attend to."

"Oh. Sure." I waved, turning to the door. "See you in class."

"Of course." He opened the door, ushering me out with a benign smile. "Be well, Yukimura-san. I hope the flowers help."

Knowing him, I'm sure they'd do _something_.

* * *

The way back to the main school building wasn't long, but the way I trudged down the sidewalk, you'd think the greenhouse lay a million miles away. It didn't, of course. It was all of a hundred feet from Meiou proper.

Too bad each step felt like a marathon.

Although the autumn weather, cool and bracing, revived me once I stepped outside the hothouse, my mood didn't lift along with my fatigue.

Kurama's fairy tale had been so _dark_.

Mothers and sons, death and grief, comfort and consolation…I'd never heard a story like that associated with the forget-me-not, and it aligned far too closely with Kurama's own situation to be anything but his own creation.

Was he rationalizing his decision, making up a story like that?

Was he comforting _himself_ , creating a story with that outcome?

I had no idea how sick his mother was. Certainly she was ill, but how ill? How long did she have until the Mirror incident? And how would I find out the truth, short of asking Kurama outright? That would be way too forward, even for me. So how—?

"Yukimura? What are _you_ doing here?"

I careened to a halt on the sidewalk, nearly losing balance in my insomnia-addled delirium. Took two seconds to orient myself and find the person who'd called my name.

About ten feet away, just outside the still-swinging door into the school, stood Amagi-san—my class rep, who hadn't talked to me since the first time I ditched her for Kaito at lunch.

Oops. I needed to apologize, didn't I?

"School is out for the day, and you haven't signed up for a club yet," Amagi said, looking me over through narrow eyes. "What are you still doing on school grounds?"

"Oh, um," I said. "Checking out—the botany club?" Oh, good, my blurted words made sense. I nodded vigorously. "The botany club. Yeah. It seems cool. I might join!"

Amagi-san frowned. "Really?"

"Yup. Mm-hmm. Love me some plants."

Her frown persisted, creasing furrows in her pale brow. Sunlight caught the teak highlights in her short black hair, illuminating her smooth skin and the curve of her ivory neck—oh. Amagi was sure pretty, wasn't she? Big dark eyes, full lips, oval face. Why hadn't I noticed that before?

"Gosh, what conditioner do you use?" I burst out. Amagi's eyes widened. I gasped. "Sorry, sorry. Your hair just looks so _soft_."

She blushed a pretty peony pink, hand coming up to touch her hair—but to do so, she had to juggle the object she carried over to one hand. Not an easy feat, considering it was a gigantic bento box wrapped in an oversized handkerchief. She handled it like it had been filled to the brim. There must have been at least three standard lunchboxes in there (enough to even feed Yusuke when he was going through growth spurts, by my estimates).

"Thank you," Amagi said when she recovered from my barrage of compliments. "I'll…I'll write down the brand for you, I suppose."

"Wonderful." I bowed as low as I could. "Thank you for all of your help, Amagi-san. I'm tired and delirious and rambling, so please excuse me. I need to go to bed so I can stop embarrassing myself. Ha!"

Amagi had no idea how to handle my exhausted exuberance, if her skeeved-out face indicated anything. She said something about it being nice to see me before walking past (and giving me a wide berth while she did it).

Whew. Crisis averted. Time to go home and go to bed. I sighed and trudged down the sidewalk again, heading like a defective bullet train toward the school.

I almost didn't look back before walking inside. On a whim, however, I glanced over my shoulder at the greenhouse for one last look at Kurama's hideaway.

That's when I saw something…odd.

Amagi stood on the greenhouse steps. She didn't go inside. She stared at the door for a moment, quiet and still, before bending and setting the bento she carried on the porch.

And with that, Amagi turned and marched in my direction.

My sleep-deprived, running-on-Paleolithic-instinct, fight-or-flight lizard brain reacted before my conscious mind made a decision. I jerked indoors like I'd been pulled by a stage hook and pelted pell-mell down the hallway toward the shoe lockers.

I'd had enough weirdness for one day, thank you. I'd deal with Amagi's mysterious bento when I wasn't carrying an armful of potentially demonic plants. Now it was naptime. Glorious, glorious naptime, reward for a death-and-dismemberment-free Kurama confrontation.

Call me simple, but sometimes, it's the little things in life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurama's fairy tale was made up by me. Yes, it's cheesy. Sorry. I wouldn't be surprised if a tale like it exists in some fashion somewhere, but for our purposes, it's Kurama's.
> 
> Next time: More on Kurama's forget-me-nots (no we are not done with those yet, this is Kurama, if he gives you a plant it WILL be a big deal) and then Keiko puts her foot in her mouth because OF COURSE SHE DOES.


	24. Just One Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Keiko offers help to her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultural Vocabulary: Omiai are meetings in which two eligible people are introduced with the intention of finding a marriage offer. Wagashi are traditional Japanese sweets.

My bed felt like heaven when I got home.

Too bad I didn't get to stay in it for more than an hour.

Felt like Mom came knocking on my door just as I shut my eyes. "You have a friend downstairs, honey," she said through the wooden panel. "He says he needs to talk to you—seems like a sweet boy." She sounded casual. Too casual. "He says he's met your father before?"

Only one person that could be. I emerged like a grumpy butterfly from my cocoon of blankets and called blearily at the door: "Bleached hair, really tall?"

" _So_ tall," Mom said, voice light and glad for reasons I couldn't fathom. "And so polite! He even brought a gift, I think?"

"Huh. That's weird."

"Weird, but so kind!" I could just picture her teasing smile. "You better come down quick, Keiko, or someone else might steal him away!"

Dragging my body out of bed, a monumental feat, took a few minutes. I hadn't slept long enough to have even just one dream, dammit! Eventually I gathered my exhausted self and trudged down the stairs, where I found Kuwabara waiting for me at the ramen counter eating a bowl of pork _-_ toppedramen. I walked into the restaurant just as he took a sip of steaming broth.

"Good, huh?" said my father. He watched Kuwabara approvingly, grinning as Kuwabara's eyes widened and he hurriedly slurped another spoon of broth. "You gotta come visit more often. I'll make you something new next time!"

"Really? Awesome! Because this sure is great!" Kuwabara said with a full mouth.

"Everything made from scratch," my father said with obvious pride. His eyes slid my way, merry and warm. "Isn't that right, Keiko?"

"Of course." I walked to the bar and slid onto a stool next to Kuwabara, who was suddenly coughing and choking on his soup with a beet-red face. "Could I have a snack?"

"Coming right up, sweetheart."

While Dad made me a simple _umeboshi_ _onigiri_ , I swiveled in my seat and smiled at Kuwabara. The boy had recovered enough to clear his throat. He put down his utensils and hunched, not looking at me.

"Um—I'm sorry. This is awkward," he said, eyes on the floor, "but I need help and I think you might be the best person to talk to, if that's OK?"

"Sure. What's up?"

Turns out, _Iwamoto_ was up—up to no good. Kuwabara told me a very familiar story while picking at his ramen, shamefacedly admitting to fighting too much and getting in trouble with the teachers because of it. Ah, so we were at this part of the _Yu Yu Hakusho_ plot. Good to know. I tried to look surprised by his story, rather than please we'd gotten to this part of the story. Didn't want Kuwabara thinking I was glad he was in trouble…

"First they said they'd expel me if I fought any time during the next week," he said, "but then they upped the ante."

I hummed. "How so?"

"I have to pass an exam week after next, too, and not fight until the day I take it."

"Well, that sucks. Half the fights you get in, you don't actually start—right?"

"Right!" He looked relieved, eyes rolling back in his head as he threw up his hands. "I'm the biggest punk at school, with Urameshi out of commission. These vultures're movin' in on his turf, and that means they're movin' in on me!"

"Bastards," I said.

Kuwabara managed to set aside his horror at my cursing long enough to nod in agreement (he didn't like to hear girls curse, a notion of which I intended to disabuse him). Shortly afterward, his expression darkened. His chin jutted in a pout as he stirred his meal with one idle chopstick.

"Thing is, it's not just me I have to worry about," he said. "If I don't pass this test, my buddy Okubo loses his after school job. So this is about more than just me. It's about his family's wellbeing, and it's my honor as his friend on the line."

Much as I wanted to reach out and grab his hand just then, comfort him with a squeeze and a smile, I held back. Too forward. Luckily Kuwabara kept talking, so I didn't stay tempted for long. He lifted an arm, curling his bicep and flexing as he grinned.

"I'm tough, Keiko," he said. "Not fighting is a cinch. I can let myself get punched on for the next two weeks, no problem! Nobody punches like Urameshi. I can't take the pain." And then he slumped once more, wind gone from his sails. "It's the _test_ I'm worried about."

"Oh, really?" I said. "What subject is it?"

The question was more for the sake of formality than anything. I already knew what subject the test was for, of course. He'd have to pass a science test. Since I'd turned him toward science as a kid, there was no way he'd fail. I hid a smile behind my hand. I'd fixed this plot years ago on a playground, and—

"English," Kuwabara said.

…say _what_!?

Kuwabara cradled his head in his hands, elbows on either side of his food. "I have to pass an English test, Keiko—and that's my worst subject!"

Oh, fuck. Goddammit and fuck. Of _course_ Iwamoto wouldn't pick a test in Kuwabara's favorite (and most likely best) subject. Of _course_ he wouldn't! I'd shot Kuwabara in the foot, trying to help him out. Just my freaking luck!

Not letting my emotions show on my face proved to be a monumental task. I couldn't keep from scowling, although Dad delivering a warm _onigiri_ at least provided some a distraction. I shoved a bite into my face and chewed, thinking hard. Luckily a solution to Kuwabara's problem came quickly.

"Well, Kuwabara," I said once I swallowed, "I guess it's a good thing you've got a great tutor on your side."

His eyes practically went supernova, they lit up so much. "Aw, Keiko—you mean it?! You'll tutor me?"

"Of course I will." Seemed only logical. I got him into this, however indirectly, so it was up to me to help him get out of it. "I'm fluent, after all. Come over every day after school and I'll make sure you pass that test."

"Really?" Kuwabara said. He put his hands on the stool between his thighs, shoulders by his ears, peering up into my face like an earnest little kid. "You'd study with me every day?"

"Sure. I mean what I say." I jerked a thumb at my chest and inclined my head, grinning. "This is about more than just your grades. It's about your wellbeing, and my honor as your friend on the line."

Kuwabara didn't react to my parroted words for a second. But then he blinked, and ducked his head, and below the fringes of his orange hair I saw his ears turn pink. He spun on his stool, turning his back on me while he rummaged for something in his school bag.

When he turned my way again, he held a small gold box of artisanal _wagashi_ in his dinner-plate hands—traditional and expensive Japanese sweets my parents only purchased on Christmas. Kuwabara held this flat on his palms and bowed to me, offering it up as though to a queen.

"I was going to give you these and _then_ ask if you'd tutor me, but you volunteered before I could," he mumbled. His next word sounded canned, but sincere. "Please accept this inadequate gift as a humble token of my deepest thanks."

From out of nowhere, somebody started laughing. I jumped; Kuwabara 'eeped' and sat up, clutching the _wagashi_ to his chest—but it was just my parents, laughing as they stood behind the counter, leaning on each other as they slapped their thighs and roared.

"You are the _cutest_ boy I have ever seen in my life!" my mother howled.

Kuwabara's blush as automatic as it was atomic.

"I have never heard a politer thank-you in all my years on this green earth!" my father added.

"Oh, um—my sister taught me to say that!" Kuwabara said, holding onto the _wagashi_ a little tighter. "She said I owed Keiko a lot for this, and that I should be extra special sure to thank her properly—"

Mom rounded on me, pointing a spatula at my face from over the counter. "Don't you dare let this one slip through your fingers, daughter of mine," she commanded. "This one is polite, and kind, and he _clearly_ comes from a good family."

"Mo-om," I moaned, face in my hands. "Stop it. You're embarrassing Kuwabara!"

The aforementioned boy rubbed the back of his neck, self-conscious—but he didn't agree with me. He wore the dopiest smile on his red face, that softie.

Was I seeing things, or did the big lug-head look _happy_ about my parents' teasing? Because that was a preposterous notion when they were being so utterly embarrassing.

"Yeah, we're not embarrassing him. We're only saying good things—like how about becoming my son-in-law, hmm?" my dad said. He tipped an exaggerated wink. "Think about it, kid! I've taught Keiko how to make all my most delicious recipes!"

I froze.

Kuwabara's spine straightened to full attention. The box of _wagashi_ crackled in his iron grip.

To my horror, he blushed all the harder.

My jaw dropped to the goddamn floor. I rounded on my parents and glared. "Mom! Dad! _Behave_!"

But it was far too late to stop them. Kuwabara shoved ramen in his crimson face, my parents howled, and none of my protests ("He came here for English tutoring, not an _omiai_ meeting!") could quiet them. Our only reprieve came when customers walked in, forcing my parents to put on their best business faces and cater to our guest.

As soon as they were distracted, I made Kuwabara shovel down the last of his food and follow me upstairs, out of the reach of my parents and their teasing. We sat at the _kotatsu_ in the living room and began the task of assessing his English prowess.

He could barely look me in the eye while we worked, I noticed.

I tried very hard not to think about what that meant. It was time to focus on teaching him.

Kuwabara, much to my chagrin (and to the contrary delight of my inner fangirl), had scored—you guessed it—a mere 7 pointed on his last English test.

Talk about starting from scratch.

We spent that first evening reviewing his old tests so I could get a feel for his current understanding of English as a whole (spoiler: he didn't understand much). Once armed with a starting point, we prepped flashcards and began drilling the alphabet. He knew the letters, thankfully, and some basic words, but his overall vocabulary and his grasp of grammar were abysmal. Passing this test would take remedial study, that's for sure.

I wanted to talk about our plan of educational attack that night, but soon Kuwabara said he needed to get going—something about making it home before dark. He mumbled that part, so I wasn't sure.

"Want me to walk you home?" I said.

"Oh, no." He shook his head emphatically. "Don't want you getting into trouble."

"Think people might pick on you while you can't fight?" I asked. "Because that's even more reason to bring me along."

He looked positively horrified at that prospect. "Nuh-uh, no way! I'd not letting you get hurt on my account!"

"Hey—I'm offering, and remember how I dodged Yusuke that one time?" I raised my fists and gently swung one at his face, stopping short of touching him. "I've gotten good. Bet I could stand up to anyone who might come at ya."

He swatted my hand away. "I'm sure, but the answer's gotta be no. And besides—the no-fight challenge just started. No one knows I can't fight yet. I'll be fine if I can just avoid people!"

Watching him trot off into the fading twilight, I wondered if spoke the truth. I'd accidentally changed what kind of test he'd take. Hopefully the beatdowns he'd suffer wouldn't get tougher like the test had…

I was still thinking about this when I went indoors and nearly smacked into my mom, but she didn't seem to mind the near-miss collision. "Oh, Keiko, honey—I meant to ask," she said. "Those flowers in the laundry room. Are they yours?"

Oh, shit—Kurama's forget-me-nots. I'd gone home and put them down on the first flat surface. No time to put them in water; I'd felt too tired, and napping came first. Hopefully no one had touched the plants. Didn't want my mother getting eaten by a demonic Venus flytrap…

"Yeah, they're mine," I said. "Sorry, let me go get them and—"

"Did Kuwabara give them to you?"

Mom asked the question innocently enough, but the way she'd blurted the inquiry—as if she just couldn't hold it in any longer—gave her away. I rolled my eyes.

"No, they aren't from him," I said.

"Oh." Mom could not hide her disappointment. Apparently she _really_ liked Kuwabara. "If they aren't from him, where did you get them?"

Oh, shit. I'd been too fatigued to come up with a passable excuse. Clearly I couldn't mention I got them from a boy (telling her about Minamino would only invite more teasing). Crap, crap, come up with a lie, Keiko, c'mon—oh. Wait. I didn't have to lie. Mom has asked _where_ I'd gotten them, not from _whom_ I'd gotten them. Hooray for technicalities…

"Um—there's a greenhouse at Meiou," I said, because it was true. "I got them from there."

"Oh. How nice! Meiou has all the best amenities," Mom said. But then her brow knit. "Why did you want flowers, though?"

"They're for Atsuko." The best lies spring from truth, as they say, and Kurama had instructed me to give these flowers to the bereaved. Who was more bereaved than Atsuko? "I heard forget-me-nots are a sleep aid, and last night she was having nightmares, so I thought…"

Mom's eyes softened. "What a lovely gesture, Keiko. I'm sure she'll appreciate them very much." She touched my arm, pride evident in her warm smile. "I have a cute vase you could give Atsuko, too. Why don't you and I bring her dinner tonight, and deliver those flowers while we're at it?"

A certain risk accompanied giving Atsuko the flowers. Any flowers from Kurama I considered suspicious on principle. However, Kurama's story about a bereaved mother had clearly come from a personal place, especially considering his own mother's condition. Now that I'd had a nap and my head felt clearer, I doubted Kurama had laced the flowers with poison or anything similarly dangerous—not when they had the potential to be given to a grieving mother.

And if these flowers would indeed help someone who was grieving…well. Atsuko deserved them far more than I did.

Kurama and his mother complex. Gotta love it.

"Sure thing, Mom," I said. "Let me call her, warn her we're coming.

Atsuko sounded happy, in her own way, when I called. Only took a few minutes to whip up a hot meal, gather my flowers, and walk to Atsuko's apartment. She greeted us at the door in a pair of blue pajamas that came up short on her long limbs, slender wrists and ankles exposed to the chill night air.

I recognized those PJs: they belonged to Yusuke.

"Good evening, Atsuko," Mom said, bowing.

"We come bearing gifts," I added.

"Heh. You're a couple of regular magi." Atsuko stepped back. "Come on in."

Her apartment, cluttered and dark, smelled of cigarettes and cleaning products. A high-pitched beeping from the back bedroom counted off the pulse of Yusuke's heart. Didn't look any different from the day before…aside from a few extra beer bottles by the couch. Oh, Atsuko…

"Heading to bed?" Mom asked with a look at Atsuko's pajamas. "We can drop this off and—"

"No. Stay a while." Atsuko gestured vaguely at the couch. "Sit."

"I'll go put these in water," I said.

Mom and Atsuko sat together on the couch, unwrapping the food on the coffee table while I ducked into the kitchen to put the flowers in Mom's contributed vase. Atsuko and I were friends, yes, but over the years Atsuko had developed a rapport with my mother of a distinctly different tenor. I was much younger than Atsuko, after all, and Atsuko's family had disowned her. I didn't begrudge her time with a mother figure—especially one as lovely and supportive as mine.

Once I finished arranging the forget-me-nots in the vase, I headed back to the living room. Voices floated low and soft through the archway between the rooms; I paused, just barely out of sight, and listened.

"…if he's coming back," Atsuko's smoky voice intoned. "It's just so unbelievable when he never even _moves_."

"She dreamed he told her he was alive, and his heart was beating," Mom replied, trying to soothe Atsuko's frustration. "We have to remember that."

Atsuko snorted. "Maybe Yusuke lied."

"Yusuke was many things," Mom said. Beneath her perfectly kind, patient tone ran an undercurrent of steel. "A punk, a fighter…but he wasn't cruel. He'd never give false hope to someone he loved. Not when it counted."

"If you say so," said Atsuko.

I peered around the edge of the arch. Though I could only see their knees from this vantage point, I could tell my mother had put an arm around Atsuko's shoulders. Atsuko pulled a leg to her chest, hands tight in the pantleg of her pajamas, and leaned a bit. Probably putting her head on Mom's shoulder, if I had to guess.

My mother's voice came so soft, I barely made out her words.

"I believe he's coming back," she said. "I believe that with all my heart."

A long, wet sniffling sound.

"I just wish he'd come to me, you know?" Atsuko said. Her voice wavered, smoke turned to cracking, pleading cinders. "Just one dream, like Keiko had. I'd feel better after _just one dream_."

My heart ached when I heard more sniffling, accompanied by a muffled sob. Poor Atsuko. Stupid Yusuke, not visiting her more often! I'd have to chew him out next time he showed up in my head.

"Oh, honey. I know. I know, sweetie," Mom crooned. "I'm so sorry. So sorry. But it's OK. He'll come home soon. Just let it out…"

Atsuko cried. I stood with my back to the wall in the kitchen, hands tight around the vase of flowers. Eventually the couch creaked beneath the weight of them moving apart.

"Thanks," Atsuko said. Though her voice still sounded thick, her crying had ceased. "Thanks for being here, I mean. I don't have anyone else, and…"

"Atsuko—we might not share blood, but we are family," said my mother. I heard the beatific smile in her voice, felt the warmth of her gaze and the cradling kindness of her hand even though I wasn't the one holding it. "We always will be."

I went back into the room after that. The three of us ate dinner together on the sofa. Mom made me tell them all about Meiou to pass the time. I happily provided a distraction from Atsuko's red-rimmed eyes. She ate quietly, watching me from beneath her bangs. Soon a smile twisted her lips; her sly expression reminded me of happier times, before Yusuke's uncertain death.

"So," she said with an exaggerated waggle of eyebrow. "Meet any cute boys at Meiou?"

"No," I said—but for absolutely no reason, the sight of Atsuko's dark hair reminded me of Amagi's, and the arch of my classmate's neck popped unbidden into my head. My cheeks heated. I curled a lock of hair behind my ear. "Nope. Nobody cute. Not yet."

Atsuko stared at me a minute—and then she rolled her eyes. "Liar liar, pants on fire!" she said in a singsong voice.

"What?! No I'm not!"

"Then why you blushin', girl?" She jabbed her chopsticks at me, grin feral and amused. "C'mon. Spill. Who's the boy?"

I waved my hands as if trying to ward off mosquitoes. "Nobody, nobody, sheesh! The no-dating-until-college rule has not been compromised, I swear!"

Atsuko's brow furrowed. She looked at my mom. "Wait…is Keiko's not allowed to date?"

Mom sighed, exasperated. "Oh, no. She's allowed, all right. She just talks like _I_ made the no-dating rule, when _she's_ the one who made it up! And she's the only one enforcing it, too!" She crossed her arms over her chest and mock-glared at me. "You know I wouldn't get mad if you went on a few dates, right? It's only normal for a girl your age!"

"Mom, I just jumped two grades," I said. "Now more than ever, I have to focus on school!"

"Wow," Atsuko said in disbelief. "Wow, seriously, Keiko?" And then she was laughing, clapping my back with an open hand. "Keiko, you're a gigantic _nerd_!"

Atsuko's familial resemblance to Yusuke had never been more apparent than in that moment. They had the same laugh, the same jaw, the same eyes that glittered with mirth when they made fun of me. Even though this moment of levity came at my expense, I didn't mind. Any indignities to cheer Atsuko up I would gladly suffer.

I bore their teasing for a few minutes more, but soon Atsuko's eyes began to drift. Mom noticed the same time I did and put a hand on Atsuko's knee.

"Bedtime?" she asked.

Atsuko nodded. "Sorry. Let me help clean up—"

"Nonsense. Keiko and I can do it. You just head on to bed, sweetie."

Atsuko's eyes fluttered shut.

"You're good to me," she said. One eye cracked open, wry. "Hell if I actually deserve it."

Mom swatted her arm. "Oh, hush. Of course you do. Now go to bed."

As Atsuko went to her room to sleep, Mom and I performed a brief sweep of the apartment. We collected empty cans and bottles, put clothes in the hamper, and threw out the moldy food in the fridge. As my mother settled in at the sink to wash Atsuko's mountain of dirty dishes, I snuck a peek at Yusuke's room. The nurses kept it clean enough. The boy himself looked fine—no changes since the last time I'd seen him. I gave his monitors the once-over and adjusted his bedding before smoothing his bangs off his forehead.

"You look more like yourself with your hair slicked back," I murmured as I combed back his hair. "You'd probably bite me if you saw me fussing like this, though." Screwing up my face, I pitched my voice high and whiny, an imitation of Yusuke's imitation of me. "Stop being such a nag, Keiko! You're not my mother, Keiko! Buzz off, Keiko!" My chuckle sounded faint, lost amid humming machines and the creeping dark. "Too bad. For once in your life, you can't run away when I fuss over you. Gotta get while the gettin's good, ya little twerp."

I paused a moment. Brushed a hand over Yusuke's cheeks, hollow in the skeletal light of his heart monitor.

"But no matter how fun it is to mess with you while you sleep," I murmured, "this whole situation sucks. So wake up soon. And maybe throw Atsuko a bone in the meantime. Just one dream, OK? She could use some reassurance." I couldn't help but smile. "Not everyone has the same blind faith in you that I have. They're smarter than me in that regard."

I didn't know if Yusuke could hear me. I had no idea if his ghost hovered overhead. But I hoped my words reached him nonetheless.

I left the room. Mom wasn't nearly done with the dishes yet (and the sink was so tiny she shooed me away, rather than ask for my help) so I checked in on Atsuko. The woman had already fallen asleep. Exhausted from the sleepless night before, I had no doubt. I yawned into my arm as I watched her slumber—but my fatigue took a back seat when her head flopped to one side, dark hair fanning across the pillow in a black tumble.

"Yusuke—no!" she said. Her hands fisted tight in the futon comforter. "Come back. Yusuke—"

She thrashed, sweat slicking the grooves in her brow. Pity rose high and hot in my chest. There were few things in life more gut-wrenching than watching a parent mourn a child, even a child who stood a chance of returning to life. Atsuko was the mother in Kurama's fairytale made flesh, restless with grief over the loss of—

Oh. Right.

I left the room and shut the door behind me. Kurama's flowers sat right where I'd left them on the kitchen counter, petals still clamped tight around hidden stamens. When I picked them up, Mom shot me a glance.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

I held the flowers up a little higher. "Sleep aid, remember?"

Mom nodded. "Right. Good idea. Oh, and once you're done with that, I'd like to sort Atsuko's mail. Would you help me?"

"Of course."

Walking down the darkened hallway to Atsuko's room, I offered up a silent plea—to whatever force in the universe, if any, might be listening—that Kurama's flowers did nothing more outlandish than give Atsuko a decent rest. The blossoms' sweet fragrance crowded my nostrils, soothing and mellow as I gently opened the bedroom door, crossed the room, and placed the flowers on Atsuko's bedside table. The scent filled the air with perfume as I left, threading through every breeze in the enclosed bedroom until I could smell mothing but forget-me-not. Crazy, that these buds could produce so much scent. They'd smell super obnoxious once they bloomed…

Nothing noteworthy happened, of course. I watched from the bedroom doorway, but the plants didn't climb up the walls. The forget-me-nots sat motionless in a shaft of moonlight filtering through the curtains: plain and ordinary flowers, not worth undue attention.

Like I said: Kurama rather underwhelmed me in real life. More's the pity.

Mom called my name, then. I helped her sort the mail spread across the kitchen table in silence. When we finished, we folded the clean laundry sitting in the dryer. Not much to do after that. We'd done all the chores we could, so Mom declared it time to go—but then she paused.

"Actually—wait," she said when I shot her a curious look. "I couldn't find Atsuko's purse, but she needs her checkbook to pay bills. Did you see it when you were in her bedroom?"

"No, I didn't. But I wasn't looking for it, so…"

"Drat. Well, I'll go look, see if I see it. Wait here."

Mom trotted off down the hall to Atsuko's bedroom. She returned after about a minute, purse in hand.

"Found it!" she said. She dug through the bag until she found the checks. "Go put these on the table, please."

I did as told. As Mom and I walked to the front door, she took my arm and squeezed, gentle and affirming.

"Before I forget—those flowers of yours appear to have done the trick," she said, smiling. "They smell amazing, and she's sleeping like a baby! We have to bring her more when those die."

Mom said my name when I pulled my arm away and scurried toward Atsuko's room, but I paid her confusion no heed. I pushed open the door, heart in my mouth, and stared—and at first I didn't see anything other than Atsuko lying still and serene on her side in the middle of the futon. But that in and of itself was actually sort of miraculous, so I stood there with my mouth open, in awe of her quiet form, free of nightmares for the first time in the two weeks since Yusuke had died.

Only after I recovered from that joyed shock did I noticed the forget-me-nots.

Their scent wrapped around me like an embrace. They'd bloomed in the last half hour, golden hearts glistening in the moonlight, color rich and deep against the pale blue petals. Their scent had indeed intensified since they'd bloomed, but I'd been wrong to think they'd smell obnoxious. The scent had somehow softened, matured into a relaxing miasma of appealing aroma I tasted on the back of my tongue. I let the aroma lave against my palate as I stared at the flowers, drinking down a scent that was both brand new and achingly familiar all at once.

I almost didn't notice the fine mist of light swarming off the flowers, flowing like a silver river toward Atsuko's bed. Too easy to mistake for moonlight or a trick of a hopeful eye…but I had seen _reiki_ suffuse Hideki- _sensei's_ hands before. I knew what energy looked like, even if my eyes couldn't discern it clearly.

Illumination as fine as bridal lace drifted off the flowers, tangling like a caress in Atsuko's hair. I held my breath, heart pounding in my chest like a boxer's punch, scared one wrong move or one breath too harsh might blow the mist away.

I needn't have worried, though.

The mist curled around her, and Atsuko breathed Yusuke's name.

In her sleep, she smiled.

It was the first real smile I'd seen on her features since the day her son got killed.

My eyes pricked. I scrubbed a hand over my lids, throat catching on a swallow.

Let this be a lesson to never doubt Kurama, I guess. Just like his fairy tale had promised, these flowers had brought respite to a grieving mother. I didn't know what dreams Atsuko's dreamed, but I didn't need to see them to know they were good. And I didn't need any more proof to know Kurama's flowers had caused those dreams.

When I got home that night, the scent of the forget-me-nots clung to my hair and chased me into sleep. I dreamed of Yusuke. We went to our favorite arcade and played together, laughing and snarking and goofing off—a reconstruction of a happy day we'd shared years ago before, in times less complicated, in times far brighter than the ones we lived now. I woke refreshed, the last trace of the flower's aroma fading from perception under the harsh light of brilliant day.

If I'd dreamed a dream like that—hope-igniting and warm—after brief exposure to the flowers, Atsuko's dreams must have been very sweet indeed.

* * *

"Hey there, Minamino. Got a minute?"

He looked at me over the top of his book, brow raised above one glimmering green eye. Around us classmates performed their typical pre-class socializing. It wasn't normal for anyone to ask Kurama to participate. A few students looked our way curiously, unused to seeing either of us engage in pre-lesson chatter, but I ignored them. So did Kurama.

"Yukimura," he said, pleasant and polite (and fake) as always in class. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine," I said. I hefted my schoolbag higher, bracing myself for the fallout of the potentially stupid-ass thing I felt I _had_ to do. "I wanted to say thank you."

His lips pursed. "I can't help but notice, this is two expressions of thanks in as many days. Is this becoming a pattern between us?"

"If you keep giving me flowers, then yeah. Maybe."

At that he smiled, eyes bright behind lowered lashes. A demure look. _Oh, don't thank me, I'm just a humble human citizen._ He wore that look for the benefit of the people around us, not me. He knew I knew about his social masks. If I'd confronted him privately, would he speak more plainly?

On the subject I intended to broach, something told me he'd still keep secrets. His placating expression all but screamed it.

"Ah," Kurama said, ducking his head with humility appropriate for accepting thanks. "Your thanks are unnecessary. I assure you, the flowers were little more than a mere token—"

"We both know the flowers were more than that."

Kurama blinked. He set his book aside, smiling fading in the wake of my firm and quiet words. I met his verdant gaze head on, not deigning to blink or back down even when his brow furrowed. Wheels turned behind his eyes—dangerous, calculating wheels I feared and admired all at once.

"Thank you, Minamino," said in that same calm voice. I bowed long and low and grateful, smiling when I rose and met his eyes again. "The flowers…well. You'll be happy to hear that they had their intended effect."

Kurama paused.

Delicate as razor wire, he repeated: "'Their intended effect?'"

"Yes," I said, trying not to quake at his careful tenor. "And for that, I offer you my deepest gratitude."

Before he could reply, I turned and marched away. Class began before he could chase me down. When class ended, I ran out the door before he could catch me. But I felt his eyes on my back as I skittered down the hall, away from the fox who hunted my scent.

To hell with caution. To hell with not giving myself away. To hell with all of that.

Kurama had brought peace to a woman who had none.

For that I owed him endless thanks, consequences of those thanks be damned.


	25. Knowing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not Quite Keiko puts her foot in her mouth.

Kurama wasted no time, much to my displeasure. The next day at lunch he walked right up to me in the middle of the cafeteria and said, "Yukimura. Would you mind keeping me company over lunch today?"

Thank my lucky stars I'd prepped for something like this. I'd been prepping for interactions with Kurama—no, _Minamino_ (don't mess up the name!) the way I'd been prepping Kuwabara for his English test…namely, with flashcards. I'd prepped an answer for just about anything Minamino might ask, scenario like this included. Yeah, I'm good.

"Sorry," I said, with an appropriately apologetic smile, "but I promised to eat lunch with my friend Kaito."

One brow lifted. "Kaito Yuu?" Minamino asked.

"Yes."

"Ah. I know him from an academic decathlon, but we haven't spoken in some time." He offered me an innocent smile—one I did not trust in the slightest. "It would be nice to reconnect."

Well, fuck this guy right in the earhole.

Minamino had just pulled an insidious social move mastered by my Texan grandmother, back in my old life: the good old Southern Passive-Aggressive Non-Suggestion. And he'd done a flawless job of it, too. He'd told me what he wanted, and was waiting for me to be a nice person and offer to help him get what he wanted. That put all the decision-making on my head. He hadn't _asked_ to be re-introduced to Kaito, but dammit, he certainly _expected_ me to make that happen now that he'd said that's what he wanted.

Basically, if I didn't suggest that he come with me to reconnect with Kaito like he wanted, I'd look like a jerk.

…too bad for Minamino I don't really care if people think I'm a jerk.

"Yeah, Kaito's cool," I said. I turned and waved over my shoulder. "Maybe another day. Bye!"

Much as I wanted to see Minamino's reaction, I didn't linger. I bolted from the cafeteria and all but ran down the hallways, glancing over my shoulder as though I might see a fox slinking around a corner in my wake.

I'd wondered if I'd said too much when I thanked Minamino. I hadn't said anything outright to acknowledge his powers, but perhaps my verbiage had been too loaded. Minamino was smart, after all. Perhaps calling out his mask, even just his social one, had been enough to tip him off, and the flower-thank-you only stirred the pot further. Minamino seeking me out for lunch certainly suggested he considered our business unfinished…

When I found Kaito in our usual spot on the library stairwell, he put down his book and favored me with a confused expression.

"Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" he said.

"Try a demon," I muttered, hopping onto the window sill so I could unpack my lunch across my lap. "Minamino wanted to eat together."

Kaito's unflappable demeanor flapped, eyes popping wide. "He _what_?"

"I said, he wanted to eat together."

"Why?"

"Hell if I know." I shrugged. I hid the following lie under a liberal dressing of sarcasm: "I thanked him for helping me with Junko and I think he thinks we're _friends_ now."

"Preposterous." He glared at the pages of his book so intently I feared they might catch fire. "You already have one genius friend. You have no need for another."

"One: Good point, you're enough of a handful as it is. Two: You have no say over my friends list."

"I am under no illusions as to the contrary. You are far too independent for that," he said, not deigning to look up from his book. "I am merely stating a logical fact. You and I possess sufficient intellectual capacity on our own. A third party would only complicated our lunchtime soiree."

"OK. Sure," I said, "but can you really have a _soiree_ in a stairwell?"

He shoved his glasses up his nose—a movement I'd come to realize indicated he'd been thrown off balance, or he was buying himself a moment to think without looking like he needed one. Prideful guy, Kaito.

"Perhaps 'soiree' is too grandiose a word for our lunchtime tête-à-tête," he admitted, and then he sighed. "I long for the day we can take lunch off campus."

"Too bad we have to be in the 12th grade for that."

"Yes. I suppose I must be patient." He settled back against the stairs, book closing around one placemark finger. "Time cannot pass quickly enough. Graduation seems eons away. But once I'm rid of this place…"

He peered off, eyes distant. Oh, the woes of a teenage genius. Despite his intelligence, Kaito didn't know how good he had it—how good it was to just be a kid, devoid of real responsibility. Not that teens don't have very real problems and whatnot, but still. This second life had been rather illuminating when it came to the value of childhood.

"Don't be so quick to grow up," I chided. "Enjoy high school while it lasts. College, too. Adulthood isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Thin brows arched above his narrow eyes. "Watch it, Yukimura. You're younger than me, even if you're up a grade."

Despite the wording, Kaito didn't actually sound offended (Kaito was not so easily bruised). I apologized regardless. "Sorry. Didn't mean to patronize. It's just ironic that kids are the only people who can't see how great being a kid is." I shrugged. "Grass is greener, I guess. Kids want to be adults, but once you reach adulthood, you'd do anything to go back to the playground."

"I do suppose George Bernard Shaw said, 'Youth is such a wonderful thing; what a crime to waste it on children,'" Kaito said. "If the literary greats agree with you, so too must I."

"Forgive me for being pedestrian, but glam metal band Cinderella and singer-songwriter Joni Mitchell agree with me, too," I added. "'You don't know what you got till it's gone,' as they both said. So—"

"Yukimura. Kaito. What a coincidence."

Kaito and I flinched in unison, turning as one up the staircase. Minamino (of course) stood at the top of the stairs holding a bento box in his pale hands. He wore a surprised smile, as though he had happily stumbled upon a box of free kittens and was just so pleased, _how wonderful, I must tell my mother about this lovely moment_! Or something. I felt a little too freaked to come up with a good metaphor.

When his eyes met mine, I saw the smile didn't quite reach them.

"Fortuitous indeed. I was just talking to Yukimura in the cafeteria, and I mentioned I'd like to reconnect with you," Kurama said. He bowed down at us, mouth still curved and pleasant. "Kaito. You might not remember me. My name is Minamino—"

"I know who you are," Kaito said, deadpan. "What do you want?"

"Merely to say hello and ask after your health." He gestured toward us. "May I sit?"

Kaito's back stiffened, but even he knew better than to be needlessly rude (or maybe he had determined that if he buddied up to Minamino, he could find out his weaknesses and beat him on tests—wouldn't put it past Kaito to calculate those odds). Whatever the case, Kaito eventually muttered: "I suppose."

Minamino's smile widened, warming his eyes just a touch. He trotted down the steps and settled in next to Kaito. I maintained my spot in the window ledge, lunch spread across my lap, and began counting the grains of rice in my _onigiri_.

I needn't have distracted myself, however. Minamino didn't talk to me. Instead he turned to Kaito and began reminiscing about the academic decathlon they'd competed in the previous year. Kaito replied with short answers, measuring up Minamino's cheerful and polite demeanor with barely masked suspicion. His social masks weren't as developed as present company's, but despite his dislike of Minamino, Kaito managed to keep an impressive veneer of polite distance in place as he fielded Minamino's chipper recollections.

Minamino rarely looked at me while they talked. Occasionally his eyes slid my way. Never for more than a moment, though, and only at times when it would've been rude not to acknowledge all people in the room. At those times I ducked my head and counted my rice.

"Are you still competing in academic contests?" Minamino asked Kaito. He had moved up a step, leaning against the all so he could stretch one leg along the stair's length. "I confess I have not, as of late, unless specifically asked by the administration.

"No," Kaito said. "I've specified my interested. Too busy writing papers on literary theory. Speaking of which…"

Kaito set down the drink he's been holding, on the edge of Minamino's step, and reached for his school bag on the floor. Just then Minamino moved his leg as if to adjust position—and his calf collided with the drink. The carton tumbled off the step and onto the stair below, a spray of liquid dotting Kaito's shirt. Kaito made a sound of disgust and yanked his bag far away from the spill. A puddle had threatened to consume his homework.

"Oh—I'm so sorry," Minamino said, rising to his feet. "Let me get paper towels—"

"No. I need to wash this out before it stains, anyway," Kaito said. He stood and walked up the stairs. "Be right back."

My stomach lurched. I hopped off the windowsill. "I'll go with—"

"No need," he called over his shoulder. "One minute."

…and with that he was gone, leaving me alone with Mina—no.

Leaving me alone with _Kurama_.

I assure you, there is a difference.

Kurama watched me through cool green eyes, smile vanishing the second Kaito disappeared from view. Much as I wanted to avoid making eye contact, I knew I couldn't avoid it forever—which meant I might as well try to get the upper hand. I rounded on Kurama and stared right at him, bold as brass and cold as a glacier.

" _J'accuse_ ," I said.

His brow furrowed. "Hmm?"

"It means 'I accuse.'"

He hummed. "And what, precisely, are you accusing me of?"

"Do you really have to ask?" When he offered nothing more helpful than a sunny, synthetic smile, I sighed and said, "Did you follow me here?"

"That is quite an accusation, Yukimura. Did you _notice me_ following you?" he asked—too innocently for comfort.

"No," I had to admit.

"Then it appears you have your answer." His prim response had my teeth gritting. "You left the cafeteria long before I did. Following you would have been difficult, since you had a head start."

The absurdity of that statement raised my hackles. If Kurama wanted to follow someone, he damn well would figure out how. I said, "Yeah, but knowing you, you probably have ways—"

I stopped talking.

Kurama's smile faded.

"Knowing me?" he repeated, silky voice pitched low.

_Fuck fuck fuckity fuck—_

"Never mind," I said.

"No. Tell me." He took one step in my direction, but that was enough to send me backing up until I hit the wall. He did not seem to notice, green eyes locked and loaded on my face, pupils ablaze with energy that lit them up from the inside like thunderheads. "'Knowing me', you said? Need I remind you we met mere days ago? What _ways_ might I have, that you could possibly know about?"

His voice was like thunder and velvet had had an auditory baby, and in spite of the danger I knew he represented, a shiver skated up the length of my spine. I pushed the feeling deep, deep down, though, and tossed my hair as I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Knowing how smart you are, since you're the only person who ever beats Kaito in exams, you could easily find me without following me outright," I said, madly grabbing for the first panicked reason I could grasp (thank you, flashcards!). "Maybe you asked classmates where I eat lunch."

Kurama's stormcloud expression cleared—a little. A summer shower instead of a typhoon.

"I see," he muttered.

I hummed. "You've got a reputation, Minamino. I don't have to know _you_ to know _it_."

I turned my back on him (which was perhaps a stupid decision in retrospect) and grabbed my _onigiri_ off the windowsill. Better I shoved food in my mouth than keep talking and shove my foot in it—because I had very nearly blurted out that Kurama's fox nose could've tracked my scent and followed me to this spot and _oh my god, Keiko, you are such a dumbass_! Dead giveaway I knew too much. So glad I came up with the alterative 'ask other students' possibility and the bit about knowing how smart he was thanks to exam scores. Even alluding to the idea of him having powers would be a bridge too far. Thankfully my panicked brain and my flashcards had—

"So tell me," Kurama said, "what do you know about adulthood?"

I flinched at the sound of his voice. I choked down my _onigiri_ (even Dad's brilliant cooking tasted like sandpaper just then) and turned to Kurama, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. "Beg pardon?"

"I overhead." His eyes still stormed, but they didn't crackle with lightning like before. "You cautioned Kaito against growing up too quickly. You were quite authoritative on the matter." His lips quirked, hair tumbling in a glossy wave when his head tipped. "One might suspect you spoke from experience, if not for your youthful features."

Holy shit.

Holy _fucking_ shit. Was Kurama really that perceptive, to see the truth in my offhand, overheard comments to Kaito? Or was he just casting desperate fishing lines and hoping for any sort of bite? Too bad for him I was smarter than your average fish. Think, Keiko, think, remember your flashcards—!

"What can I say?" I said with a shrug. "I grew up fast."

"Is that so," he said. He did not sound convinced.

"My parents run a restaurant," I said. Schooling features into my Keiko-at-school mask afforded me confidence; my beatific smile betrayed none of my internal panic. "Was expected to learn the business and help out as soon as I could walk, so…" Another shrug, a helpless smile. "I didn't mean to patronize Kaito. Call my attitude a consequence of coming from a working class family, I guess?"

Kurama didn't say a damn word. He just looked at me—playing that game of initiating an awkward silence so the other person starts to talk, perhaps? For once, I succumbed to his ploy.

"Mom's always telling me to slow down." I rolled my eyes at the notion of a nagging mother—a typical teenage look, one I'd perfected with the aim of blending in. "I was just parroting what she says about kids growing up too fast, that's all."

My answer was perfect, of course. The best lies spring from truth, and everything I said was true. Mom always told me to slow down, be a kid, go on dates, make friends…so, yeah. When paired with my practiced Keiko-smile and nonchalant attitude, my answers were absolutely plausible and perfect.

…so why did Kurama's still look so suspicious of me?

Green eyes traced my face as though looking for answers in the map of my pores. I bore his scrutiny with a bemused smile, trying to affect an air of 'What's this guy's problem?' mixed with 'OK, this guy is weird, but harmless, so let me humor him a minute.'" Kurama didn't appear to notice, of course. He just looked me over the way my dad looked over cuts of meat before purchasing, then eventually lifted his eyes to meet mine.

My smile faltered at the certainty I observed in them.

His lips curled at the corners.

"You have an answer for everything, don't you, Yukimura?" he murmured.

For once in this overthinker's collection of lives, the constant worry, the constant overthinking…all of that melted away.

Inside my head, it was quiet—because the feeling of complete and utter horror had chased all coherent thought right out the fucking window.

Kurama stared at me.

I stared at him.

Neither of us spoke.

Kaito chose that moment to return (I might be an atheist, but I offered up tearful thanks to any and all deities that might've had a hand in that cosmically fortuitous timing). We heard his footfalls in the corridor before we saw him, but in the scant time before he appeared at the top of the stairs, Kurama smoothed his satisfied smile into one of blank, pleasant benevolence. He greeted Kaito smoothly, picking up the conversation right where they'd left off.

Before replying, Kaito spared a moment to shoot a concerned, inquisitive glance at the expression on my face—one I can only assume looked quite dire indeed, if it did anything to reflect the disturbed way I felt inside.

My answers had been perfect.

Maybe they had been _too_ perfect.

Maybe a more natural reaction to Kurama's interrogation would've been to look confused, stutter and stammer, ask him what the hell he was talking about, rather than bust out a response both perfectly calculated and smoothly executed. Was I _too good_ at dodging his questions? Did my preparedness make me look guilty of his suspicions, somehow—or was I just overthinking this, and reading too far into those narrowed eyes and thin lips?

Maybe, just maybe, he was counting on me to overthink things, and trip myself up in the process.

I didn't get my answer that day. The bell rang, forcing us to part ways and head to class. After school I ran home before anyone could speak to me. I took refuge in the absorbing task of tutoring Kuwabara. His goofy smiles and loud laugh soothed my panicked soul. I went to bed that night resolving to avoid Minamino as much as possible. If that meant avoiding Kaito, too, so be it.

I would _not_ get caught by Kurama. I would _not_ put my foot in my mouth again.

…though knowing me (and knowing him), that was a fate inevitable, and a promise made to be broken.

Too bad for me, and despite my best efforts to slip away after class and hide, Kurama found me during lunch every day for the next week. He always made a big production over it, much to my chagrin. If he saw me in the hall he'd call my name in that musical voice of his (it carried way farther than I suspected it could) and say something about how coincidental it was to run into each other in that particular hallway. Students whispered behind their hands as Kurama walked at my side, guiding me like a deranged sheepdog to our lunchtime destination. The antisocial Minamino being social? How novel. Of course people noticed, and talked.

A few times I saw Amagi in the crowd, watching us without whispering with the others. She kept her gaze locked on Kurama and I, fists clenched tight at her side. Every time our eyes met, she'd turn and dart away, lost amid the crowd of gaping onlookers.

Kurama never acknowledged the other student. He walked me from class to my spot with Kaito, all pleasant smiles and polite greetings, then sat with us and chatted over our bento boxes like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Lucky for me, Kaito is smart—smart enough to see the stricken expression on my face after being left alone with Kurama and know exactly what it meant. I didn't have to say a word for him to realize Kurama made me uncomfortable. He never allowed me to be alone with the fox demon again. A few days later his drink mysteriously spilled a second time, but he pulled a fistful of paper towels from his bag and mopped up the spill on the spot.

Kurama's polite, helpful smile faltered just a smidge at that.

"After last time, I thought it prudent to carry these in case another spill should occur," Kaito said, deadpan eyes meeting Kurama's without flinching. "We seem to be a clumsy group, after all."

Kurama's eyes slid my way for a fraction of a second.

"Yes," he said when he looked back at Kaito. "It seems we are."

* * *

Kurama knew better than to bug me after school, I think, or to follow me home. Harassment on school grounds was one thing, but stalking me after hours would be too obvious. He never tried to talk to me after our last class of the day. He would just offer me a polite smile, an obligatory nod, and leave to pursue his personal after-school activities.

One week of lunches later, however, someone else decided they wanted to talk to me.

Kurama had just walked out, and I had just remembered how to breathe for the day, when a shadow fell over my desk. Amagi didn't have this class with me, but somehow she'd materialized in the room mere seconds after the bell rang. I couldn't hide my surprised reaction; she countered it with a tight, brittle smile.

"Keiko-san," she said. "Can I talk with you?"

"Um. Sure?"

"Good. Come with me."

She cut a path through the students in the hall, leading me to a wing of the school I wasn't all that familiar with. She didn't talk to me. Her eyes stayed forward, focused, not deigning to shoot even a sideways glance in my direction. Once we cleared the throng of milling students I said, "What's this about?"

"Just something I need to discuss with you," was all she would say.

Eventually we stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and tried to wave me inside. I didn't move and instead smiled at her, questioning and pliant, but she didn't smile back. She just waved, indicating I should enter ahead of her.

I did so.

The room was full of girls.

Ten girls, to be precise. They sat on desks, leaned against the chalkboard, stood in whispering knots here and there like clustered, gossiping hens. I recognized most of them from various classes, though I only knew the name of one: Junko, the girl who had tried to pry details about Yusuke's death from me. She didn't talk to me, though. Another girl walked forward, looked me up and down, and clucked her tongue.

"This is her?" the girl asked. She was tall enough to look down her nose at me, which she did with obvious relish.

"Yeah, Hotaru," said Junko. Her long brown ponytail flipped like an annoyed horse tail. "That's her."

Hotaru's lips, coated in a glossy layer of gloss, curled around her gleaming teeth.

"Thought she'd be prettier," she said.

I bristled. I started to tell Hotaru to back off, because I didn't appreciate strangers stepping to me like this, and she did _not_ want to mess with me today.

The words never came.

Behind me, I heard Amagi lock the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: FANGIRLS. But they might surprise you. Also moments with Kagome, Kuwabara, and a new player in town (if I can fit them in). Dun dun dun!
> 
> Made a Tumblr! Username LuckyStarChild. Let's connect!
> 
> Kurama is just too sharp. Keiko's over-preparedness and too-perfect answers don't work in her favor. Damn flashcards! Normal people would get confused and lose their cool. But soon tables will turn, and it'll get…funny. I hope. Till next time!


	26. What Are Friends For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko makes unexpected friends, consults with an old friend, helps a friend in need, and wonders if someone new is friend or foe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultural Notes: The Japanese word 'gaijin' literally means 'outside person,' and it's what foreigners are called in Japan. Sort of derogatory, ish. Senpai is a term of respect for students older than yourself. Kouhai is for your lowerclassman.
> 
> Random Note: The text messages between my mother and myself are transcribed verbatim.

One week after Thanksgiving, my mother told me Grandmother was dying. She told me through a text message. I was in the middle of a Dungeons & Dragons game when I got it, playing the role of the Dungeon Master.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. My world changed.

"Hi, darling," the text read. "Hope your week is going OK. Wanted to let you know that Grandmother received a bad medical report today and it appears she has lung cancer which appears to have spread. She will go for biopsy I guess in the next few days."

It ended with the phrase: "We are very sad."

Judging by the date stamp, this was the first text Mom had sent me since mid-October.

My friends laughed as one of them rolled a critical failure while attacking a monster. They ate pizza and drank beer, unware of the text I'd just received. I sent my mom a quick response.

"Oh my god," I said.

"What happens now?" I said.

Her reply came fast, phone's vibration inaudible under the laughter of my players: "For now a note is best. She is going to go to doc. in Austin to consult for treatment options. Then we'll know more about what's in store."

She said: "I hope she'll stay with us and get treated at MDA like your Aunt Lana did."

I stared at the phone until someone said my name. My players needed me to resolve an issue about game mechanics. Such is the duty of the Dungeon Master. I put my phone back in my pocket. I pasted on a smile and consulted the Player's Handbook because I didn't know the answer offhand.

Too bad there wasn't a handbook for learning your grandmother was dying.

When my players left, I curled up in my bed and cried.

We'd lost Aunt Lana—Grandmother's younger sister—only four months prior.

How was this fair?

I loved my grandmother. Obvious statement, probably, but it bears saying. She was my world. She was the family matriarch. She was the indomitable Texan matriarch of Czech descent who taught me to make poppyseed kolaches, how to sew, how to curl my hair, how to say "Bless your heart" as sweet as peach pie but still manage to make the words sting. But she hadn't had time to teach me to make chicken fried steak with her recipe yet, or how to make that wild cactus jam she sold each year at the county fair, and now I'd lost my chance—

No. Don't think like that. There would be treatments. Grandmother was 88, but there would be ways to extend her life. There had to be.

More time. That's all I needed. I just needed more time.

Two weeks later, Mom texted me again: "Sorry, darling, but Grandmother has pancreatic cancer. Treatment isn't an option. Hopefully will live six months. Try not to worry."

We had her for one month more.

She lived through one last glittering Christmas, full of goodbyes and tears, and died on January 1st, 2017.

I never learned to make her cactus jam.

* * *

If fanfiction taught me anything, it's that fangirls are not to be trusted.

Not that that conclusion should surprise anyone. All the fics I'd ever read had portrayed Kurama's fangirls as vicious, territorial snakes—girls concerned with scoring a hot boyfriend and eliminating competition above all else.

…not that that was their fault, when you got down to it. They didn't write themselves that way. They existed in two dimensions across the realm of fan-work, in so many fandoms, cardboard cutouts of young women who existed to accomplish little more than stand between a canon cutie and an original character's love.

These chicks, though? They were very real. No one was writing them (unless an unseen author pulled the strings somewhere in the multiverse) and they were far more solid than any fictional character.

Which meant I was in very real danger, if these fangirls were anything like the ones that existed in fiction.

Not counting Amagi by the door, the room held ten girls. Hotaru stood in front of me, leering down her nose. Junko stood behind her, leaning against the windows overlooking the schoolyard. Three girls by the chalkboard to my right, three girls by the desks to my left, another by the windows at the back of the classroom, one more way over by the coat closets. Unless any of them had training, a fight with all of them was just barely doable—foolish because of their sheer numbers, of course (training hardly matters when you're vastly outnumbered). I devised a strategy in snap: push Hotaru into Junko, toss a desk at the girls by the board, turn and pile-drive Amagi and run out the door before anyone could recover, and—

Hotaru's eyes narrowed. She laughed through her nose.

"Pigtails?" she said. "Really?"

I ran a hand down one tail on reflex. "My mom likes them."

The tall girl laughed, louder this time. "Mama's little angel, that's you," she sneered.

From behind me Amagi said: "Hotaru. Back off."

I looked over my shoulder. Amagi stood with hands on hips, glaring past me at Hotaru, dark eyes alight with dedicated fire. Her kind face had arranged itself into a stony mask, full lips pressing into a thin white line.

…why the hell was Amagi defending me? Wasn't she the one who brought me into this snake den in the first place?

Hotaru didn't leave me time to ponder. "Whatever, Amagi." She tossed her hair as she looked me over. "This little brat—"

Her hand lifted from her side, reaching for one of my pigtails. I shifted my right foot behind me, placing my weight on it in case I needed to dodge or leap. Given Hotaru's lax stance and off-balance center of gravity, she didn't have martial arts training, but the girl wasn't stupid. She pulled the hand back and frowned when I moved.

"Touch me and you lose the hand," I said.

Hotaru bared her teeth. "Cheeky _kouhai_. Respect your upperclassman."

"I don't give a damn that you're my _senpai_. Respect is earned," I said, "and you haven't done _anything_ to earn mine."

Hotaru clearly wasn't accustomed to being disrespected. Her hand lashed out, fisting in the collar of my uniform.

"Why you little—" she said.

She did not complete that statement.

I'm not terribly proud of what I did then. Picking on untrained children wasn't really my style, but much as I had a reputation of nobility to maintain, I also had a reputation of _do not fucking mess with me_ to maintain—and that latter reputation mattered just as much as the former. She grabbed my collar, so I grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm to throw off her balance, and performed a simple leg sweep, guiding Hotaru to the ground by my grip on her wrist. She went down like a sack of potatoes. Soon as her shoulder and hip collided with the floor, I let her go and sunk low in my stance, ready and waiting for the other girls to defend their fallen friend.

There followed a moment of silence.

Hotaru gaped up at me, stunned, lying wide-eyed and short-breathed on the floor.

The other girls reacted first. A series of shrieks ripped through the quiet; three girls rushed to Hotaru's side and another three grabbed at each other, gibbering in fear. Hotaru, of course, started screaming, calling me a bitch and swearing she'd kick my ass. She struggled to sit up with the help of the other girls, pointing an accusatory finger at my face.

Junko, however, started laughing.

The laughter cut through the din like a blade. The other girls quieted at once, staring at Junko like she'd sprouted wings (I stared at her much the same way because _what the heck was she laughing about, exactly?)—_ and then Hotaru slapped her hand against the floor.

"Shut the fuck up, Junko," she spat. She lurched first to her knees and then to her unsteady feet. The girls scattered as she slammed one fist into the opposite hand. "You won't be laughing when I make this bitch bleed."

Junko merely rolled her eyes. "Pretty sure she won't be the one bleeding in five…four…"

Before I could wonder at this ominous countdown, Amagi emerged from behind me. I almost lashed out at her when she invaded my periphery, but just as I started to move, I saw her face. She didn't look at me. She walked right past me, toward Hotaru, dark eyes blazing like hot coals.

"Three…two…" Junko continued.

Amagi walked up to Hotaru. Stopped. Stood feet shoulder-width apart, glaring at Hotaru with ferocity I didn't know Amagi was capable. Hotaru bared her teeth. Amagi's shoulders tensed. Her right hand lifted.

I knew what would happen even before Junko finished her countdown.

"One," Junko said.

Amagi's hand, cobra-like in its speed, connected with Hotaru's face.

The girls all gasped. A few looked away, flinching.

But some of them…they started smiling. Smiles of bolstered confidence, eyes on Amagi as she put her hand to her side and Hotaru stumbled from the force of her slap.

…so the fangirls were attacking their own, now?

What the _heck_ was going on with these people!?

"Hotaru, you should be _ashamed_ of yourself," Amagi said, voice as cold and controlled as a surgeon's knife. She gestured at the room, at the girls in it. "We talked about this. All of us, we talked about it, and we made _rules_."

Hand on flaming cheek, Hotaru snarled: "That bitch attacked me!"

"Stop calling her that," Amagi snapped. "And she only attacked you because you grabbed her. She was defending herself. You started this, not her!"

"But Amagi—"

"No. You know the rules." Amagi's control slipped, tone quivering with anger. "Grabbing people, name-calling? That is _not_ how we do things! It might've been at first, but not anymore. So shape up, or get out."

Amagi waved at me—no, not at me. She waved at the door behind me. The girls held their breaths as Hotaru looked between Amagi, and me, and the door in turns, weighing options I didn't understand…but soon her eyes lost some of their rage.

"Fine," she huffed. Her baleful gaze held mine for a moment. "Sorry, Yukimura-san."

I didn't reply—mainly because I had no idea how to reply. Too confused. I watched Hotaru stalk off and plop into a seat with my mouth open, rising out of my fighting stance when she reached into her pocket and began examining her enflamed face in a compact mirror.

"You must be confused."

I turned. Amagi's penitent smile made her look older, adding worried lines to her young face.

"I'm so sorry about this," she continued. "I didn't think it would go this way. But if you could just give me a chance to explain…"

"Explain why you dragged me into an empty classroom to be accosted?" I asked. "I'm not sure I want to stick around after such a warm reception, to be honest."

Her cheeks flushed like blooming peonies. "I am so, _so_ sorry about that. It's just—this is a sensitive matter."

"And it's hard to explain without all of us here," Junko piped up. She sat on a desk, legs kicking in the empty space below. "Just sit a spell and we'll explain, OK?" Her bright brown eyes canvassed the room. "Girls, sit. We've got a story to tell."

Obediently, because there appeared to be a pecking order and Junko and Amagi occupied the top of it, the other girls took their seats in a cluster in the center of the room. Some of them whispered as they shot me wary glances. Hotaru ignored me in favor of her pocket mirror. None looked outright hostile anymore, whatever that was worth. Should they turn hostile, my main method of attack would be to take out either of the group's ringleaders and—

Amagi touched my arm. I jumped. Her fingers brushed the elbow of my sleeve softly, as if to soothe.

"If you'd stay a minute," she said, "we'll tell you why we brought you here."

Part of me wanted to pack up and leave, but another part wanted to know what this was about—fangirls fighting each other? Now _that_ I hadn't expected, and Amagi's huge, dark eyes were too pleading (and adorable; ugh, hormones) for me to deny. After a moment's hesitation I picked a desk near the door, back to the wall: a defensive position close to the exit. Amagi gave me an approving nod. She stood between my desk and the knot of girls, the mediator of…whatever this was. Still wasn't quite sure.

"OK," I said as we settled in. "What is this about?"

I saw her answer coming from a mile away: "It's about Minamino Shuichi."

Outwardly, I quirked a brow to indicate confused skepticism, but inside I pumped a triumphant (if not exasperated) first. Bingo, baby. Here it comes. The fangirls I'd read about in a million fics were going to tell me to leave Minamino alone, that he was theirs and I needed to stay away. Hell, I hadn't just read about girls like this. I'd _written_ them, too, into the fics I'd dabbled with back in my old life. They'd probably try to intimidate and blackmail and—wait a minute.

Why was one of the girls crying, all of a sudden?

I stared in abject confusion as a girl near the middle of the pack sniffled. She pressed her face into her sleeve as a single, delicate sob wracked her thin frame. The rest of the girls murmured comforts and hugged her, some of them similarly emotional as they held their crying friend. Junko and Amagi watched with sorrowful eyes, mothers worrying for their children.

"Sorry, sorry," the first crying girl said. "I just get so sad when we have to talk about this."

"It's OK, Kara-san," Amagi said. "You know we understand—"

" _What is going on here?_ "

I didn't mean to say that so harshly, but it came out like the bark of an irate dog. A few girls gasped. Amagi just shut her eyes, lips thinning, and Junko shot me a scathing glance. I paid her no heed.

"You drag me here, ambush me, attack one of your own—and now everyone is crying?" I said. "None of this makes sense. What the hell is going on?"

Amagi and Junko exchanged a look. Then as one they looked at me.

"There's something you should know," Amagi said.

"It's not a secret, not really, but please keep this to yourself if you can," Junko added.

"We aren't embarrassed, but we would prefer privacy," Amagi finished.

I nodded. OK, sure, whatever I had to say to get them to start talking.

The pack of crying girls went very still at that point. Junko sat up straight and crossed her arms over her chest. Even the ornery Hotaru stopped examining her face, in favor of sticking her haughty nose in the air.

Amagi took a deep breath.

"Every single girl in this room has feelings for Minamino Shuichi," she said. I doubted she would've spoken with such solemn gravity if she knew I already suspected that little factoid. "Some of us admire him. Some of us owe him…and a few love him."

Some girls hung their heads. Junko shut her eyes. Hotaru humphed and slumped in her seat, lips drawn in a sullen pout.

"We all care about him in some way or another," Amagi continued. "That is what we have in common."

I pretended to look like this was completely new information, with careful consideration etched into my expression. "So is this like a club, or something?"

"Sort of." Amagi grimaced, all-business-face replacing her solemn one. "We noticed he's been eating with you this week."

"Yes. He has." There was no use denying it.

"Did you push him into it?" Amagi said. "Are you pestering him into eating with you?"

"Of course not." I rolled my eyes. "He invited himself along, not the other way around."

Although I told the truth, the girls didn't look convinced. I suppose that was to be expected. Minamino had a reputation for aloof disinterest in his classmates. The idea of him willingly inserting himself into a classmate's life ran counter to his character. If only they knew the truth…but since I couldn't tell the truth about his demonic nature, the best I could do to gain their belief was tell a different truth.

"You know Kaito Yuu?" I said. "Genius literary nerd? He's my one good friend at this school, and he dislikes Minamino because Minamino's the only person who beats him on exams." I spread my hands in a supplicating gesture. "Why would I invite someone my only friend hates to sit with us at lunch? I wouldn't jeopardize my one friendship like that. Minamino just started showing up at lunch this week, and believe you me, I wish he wouldn't."

Some of their skeptical expressions eased. Amagi, however, looked confused.

"If you're not inviting him," she said, "why is he eating with you?"

Because I didn't trust myself to lie believably, I opted for a twist on the truth: "I think he's just curious about the new girl." I looked at Junko askance. "Lots of people at this school seem interested in the new girl's drama."

Junko grimaced. I suppressed a smirk. Amagi considered my words a moment before pressing on.

"Why were you at the greenhouse last week?" she asked.

"He stood up for me in class. I wanted to thank him."

Amagi's eyes widened. "He stood up for you?"

"Yeah. Junko can vouch for me on that one."

The girl in question blinked her glittery eyelids. "I can?"

"Uh-huh. He called you over when you were in the middle of interrogating me, remember?" She nodded, but when she opened her mouth to speak I cut her off. "He did it on purpose to get you away from me. He saw I was uncomfortable and intervened. He told me so himself."

Junko turned the color of a pickled beet. "Oh."

Ha! Take that, Junko. Think twice before demanding details from the grieving. I didn't let my triumph show on my face, though, instead looking back at Amagi. "I was at the greenhouse to thank him for stepping in. I don't a lot of friends here yet, so…" I shrugged. "I guess it meant a lot."

Amagi's measured stare held mine for a moment.

"Do you have feelings for him?" she said.

Ah. There it was. The question I'd been expecting from the fangirls, no matter how weirdly they behaved. I smoothly replied, "I just met him, so no. I do not have feelings for him."

Her brow lifted. "Some of us met him and knew at once he was someone special."

"I'm not the type to fall for someone at first sight," I replied, tone dry. "That's just not who I am."

Amagi continued to stare, brow still lifted above her lovely eyes. Junko chewed on her lower lip. The rest of the girls murmured to each other. I didn't catch much of what they said, but I heard a few phrases here and there: … _telling the truth? Does she really not like…? Why do you think Minamino…_

"Look, what's going on here?" I said when Amagi's stare didn't waver. "All of you have feelings for him. I get it. Are you mad he's been eating with me? I'm not competition. Because like I said—"

"We're not mad," Junko interjected.

"We're _worried_ ," said Amagi.

I snorted. "Well, I'm fine, and—"

Junko rolled her eyes. "Not about _you_. About _him_."

I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of that statement. "Minamino doesn't strike me as the type who needs people worrying about him," I said. "Seems like a pretty capable person, if you ask me, so—"

"Minamino's mother is dying."

I stopped talking at Amagi's bald statement. Junko winced. A few of the other girls hung their heads. One started to cry again. Amagi's all-business-face did not waver, but her voice….

"She got sick months ago," Amagi said. Every word trembled, even if her eyes stayed stone. "It's a progressive illness. At first there was hope she might live, and with experimental treatments her life expectancy has been prolonged…but…"

She didn't need to finish that statement for me to know its ending: despite those treatments, Minamino Shiori was going to die.

I'd been wondering at the state of Kurama's home life, and at the state of his mother's health. Seems I'd finally gotten my answer. While this answer didn't exactly surprise me, it did hurt to hear the truth.

I'd heard it before, after all.

Oblivious to my inner machinations, Amagi pressed on.

"All of us, we used to compete for him," she said. "Letters, presents, whatever we could do to get his attention. There was drama. Friendships suffered for it. _He_ suffered for it." She shook her head, eyes closing. "He constantly had to worry about who he spoke to, so he didn't look like he was playing favorites. He had to be careful of our feelings when he turned us down."

"Looking back," Junko murmured, "we realize the unfair position we put him in."

The girls nodded in agreement. Amagi surveyed the group, meeting every member's eyes one by one, coaxing a small smile of reassurance from each before turning back to me.

"We were deep in competition for him when his mother got sick," she said in that same brittle voice. "He started coming to school late. He lost weight. And we realized the only thing we were accomplishing was adding stress to his life." She shook her head again, a sorrowful smile slipping across her lips. "We realized our feelings didn't matter. Minamino is his own person, and we need to respect that he just doesn't have time to accommodate us anymore. Not when his mother..."

Her mask cracked. Her voice broke. Dark eyes glimmered with unshed tears. Junko slipped off the desk and touched Amagi's shoulder. Amagi breathed deeply before meeting Junko's eyes. They stared at one another for a moment, sharing strength until Amagi could speak again.

"We have no right to add more stress to his life," Amagi said. Her voice held steady. "We all care for him. Because we care for him, we want him to be happy. So we collectively swore to leave him be, and to not pursue him unless he approached us first, or until his mother recovered."

As the girls murmured their agreement, an image of a bento box—huge, too big for one person, left on the porch of the greenhouse—flashed through my head.

"You've been cooking for him," I said.

"Yes," said Amagi. "We cook food for him every day—for him and his mother both, so they can keep up their strength. Anything we can do to make his life easier, we will do." And then her business-face was back, eyes hard and unrelenting. "So you understand, now, why we're concerned about your presence in his life. We're concerned about anyone new causing him trouble."

"Of course," I said, mostly to myself as I pieced together this odd puzzle. "You're his guardians."

Amagi's mouth parted in momentary surprise. Then she inclined her head.

"Yes," she said. "That's right."

Her eyes glimmered with renewed strength after I called her 'guardian'. The last crying girls stopped crying, too, wiping away tears and snot as they sat up straight. Junko muttered 'guardians' under her breath and chuckled, looking pleased and maybe a touch embarrassed at the grandiose label…but she didn't deny it, either. None of them did.

Guardians. These girls, these girls who loved Minamino…I hadn't considered they might do something like this, band together for his sake instead of the sake of their love lives. I'd underestimated them. Shame made my cheeks color. I'd really assumed the worst of these girls, and yet…

"He's lucky to have you in his life," I said to cover my emotions. I scanned the room, smiling. "All of you. A lot of people aren't so lucky to have friends like you."

Junko shrugged. "We don't do that much."

"No, you actually do." My voice rose as the implications of the situation sank home. "You recognized his emotional needs and you support him unconditionally, even to the point of personal sacrifice. That's rare. It reflects highly on all of your characters." Even though some of the girls looked pleased, flushing at my words, I crossed my arms over my chest and firmly stated, "Now, if you bullied people who got close to him, that would reflect poorly on you."

There followed a series of awkward, guilty glances. Amagi cleared her throat. Hotaru very carefully stared at the floor.

I suppressed a giggle. Seemed the fangirls weren't so perfect, after all.

"We…made mistakes, at first," Junko admitted (Hotaru's floor-stare intensified). "Tactical mistakes, I guess. But that caused Minamino trouble, so we made some rules. No more intimidation. Only open dialogue and honesty for us these days."

"Gotcha," I said, not indulging in the amused smile threatening my expression. I stood up and spread my hands again. "Well, you have nothing to fear from me at all. I have no intention of causing him trouble." This time I let the smile break, accompanied by as conspiratorial wink. "If there's a contract, I'll sign it. I'm with you."

Amagi didn't react for a moment. We looked at one another, her eyes wide and astonished, until Junko hopped off the desk behind her. She gestured and the other girls stood, too, in a cacophony of sliding chairs and desks rattling over linoleum title.

"Thank you, Yukimura," Junko said. She folded her hands and bowed. "We appreciate your understanding."

As one, eleven girls bowed to me—even the taciturn Hotaru. I bowed back.

"My parents own a restaurant, by the way," I said when I rose. "I know a lot of recipes. You can use our kitchen to cook for Minamino, if you want."

Amagi practically started glowing. "That would be nice. Thank you."

They let me go after that, with promises to keep me informed, and requests I let them know if learned anything from Minamino himself. I left the room and stood in the hallway for nearly a minute, stunned, because that had _not_ gone the way I'd expected.

Maybe fangirls weren't to be distrusted, after all.

The idea would take some getting used to.

* * *

On Sunday I ate lunch with Eimi and Michiko. Once I told them all about my new school and caught up on Sarayashiki Junior High gossip, I boarded a train and made my way to Tokyo.

Kagome waited on the platform, an adorable child in shorts and a baseball jersey bouncing excitedly on her heels. Blended right in with the rest of the civilians milling about the train station. When I trotted over she slipped her small hand into my large one with a squeeze.

"Good trip?" she said.

"Yeah." Sarayashiki was basically a glorified suburb of Tokyo, hence Kagome's easy commute to our weekly _aikido_ lessons. "Didn't take long at all."

"Awesome!" She tugged me forward, skipping along like a giggling mountain goat. "Follow me!"

A few train stops and a walk later, I glimpsed Kagome's family's temple for the first time. Sort of weird to see a full-blown temple like Genkai's in close proximity to the tall, mirror-glass buildings looming on the city's horizon, but that didn't stop it from being gorgeous. The template sat tucked behind an office building and a neighborhood like a forgotten relic of another time. Red arches, sloping roofs, and a tumble of wild greenery marked the temple as something other, alien, mystical—and the gigantic tree looming above it like Jack's giant from fairy tales only drove the point home.

"The _go-shinboku,"_ Kagome said when she saw me staring at its leafy crown. She shoved her hands in her pockets, expression fond. "The god tree. Over 500 years old. Inuyasha'll get pinned to it someday. Isn't it great?"

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah. Reminds me of Colorado. Man, I miss home." She eyed me sidelong with a smirk. "But that's not what you came to see, is it?"

The Bone Eater's Well sat in shadow, hidden from public eye in a little shack near the back of the property. Kagome needed help pushing open the doors ("I hate being ten!" she groused) before she ran inside. The shack looked small from the outside, but inside the floor fell away into a deep shaft. A walkway surrounded the shaft on all sides, platform overlooking the shadows within. Stairs led down into the darkness. I didn't go close to them. Kagome, meanwhile, ran to the railing and leaned over it like a kid peering into an enclosure at the zoo. Her sneaker-clad feet kicked the air behind her butt while she dangled precariously above the well that would, one day, drag her screaming into the Feudal Era.

"Hello!" she called into the pit. Her voice echoed in the void, "'Hello, 'ello, 'lo."

I chafed at my arms, glad I'd worn a cardigan but wishing for a jacket. "Cold in here."

"It always is." Kagome dropped off the railing, only to turn around, hop up, and sit on it. "Grandpa comes in here for a cleansing ritual once a year."

I looked around. Didn't see any cobwebs, leaves, or debris. Huh. Oddly clean for an abandoned well. "Do _you_ spend a lot of time in here?"

"Yeah. But it's too early for anything fun to happy. Bo-oring. Unlike Kurama." She leaned forward atop her perch; my pulse sped up as the wood creaked beneath her weight. "What's been happening, girl? Spill!"

I told her everything: feeling him out in the greenhouse, the flowers, his suspicions, the fangirls. She laughed when I was done, but without any trace of malice.

"See? What have I been telling you?" she said. "Your overthinking got you in trouble!"

"Ha ha, yeah, very funny." I put my back to the wall and slid down its expanse, tangling my fingers in my hair as I put my elbows on my knees. "I feel sick about it. I feel like I'm one wrong word from getting caught. And Kurama is _scary_. Who knows what he'd do if he finds me out?"

Kagome's sympathetic smile didn't make me feel better. "Yeah. Best not let him find out. What are you gonna do now?"

I let my arms flop, hands dangling loose on my wrists. "Well, I can't give smooth answers, and I'm a bad liar so playing dumb probably won't work…and the last option left to me is risky."

"Risky how?" Kagome said with a lifted brow. "What's the last option?"

I told her.

She stared at me.

Then her jaw dropped. Laughter spilled out. Kagome rocked atop the railing so hard I feared she'd fall in. Her hand slapped her thigh hard enough to bruise.

"Oh my god!" she cackled, eyes watering. She shrieked when she nearly fell backward off the rail, overcorrecting so hard she pitched forward onto the ground. Didn't seem to hurt, though. She rolled around like a kid, slapping the floor and basically screaming with humor. "Oh my fucking _god_ , Eeyore! That's hilarious! I haven't heard anything so funny in my entire life, and I've lived two of them!"

"Hilarious?" I repeated. I watched her roll around with a scowl. "You have a warped sense of humor, you know that?"

"No, really," she said. She sat up, wiping her eyes on the hem of her shirt. "Kurama is such a cool cucumber, but your plan'll drive him _nuts_." Her cheeks puffed as she tried to hold back laughter. She failed in short order. "Oh my _god_. That is fucking _great_! Ha! You're gonna drive him up the goddamn wall! I'd pay money to see Kurama lose his cool!"

Fun as it was to watch Kagome lose her shit, and to watch foul language come from the mouth of a kid, I didn't feel too jovial just then. I waited for Kagome's laughter to subside to giggles before speaking.

"I feel bad, though," I said. "His mom…"

Kagome knew _Yu Yu Hakusho_ well enough to not require elaboration. She winced and sat up with legs crisscrossed, gripping her ankles and hunching like a reprimanded child.

"Oh, right," she said. "His mom. That's so sad." She perked, smile hesitant. "She'll get better though, right? With the mirror?"

"Yeah. But Kurama doesn't know that yet." I mopped my face with a hand. "I mean, I don't _think_ he knows that yet. I don't know how far along in the mirror plan he is. Even if he's planning to save her with the mirror already, I imagine he's still hurting right now just thinking she'll die."

Unbidden, an image of the fangirls crying popped into my head. Amagi's face swam forward.

"We have no right to add more stress to his life," she'd said. "We all care for him. Because we care for him, we want him to be happy."

The fangirls, maligned though they were, cared for Kurama so much—and suddenly my plan to preserve my secrecy seemed cruel. After all, I knew what it was like to wait for a loved one to die. If someone had caused me undue pain while I was already hurting so much, I would've been so upset…

I sighed and leaned my head against the wall. "I don't know. Maybe my plan is too much." When Kagome looked confused I added: "He's grieving, in a sense. Adding stress to that pain seems cruel."

She nodded, eyes toward the ceiling as she considered this. Then she met my gaze with a mischievous smile.

"I mean, you _can_ look at your plan as a source of stress for him," she said, " _or_ you can look at it like…like a helpful distraction for him!"

"A distraction? A distraction from what?"

"From his pain." She leaned forward, smile growing. "Think about it. You're a puzzle for him to solve. Maybe a Keiko-puzzle could distract him from his pain, give him something to think about other than his mother's slow death." She snapped and pointed at me. "Yeah! You could be a distraction from his grief!"

"Or I could be a distraction from his efforts to save her," I countered. "What if he gets too focused on me to come up with the Forlorn Hope plan?"

And besides. He would want to be with Shiori right now. Mirror plan or no, he wouldn't want to spend his mother's final days chasing after a classmate. He would want to be with her the way I'd wanted to be with my grandmother when we learned she was sick—learn all the little things she had yet to teach him, soak up as much of her light as he could be she left.

Or before _he_ left.

Gosh. I'd sort of forgotten the suicidal tinge to Kurama's plan. If he was going to save her at the cost of his own life, he'd surely dedicate himself to spending as much time with her as possible before—

Kagome rocked forward and scrambled toward me on her hands and knees. She braced her arms on my legs and peered up into my face, lying halfway across my lap. Despite her childish body language, her expression was every inch a determined adult's.

"Remember what I told you?" she said, voice low and urgent. "Nothing you do could _possibly_ throw Kurama off his path. He's _Kurama_. He's too disciplined to let a schoolgirl distract him from his goals." Her mouth curled in a wry smile. "From his pain? Sure. But _not_ his goals."

"I suppose…" I murmured.

Kagome hummed approvingly and moved off my lap with a wink. "C'mon, Eeyore. You gotta keep yourself safe and trust that Kurama can handle himself. Do what you gotta do to keep incognito."

I snorted. "Might be too late for that, but…thanks, Tigger." I smiled and, in spite of myself, felt the confidence radiating from Kagome soak like rain into my soul. "I feel better."

Kagome jerked a thumb at her chest, tossed her hair, and beamed.

"Dontcha worry 'bout a thing, honeybun," she said. "I got you. After all—what are friends for?"

* * *

Later that night, Kuwabara and I reached my parents' restaurant at the same time. Call it fate, I guess. We came from different directions down the sidewalk, and when I spotted him coming I broke into a jog. Kuwabara did, too. We skidded to a halt in front of the shop's guardian Ebisu statues wearing identical smiles.

"Hey Keiko!" he said, grinning. "Thanks for helping me today. I really appreciate it!"

"Eh, what are friends for?" I said, parroting Kagome's earlier assurances. I started to ask Kuwabara if he'd brought the right textbooks, the ones I'd told him to bring at our last tutoring session, but something caught my eye. I leaned forward and scowled. "Are those bruises?"

Kuwabara touched the purple halo on his cheek with a wince, but he covered the reaction with his trademark goofy smile. "It's nothin', honest! Just some punks trying to get the upper hand while _my_ hands are tied, that's all."

His jolly tone did little to allay my worries. I put my hands on my hips and glared. "Kuwabara…"

The big guy's hands came up, waving in frantic denial. "It's nothin' I can't handle, Keiko, promise! I'm a tough guy! Whatever these punks dish out, I can take." He grinned and pumped an arm to display his muscles, their bulk straining against the confines of his windbreaker. "And besides. Only one week left till I can fight again! Soon _they'll_ be the ones havin' t' watch their backs, not me!"

"I just worry, is all." I smacked his arm in gentle admonishment. "Try not to get hurt too bad, OK? I need you in one piece."

Kuwabara (that adorable, loveable lunkhead) blushed bright red and mumbled something about his promise as a man to not get himself killed. I couldn't help but smile.

"You and your manly promises," I said. "Anyway. Let's go upstairs and get to work."

We didn't get far, unfortunately. As soon as we walked in the door, one of the servers—a twenty-something woman named Sara—trotted up and grabbed my arm.

"Keiko! Right on time," she said. I muttered for Kuwabara to wait while Sara pulled me aside. "There's a _gaijin_ at table fifteen."

"Really?" I said. I craned my head to see into the restaurant, but table fifteen lay against the back wall of the restaurant, around the other side of the bar and out of sight. "That's rare."

"I know!" Sara ducked her head, bashful. "Sorry, I know you don't normally help out during Sunday dinner hour, but can you handle her? Your English is so good and mine is just awful."

"Sure, sure." I looked over her shoulder and caught Kuwabara's eye. "Hey, change of plans. I have to take care of a few things down here."

His face fell. "Oh. Should we reschedule, or—?"

"No, no, no worries—we can still study," I assured him. Kuwabara's expression cleared at once. "Just not upstairs. I have to wait on a customer for a bit, nothing major." I gestured at nearby tables. "We'll set up in the restaurant. Dad can make you ramen with extra pork cutlet if you want."

"Oh, yeah, that'd be awesome!" He promptly looked embarrassed, kicking a toe at the floor. "I mean, are you sure that's OK?"

"It'll be fine." I grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged him after me. "C'mon."

The busiest area of the restaurant had to be the bar, which overlooked the kitchen and afforded customers a view of their food as it was prepared. I set Kuwabara up in a corner, at one of the tables along the back wall of the dining room, where he'd remain out from underfoot of the servers and other patrons. I glanced toward table fifteen as Kuwabara took his textbooks from his bag. I caught sight of a woman with white hair, but she had her back to me, so I didn't see much else. Hopefully she knew English…

"Be right back," I said after Kuwabara got settled. I trotted to the coatroom outside the kitchen and donned an apron. Sara shot me a thumbs up when I passed her on my way out. I returned the gesture, then slowed my pace to a walk as I approached the _gaijin_ in the corner.

"Hello, ma'am," I said, bowing when I reached her table. My English was flawless, as always. "I apologize if this is forward, but do you speak English?"

The woman had been studying a menu. She put it down when I spoke, gestures deliberate and slow, and shifted in her seat to look at me. Snowy hair crowned a dour face, mouth a slash of no-nonsense displeasure below her grey eyes—eyes peering over the top of a pair of dark sunglasses. Sunglasses indoors? And the sun was setting, too…but never mind that oddity. How old was she? White hair indicated age, and sure, lines rimmed her silvery eyes and irritable scowl, but she could've said she was anything from 40 to 70 and I'd have believed her.

"Yeah, I speak English. And I speak Japanese, too," she said. She smacked the menu with the back of her hand before I could apologize for making assumptions. "The thing is, I can't read a damn word of it. What's good here?"

"I prefer option nine," I said, pointing at the item in question. I maintained my professional smile in spite of her steady, searching stare. "It's very traditional Japanese cuisine. Definitely give it a try if you're visiting the country for the first time."

"Hmmph. Polite, aren't you?" she said. She had a voice like a creaking hinge, or ropes straining under the weight of a boat's vast sails, touched by a musical accent I couldn't name. "I'll get that, then."

"Excellent. And would you like a drink?"

"Coffee."

"I'll bring it right away. Will that be all for now?"

The _gaijin_ inclined her head. "For now."

After another bow and smile I placed her order (not to mention Kuwabara's) at the kitchen window, made a cup of coffee, and brought it to the white-haired woman. She sat in her seat with her arms crossed over her chest and merely grunted at me when I placed the cup before her. When I left her table and slid into a seat across from Kuwabara I muttered, "Grumpy old lady at three o'clock."

He glanced in the appropriate direction. His eyes widened. "Wow. Nice jacket."

"What?"

"Her jacket, it's leather. It's cool."

I hadn't noticed, but he was right—she wore a leather jacket, the kind with snaps at the collar and cuffs. It wasn't a fashionable jacket, but rather a practical, protective choice for a person who rides a motorcycle. Road rash ain't no joke, people, and neither were the scuffed leather boots encasing her leg from toe to knee. I hadn't noticed a motorcycle parked on the street, but if there was one outside right now, it doubtless belonged to the _gaijin_ in the corner.

"She looks tough. Think she's American?" Kuwabara whispered, hand cupped around his mouth.

"I don't know." I leaned my chin on my wrist, replaying her voice in my head. "Her accent is unusual. Greek or Italian, maybe? Not sure."

"Hmm. Don't see many _gaijin_ around here. I'd expect tourists in Tokyo, but here?" He shrugged, pencil poised above his textbook. "Oh well. Hopefully she likes the food."

"Yeah," I said. "Hopefully."

We commenced with the study-session. I glanced at the _gaijin_ every few minutes. She never moved. Her finger traced the rim of her coffee cup in slow circles, but that was it. Apparently she was content to stare at the wall by the kitchen. Huh. Weird lady. I put her out of my head and concentrated on Kuwabara until a bell rang at the food counter. I got up and grabbed the two steaming bowls, delivering the _gaijin's_ first.

"Thanks," she said as I set it before her. Her leather jacket creaked when she reached for chopsticks. "Busy night?"

"Not for me," I said. The bar was full and the tables were at three-quarter capacity; good thing I only had to worry about her and Kuwabara. "But for the others, yes."

"Why's that?"

"Oh, um—I'm the owner's daughter. Special privilege, I guess." I hefted Kuwabara's soup bowl over my shoulder so the steam wouldn't rise into my face. "I only have to wait on your table tonight."

Her expression, baleful and cold, didn't shift when she pointed over her shoulder. "And your friend's table over there, too, it seems."

I chuckled. "Yes. And his, too." I dipped my head. "Enjoy your meal. I'll be back to check on you shortly."

She harrumphed and cracked her chopsticks. Kuwabara almost leapt out of his seat, chortling with glee at the sight of his meal.

"Oh man, this looks amazing!" he said as he tucked in. "Your dad really is the best."

"Yeah. He is."

As I watched Kuwabara eat one of my father's recipes, I thought of my grandmother and the recipes I never got a chance to learn. I wouldn't make that mistake in this life. I wouldn't underestimate my time here. I'd soak up every last bit of my parents' techniques, every chance I could get.

I glanced at the _gaijin_ in the corner. It felt good to speak in English, even if she didn't have a comforting Texan accent like my former family. Gosh, what would it be like to visit Texas in this new life, in this new body? Not for the first time, I wondered if my family existed somewhere in this world, and if maybe I could meet my grandmother again. Finally learn her cactus jam recipe, though somehow I doubted Hiruko sent me to this life to learn to make jam—

My thoughts stopped short.

As soon as I thought of Hiruko's pink hair and ocean eyes, the _gaijin_ twisted in her seat and looked at me.

I looked away, of course, the way anyone would look away when they'd been caught staring. I focused on Kuwabara as we practiced pronunciation, but when I looked the _gaijin's_ way after a minute…

I put my hand on Kuwabara's. He stopped mid-sentence, face flushing.

"Hey," I said. I took my hand back and tilted my head toward table fifteen. "Is she staring at me?"

Kuwabara's blush disappeared. He paused for a second, then 'accidentally' knocked his pencil off the table with his elbow.

"Oops!" he declared before diving under out of his seat. "My bad!"

He lingered under the table for a moment. When he surfaced, he leaned his cheek on his hand—effectively covering his mouth from anyone's view but mine.

"She's staring like a hawk," he whispered, mouth barely moving. "Do you know her or something?"

"Never seen her before in my life." In either of my lives, in fact. I took a deep breath and stood up. "Give me a minute."

The _gaijin_ sat sideways in her seat, arm pillowed along the back of the chair. She didn't look away when I turned and met her gaze head on. She just smiled, lips curling at the corners as I approached. Her glasses sat high on her nose this time. I couldn't see her eyes, but I did not doubt she looked straight at me.

"Does everything taste OK?" I said when I reached her. Though polite, I allowed an edge to creep into my tone— _what the fuck you starin' at, lady?_ "Can I get you anything else?"

"No. And it tastes great." She rapped her knuckles on the table next to her empty bowl. "Good recommendation."

"Happy to hear it. Would you like the check?"

"No need. I remember the price. I'll pay cash."

I watched in silence as she pulled a wad of bills from her jacket pocket. She placed twice the price of the dish on the table, but when I protested, she waved me off.

"Consider it a tip for the great recommendation." A smile twisted below her glasses. "And don't argue. You'll just lose."

"Tipping isn't common in Japan, I'm afraid," I said (it implied the business owners didn't pay their employees enough). "Forgive me for resisting."

"You're forgiven. Thanks for the cultural lesson."

"Of course. Thank you for your patronage." I bowed and turned away. "Have a good night, ma'am."

"Wait."

She sat sideways in her seat, back firm against the wall. Long legs crossed at the ankle as she reached once more into her jacket. I watched in silence as she placed an object on the table and folded her hands atop her thighs.

"Anything to say?" she asked in her peculiar, creaking voice.

She'd placed a pair of scissors next to her empty ramen bowl—at least, I think they were scissors. They weren't like any scissors I'd ever seen. Made of gleaming copper, they'd been forged from a single piece of solid metal, with a twisting figure eight handle that flowed into a pair of flat, pointed blades. Carved runes covered the blades like a colony of marching ants. I didn't recognize the language. The scissors (or were they more like shears?) looked antique, but sturdy and shiny, so maybe a reproduction of an antique? No idea. They resembled a movie prop more than anything.

"Sorry," I said. "Do you want me to cut something for you? Got an itchy tag in your jacket?"

My attempt at a joke fell flat. The woman's gaze remained inscrutable behind her dark glasses, but her lips pulled into a line.

"Hmmph." She tossed her head, hair floating like cobweb around her shoulders. "So he hasn't told you yet."

I scowled. "Who hasn't told me what?"

Her glasses slid down her nose.

Silver eyes speared me where I stood.

"Hiruko hasn't told you to watch out for me," she said.

Utensils clinking. Chairs scraping. Patrons laughing. My dad barking orders in the kitchen.

I heard none of that, just then. Just the sound of my own pulse beating like war drums in my ears.

And the _gaijin_ …she _smiled_ at me. Smiled this big, knowing smile as she pushed her glasses back up her nose, watching me panic and try not to panic all at the same time.

"Who are you?" I said. My dry mouth rendered the words a whisper. "Who—who are you?"

"Someone who knows your name," the _gaijin_ replied. She smirked. "And no, I don't mean 'Yukimura Keiko.' I mean the name you've probably forgotten."

I didn't reply. I couldn't reply. And I think this woman knew that. She chuckled, grabbed the shears off the table, and slipped them back into her breast pocket.

"Don't worry. I'm not here to hurt you," she said. Like an afterthought she added, "Although, Hiruko would probably claim otherwise. But he says a lot of things that aren't true."

It was all I could do to grind out, "I don't understand."

The _gaijin_ snorted, derision audible. "Of _course_ you don't. You're a _pawn_."

I couldn't help but bristle. Her smirk got…smirkier. Words. They failed me in that moment. But she looked at me like she knew something I didn't, and that made me feel sick to my stomach, and were those black spots in the corners of my vision or was stress just making me hallucinate?

"You're a pawn," the woman repeated, "but from what I've seen, you're the type who'd learn to use that to your advantage. So maybe being a pawn isn't so bad, after all."

She stood up. I stumbled back, barely managing to register how intimidatingly tall she was (six feet, maybe more?) before she slipped past me toward the door.

I stood rooted to the spot for a moment.

Then I turned and dashed after her.

Managed to catch up to the _gaijin_ just as she exited the building. I found her on the stoop, hand atop the head of one of Dad's prized Ebisu statues. She regarded the statue with a scowl, fingernails tap, tap, tapping against stone like a rattling Tommy Gun.

"That brat," she muttered. "He always did have a sick sense of humor."

I blurted, "Who the _fuck_ are you?"

The woman looked over her shoulder. She hooked a finger under her glasses and pulled them down her nose, meeting my eyes with her silver ones. How had I ever mistaken them for grey? They were liquid mercury, dangerous and beautiful.

"I'm Clotho," she said. "Friends call me Cleo."

"Friends," came my hollow repetition.

"Yup." She pointed, finger leveled right at my stunned face. "And believe you me, girl: you want me for a friend."

"Do I?" I said. My voice kicked high-pitched with panic. "Do I really want you for a friend, Cleo?"

"Oh, yes. I'm not your enemy." Her smirk faded into a scowl. "That role belongs to Hiruko."

I had no idea what to make of that. I'd long ago decided Hiruko was too shady to be completely trusted—but he didn't seem like a straight-up enemy. Was he more insidious than his chipper demeanor suggested? Who the hell was this Cleo person? What did she want? How was she involved in my lucky second life?

And the most pressing question of all: Was she right about Hiruko?

She didn't give me time to ask questions, of course. No one ever gives me time to ask questions. She patted the Ebisu statue one more time before shoving her hands into her pockets.

"Consider this a warning," Cleo said. "Don't trust Hiruko. And whatever he says about me, he's lying."

"But—who are you?" I asked, plaintive as a helpless kitten. "Why are you here and what do you—?"

Cleo shoved her glasses up her nose.

"Not yet," she said.

My fists clenched. Anger rose like bubbles from an overheated pot. _Go fuck yourself_ budded on my tongue, insult ready to fire—but before I could say anything, Cleo...well.

She vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Keiko has a plan to handle Kurama, and now we've met the mysterious Cleo, who seems to be Hiruko's enemy. Who can Keiko trust, what does this new player want, and what were those shears/scissors?
> 
> Photo of the scissors available on my Tumblr, for those who want a visual aid!
> 
> Regarding the fangirl scene: I guess this was my attempt at humanizing Kurama's fabled fangirls/subverting the fangirl trope. Less vicious, more selfless in a teenage-girl-romanticizing-their-unrequired-love sort of way. Not perfect, but they're trying. Hope it's OK there wasn't a huge battle scene but I wanted to try a different spin on the fangirls.
> 
> Please follow my new Tumblr page if you'd like. Name: luckystarchild. I have an Ask Me Anything box in case you have questions!


	27. Nothing Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiko gets by with a little help from her friends, and her friends get by with a little help from her.

Watching a flesh and blood human being vanish into thin air is fucking  _terrifying_ , by the way.

I don't mean because it's scary in any traditional sense. No monsters. No blood. Nothing jumping out at you. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's terrifying because one second it feels like you have a grip on reality, and the next—poof. Gone. You stand there blinking and stuttering with your heart running at a gallop because _that woman was standing right there, I saw her, dammit, and now she's gone like she never existed, what if my brain concocted—?_

No. Nope. Sara and Kuwabara had both seen Clotho-called-Cleo the _gaijin_. I didn't make her up. I wasn't seeing things. She'd been real, and in the space between moments, she'd simply disappeared.

Suffice it to say, I freaked the hell out.

Kuwabara called my name when I sprinted inside, but I didn't slow down to talk to him (what the hell could I have even said at that point, anyway?). I pasted on my very best Keiko-smile and said "Be right back!" before ducking out of the dining room and vaulting up the stairs like a champion rodeo pony. Lucky for me Kagome answered when I called her house from my personal phone line. I was in no mood to put on a polite show for her mother, brother, or grandfather, that's for sure.

"Higurashi residence?" she said.

"It's Keiko." My voice sounded like I choked on dry popcorn. "Are you alone?"

"Oh, hey girl! Yeah, I'm alone. What's up?" she said—in English, of course. We always spoke English to each other. "Everything OK?"

"Kagome, something just happened—listen—"

I pressed the heel of my hand against my eye socket, stars sparking in my vision, and told her everything I could about Cleo. I repeated her words verbatim, described her actions down to the gesture, relayed an image of her looks and just… _everything_. It came out in a babbling stream, a boil of collected anxiety nothing but a verbal avalanche could lance. Kagome listened in silence until I stopped speaking. Only then did she let out a low whistle.

"Girl…" she said.

I waited.

She didn't continue.

"Tigger—say something!" I said. The phone's cold plastic bumped my temple as I shoved it at my ear. "I'm freaking out!"

She paused a moment longer. "What did you say her name was?"

"Clotho, but friends call her Cleo."

"And she was carrying a pair of shears?"

"Scissors, shears, yeah, whatever."

"...how savvy are you about Greek myth, smarty pants?"

"Uh." The distinctive cover of Edith Hamilton's _Mythology_ flashed into my head. "I liked it as a kid. Like, as a kid-kid. So it's been a few decades since..." I shook my head. No time for rambling, Keiko. "Why?"

Kagome took a breath. Cloth rustled against the receiver, like maybe she cradled the handset to her chest.

"The name Clotho," she said. "It belongs to a figure from Greek myth."

I racked my brain. Came up with nothing. "Which figure?"

She sounded like a reluctant kid when she said. "We-ell…don't freak out, OK?"

" _Which figure_ , Tigger?!"

"It's…well, it's the name of one of the Fates."

I didn't reply.

"You know," Kagome said. "Like, the fate-Fates? Three sisters who determine destiny and measure life in twists of thread?"

I didn't reply. I couldn't.

Kagome's voice dropped low. She said: "Eeyore. Don't freak out, but I think you might've met one of the weavers of destiny."

I closed my eyes. Covered my face with one hand.

"Are you serious?" I said.

"Like a heart attack."

…well this was just fucking perfect, wasn't it?

I remembered the Fates. Not their individual names—details escaped me, dulled by time and lack of practicality—but I remembered that three sisters and how they controlled the destinies of all mortals and measured the lengths of their lives in thread (that scene from Disney's _Hercules_ was hard to forget). I remembered that the scissors cut those threads to end mortal lives (though I tried very hard not to think about how close I'd gotten to those shears as they lay just inches away on the restaurant table).

But what did it mean, one of the Fates walking right up to me like that?

How did she know about Hiruko?

And, more importantly: what the fucking hell did she want?

The answer was probably nothing good, knowing my foul luck.

Kagome kept talking when I didn't speak. Her earlier reticence evaporated, words eager and interested. "One of them has a pair of magic scissors that cut the strings of fate, so that explains what those shears might've been. I mean, given her name, it would make sense that those are the Fates' shears, but I know they had, like, three items? One for each Fate? But I don't remember what they are, and—" She paused. "Are you OK over there? You're pretty quiet."

"Oh. I'm peachy. Juuuust peachy." I laughed, humor desperately necessary in the face of this improbability. "We die, we get ripped into another world, we become anime characters, and now a Greek demigod walks into my parents' restaurant wearing a leather jacket. I couldn't be better!"

"Well, to be fair, we can't be sure she was _actually_ a Greek demigod." Kagome hummed, thinking. "I could be wrong about the name. It's been a while since I read about Greek myth, too. Maybe not as long as you, but still a long time. Did they teach you Greek myth in school? They taught it to me in school in my old life, but I didn't learn it in school here. Didn't learn _any_ myths, come to think of it. I wonder if that's a Japanese cultural thing, or—"

"Focus, Tigger."

"Sorry, sorry! Anyway, I can't remember which of the three sisters of fate is named Clotho, or what her role was, or even what the other sisters' names are. And some of those sisters are nicer than others so it would be handy to know which bitch we're dealing with." She swore, colorfully and with vigor. "Dammit, Eeyore! I'd give up a kidney for Wikipedia!"

"I'd chip in a chunk of liver for Google, myself," I dryly concurred.

Kagome paused.

"Is it ethical for us to invent Google?" she asked. "Being a billionaire would be nice. But I don't know how to code. Do you know how to—?"

"We've talked about this, and now is _not_ the time." I got up and paced, walking until my phone's spiral cord stretched to its breaking point, a leashed lap around the edges of my tiny bedroom. "Focus! Greek myth! Fate! Cleo! My fraying nerves!"

"OK, OK, OK!" she said. "Sheesh, just…OK, look. There's no telling what this Cleo lady wanted. Hell, maybe she picked that name to freak you out and she's not a Fate at all." Kagome chuckled a little. "Given how fucked up and mystical our lives are, it's not entirely surprising to meet a character from myth, but the odds of meeting a god are still pretty slim—"

Deadpan, I reminded her: "Koenma and his dad are demigods."

There followed a long, pregnant paused.

"Ah. Right," said Kagome in a small voice. "So maybe meeting a Fate _isn't_ out of the question." I could picture her shaking her head like a disgruntled horse. "Still! There's no way to confirm if that lady really was from Greek myth!"

"What's a character from Greek myth doing in Japan, anyway?" I grumbled. "What am I, suddenly in an episode _Saint Seiya_?"

"Beats the shit outta me." She breathed a dainty gasp. "Oh god. Do you think the Knights of the Zodiac—?!"

" _No_. Nope. Nuh-uh." My frantic feet moved faster. "You can stop right there. I don't wanna know!"

Kagome laughed at my tone, but she sobered just as quickly.

"Eeyore, I don't have to be next to you to know you're pacing hard enough to wear a hole in the floor," she said. I flushed, guilty as a cat covered in canary feathers. "Try to keep calm, OK? Don't tear your hair out over this. It's freaky and weird, sure, but we'll get through it just like we've gotten through everything else."

Her tone, soothing and sincere, eased some of the tension building in my neck and shoulders.

"Thanks," I mumbled. I sat heavily on my bed and leaned my forehead against my knees. "I needed someone to say that aloud." I scowled against my legs. "But what do we do in the meantime? I can't just sit here and do nothing. Idle hands are the enemy of anxious people!"

"Distract yourself with tutoring Kuwabara. That's what you were supposed to do tonight, right?"

Oh, shit. I'd completely forgotten—I left the poor guy in the dining room all alone. Kagome laughed when I released a stream of curses.

"That's what I thought," she said. "You go help him study. I'll spearhead the research brigade tonight."

"You will?" I said. "Sorry Charlie, but you ain't got Google and libraries are closed this time of night."

Pride colored her voice. "My grandpa knows _everything_ about Japanese myth and legend. Maybe he knows about other myths, too. I'll ask him what he can tell me about the Fates. Will call when I learn something." She laughed, breezy and bright. "Hell, I'll ask if he knows anything about a guy named Hiruko while I'm at it. What could it hurt?"

"I tried looking up the name Hiruko at the library, but I didn't get any leads." I sat up, tossing my bangs from my eyes. "Again, my kingdom for a Google search."

"Good thing for us my grandpa is the next best thing to a Google search when it comes to this subject. He knows all kinds of weird stuff!" Her voice dropped low. "Seriously, the guy brings home pickled _kappa_ feet sometimes. It's weird. I mean, they're obviously fakes, but still. Man's obsessed with ancient stuff. The older, the better." She dramatically whisper-screamed her next words. "I think he feels at home surrounded by old stuff because he's _prehistoric_!"

That got me laughing. And as soon as I started laughing, the tense spell broke. It was tough to remain anxious around someone like Kagome. Her relentlessly chipper attitude could not be contained.

"Thanks, Tigger," I told her when the giggles eased. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Suffer and die, probably," came her boisterous reply. "But seriously, no sweat. Happy to help out. I just wish I could meet Hiruko or Fate Lady myself, y'know?" I could hear her pouting through the phone connection. "Why am I so out of the loop?"

"Because your plot hasn't started yet," I said.

Something told me mine was just beginning.

* * *

Kuwabara knew something was wrong. Fandom painted him as the group's brainless muscle, but Kuwabara was nothing if not intuitive. The minute I walked into the dining room he started frowning. Like a damn bloodhound, this guy.

"You OK?" he asked when I sat down.

"I'm fine." Sunny Keiko-smile on full blast, I pulled his textbook toward me. "Now, back to where we left off—"

"Why'd you run after the _gaijin_ like that?"

Concerned eyes complimented his worried voice. I softened the smile, trying to look sincere and serene.

"She…she forgot her check." That sounded like a lie even to me. I shook my head. "Doesn't matter. You have a test to study for."

I could tell he wanted to ask more. He stared with his eyes all screwed up, mouth pursed into a pensive bud—but he didn't pry. Probably knew better. Willing to bet Shizuru taught him to respect a woman's privacy; I'd have to thank her if we ever met again.

Might be mean of me to say this, but I breathed a relieved sigh when Kuwabara finally left for the evening. We'd made good headway in his work and I'd done my absolute best to tutor him, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't eager for him to split. My mind desperately wanted to linger on Cleo. I wouldn't let it. I dug into the English textbook with vigor, and when Kuwabara declared his brain had reached full capacity for the night, I sent him home with instructions to read his study material aloud on repeat until we met again.

"Will do, _sensei_!" he said before walking out the door. "See you tomorrow!"

"Yeah. See you," I replied.

As I watched him walk off into the dark, my shoulders sagged. I went into the dining room and smiled to myself. Finally, I could go upstairs, be by myself, and worry about this Cleo thing without an audience. I hated feeling anxious around people. If I was going to worry, I'd do it in private, thank you very much.

Just then, the doors to the restaurant opened behind me. Luckily Sara was still on the clock and greeted the customers at the hostess station. So glad it wasn't my night to man the floor. I slipped between the tables and headed for the stairs, carefully cataloging each and every Greek myth I could remember as—

"…scary-looking," I heard one of the patrons say.

"Yeah," said the other. "Very scary!"

"Oh, my," Sara said. "What do you think they were up to?"

"Nothing good," said the patron. "They were waiting on the corner and when another boy walked by, they followed him."

"I'm worried they might be mugging people!" said the first customer. "Can we call the police?"

I stopped in my tracks and turned. The two women, auntie-aged and wearing thick coats to combat the chilly winter weather, stared at Sara with plaintive expressions.

"Gosh," said Sara. She put her hand to her mouth. "Yes, yes, let me get you the phone. We should definitely call the police."

She darted off toward the kitchen.

I darted toward the aunties.

"I'm sorry, I overheard," I said. "But the boy they followed—did he come out of this restaurant? Was he wearing jeans and windbreaker? Curly bleached hair? My friend just left here, and—"

As one, the aunties paled.

My stomach plummeted into my ankles.

Without another word, or any thought to strategy, I grabbed my coat and sprinted out the door.

* * *

I found them a few blocks away. They hadn't gotten far. Honestly it's sort of miraculous I found them in the dark of a secluded alleyway, a strip of empty space between two buildings, but I didn't have time to ponder what twists of fate allowed me to locate Kuwabara that night.

I'm just glad I got there in time.

I'd been so stupid. So stupid, stupid, _stupid_ to let Kuwabara leave alone late at night when he wasn't allowed to fight. _Of course_ bullies were all over him. _Of course_ other punks wanted to move in on his turf while his hands were tied. _Of course_ they'd stalk him, and ambush him on his way home, and beat him until he couldn't stand.

Despite knowing all those things to be true, the sight of Kuwabara getting the shit kicked out of him still knocked the breath from my chest like a battering ram.

Three punks, our age or maybe a touch older, lobbied kicks and punches into Kuwabara's sides, back, arms, and head. He lay on the ground in a ball, backpack clutched to his chest, protecting his face as best he could, but his efforts accomplished little. In the fitful light of the streetlamp at the alley's mouth I saw dark liquid sluice across his chin—bloody nose, probably, or worse.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter in what manner they'd hurt him, nor to what degree.

It didn't matter, because they were going to _pay_.

The moment I saw that blood, my vision tunneled. My breath returned. The next thing I knew I was sprinting headlong into the fray, conscious thought taking flight on adrenaline's wide wings.

I caught the first punk from behind. Swift kick to the back of the knee, elbow strike to the neck as he fell, then a shove to the shoulder that sent him careening into the hard ground—only, whoops, I'd misjudged the width of this alley. I heard the satisfying crack of his nose as it collided with the brick wall comprising the alley's edge, watching with triumph as he slid to the ground and lay very, very still.

The two other punks noticed me at that point (obviously). They yelled something, eyes wide and teeth bared. I didn't hear them. Eyes on the prize, Keiko. I sank into a ready-stance as one of the punks pulled back a fist and lobbed it at me. He moved like a rolling boulder, predictable and sluggish. I traced the path of his trajectory in the air before he'd even finished throwing the punch.

Countering came easy: Quick side-step. Spin. Get behind him. Chop to the neck, another kick to the knee, and solid strike with my foot to the back of his head. He fell flat on his face. The fall did half the work for me. Pretty sure he'd have a concussion, forehead colliding with the ground the way it did.

(Dimly I realized how slow he was compared to Hideki, Kagome, Ezakiya. But that was for another time.)

The last guy said something. Once more I didn't hear. Kuwabara coughed on the ground, saying my name in panicked fear, but I paid him no mind—not now, not yet. I spun around as the last punk leapt over Kuwabara and came at me with arms spread, trying for a grapple, but Hideki-sensei had taught me better than to fall for that. I grabbed his wrist and twisted, letting his own momentum carry him past me even as I manipulated his arm and dragged it up behind his back. He yelped at the pain, but I just buried my free hand deep into his hair (over-gelled and sticky), shoved a foot into his hamstring, and slammed him to the ground—the weight of his body crushing his free arm. I put my foot on the back of his knee and put all my weight on it for good measure to keep him pinned. One yank and I'd tear the arm from the socket or rip out his hair. He knelt before me with whimpers of pain, and to my satisfaction I felt the fight drain out of him.

He knew who was in control here.

Seems fruits of my lessons with Hideki had shown themselves at last.

Keeping my grip on the last conscious punk, I said, "Tell me. Do you like stories?"

"Fucking psycho bitch," he managed to grind out.

I yanked on his hair. He quieted.

"I _love_ stories," I said. "How about I tell you my favorite, hmm?"

"K-Keiko," Kuwabara said.

I looked over my shoulder. He'd managed to rise to his knees, staring at me with mouth wide open.

"You OK?" I asked.

He didn't reply. His mouth just clicked shut.

I looked down at the punk. I said, "Once upon a time, there was a little girl."

"Ugh," he said.

I yanked his am so hard his shoulder creaked, back of his hand nearly brushing the back of his neck. He yelped and fell silent.

"The little girl didn't have many friends," I said, "but one day, she met a little boy. His name was Urameshi Yusuke, and he became her very best friend in the entire world."

The moment I mentioned Yusuke's name, the punk gasped. I couldn't help but smirk.

"Yusuke taught the little girl everything he knew about ass kicking," I said, "and they were very, very happy. And then one day she met another boy, and he became her very best friend, too."

I leaned in close to the punk's ear. Did my best not to gag at the smell of his hair gel.

"Spoiler," I whispered. " _I'm_ the little girl, and the guy whose ass you just tried to kick? That's Kuwabara, and he's my other very best friend."

The punk whimpered, then, but not from pain.

"Anyway," I said. "Everything was happy and amazing in this little girl's life, until one day Urameshi Yusuke _died_. The little girl was very upset that she lost one of her very best friends." I knotted my fingers harder in his hair. "So you might imagine that she became _violently_ _protective_ of the very best friend she still had left."

One of the unconscious punks moaned, but a quick glance confirmed he wasn't in any state to move just yet. Good. I had another minute to intimidate the crap out of this asshole.

"There's a moral to this story, in case you were wondering," I said. I leaned in close to his ear again. "It's that if you touch a single hair on Kuwabara Kazuma's head, I will bring down every last scrap of Urameshi Yusuke's ass-kicking techniques on your sorry ass. Do I make myself clear?"

The punk grizzled something, but I couldn't make out the words. I yanked his head back so hard his neck creaked beneath my fingers.

"Touch him, you _die_ ," I growled. "Get it?"

"I—I get it," the punk groaned.

"Say 'yes ma'am', asshole."

"Yes, ma'am."

" _Like you mean it_ , dickweasel."

"Y-yes, ma'am!"

"Good." I let the word purr, a promise I didn't need to repeat. I shoved him hard into the ground, pressing his face into the pavement so I could growl in his ear, "Now get the hell out of my sight."

When I let him go, he scrambled up and sprinted from the alley—remembering at the last second to come back for his friends. He shot me one furtive glance but otherwise did his very best not to make eye contact before vanishing into the night.

Good.

Let them be afraid. No one was going to hurt Kuwabara on my watch. _No one_. I'd sooner die (again) than let—

"Keiko?"

… _oh no._

Turning around took willpower. Much as I stood by my actions, I wasn't sure I wanted to see Kuwabara's reaction to them. Heat lit my cheeks from within as I slowly faced him, peering at him from under my bangs because holy shit, he'd never seen me like this before, had he? Was he going to run in the opposite direction now? In the anime he'd seemed fond of demure, sweet chicks like Yukina, but here I was beating the tar out of punks twice my size—

In the indirect glare of the nearest streetlamp, the whites of his eyes gleamed like bone.

"Keiko," he said, voice rasping with shock. "You—"

"I'm sorry," I blurted before he could go too far. Before he could react with disgust. Before he could condemn me for what I'd done. "I'm sorry, I should've asked before stepping in. I should've—"

"Keiko—I'm your best friend?"

I stopped. He stared. A moment passed, quiet and uncertain.

"You just saw me beat the shit out of three people at once," I murmured, "and _that's_ what you're wondering about?"

Even in that dim alleyway I saw Kuwabara flush. He kicked at the ground with a toe, sniffing loudly through his bloody nose. But was that embarrassment I saw in his expression, or regret?

Again I thought: _Oh no._

"Oh—oh, Kuwabara, I'm so sorry," I repeated, this time for different reasons. When his brow furrowed I clarified. "I shouldn't have called you my best friend without asking first." I ducked my head, hands held up in supplication, because I'd for sure freaked him out by coming on too strong. The thought of my favorite character (no, my favorite _person_ ) treating me awkwardly was scarier than any street punk. "You don't have to say it back or anything. I won't do it again. I know you have Okubo and the others, and it was presumptuous of me to—"

"I don't mind."

I looked at him. Kuwabara stared at me without blinking, eyes lit up with—not a smile. Not really. Just an odd sort of warmth, like coming home to a warm meal when you expected nothing more welcoming than a cold, empty house.

"I don't mind," he said, voice soft. "You can call me that as much as you like."

My mouth opened and shut like a beached fish. "R-really?" I stammered.

"Yeah. Because, um…"

Kuwabara stopped talking. He looked at his feet, hand rubbing the back of his broad neck.

"I don't mind because you're sort of my best friend, too," he announced. "I know we haven't known each other for very long, but, uh…" He breathed deeply, eyes still downcast, words coming like he admitted something both embarrassing and pleasant all at once. "It's just—I care about you a lot, OK?"

And just like that, my eyes watered and my throat got all thick and I had to blot my cheeks with the sleeve of my jacket. Part of me questioned if this was real, if he was just saying I was his best friend because I'd said it first and he felt obligated—but this was Kuwabara. He wouldn't lie to me. And to have the friendship of a guy like him…I knew I should be grateful.

Kuwabara would never let his friends down. He'd never let them get hurt. He'd never abandon them, or betray them, or treat them badly.

I could ask for no better friend than him.

"I care about you a lot, too," I said. He returned my warm smile with a mortified blush. "Thanks, Kuwabara. I'm a lucky girl, indeed."

Kuwabara cast his eyes skyward, mouth screwed up in a cross between a smile and a grimace—like he tried to cover enthusiasm with manufactured reluctance. His eyes roved across the alley, touching on literally everything but me until they locked on something near the wall where one of the punks got his face smashed. He lurched past me, as stiff-legged as a mannequin, and swiped an object off the ground.

"It's because I care that I have to yell at you now!" he declared, waving that object in my face—a shoe left behind in haste by one of the fallen punks. "Keiko, what were you _thinking_ , taking on those guys like that? You coulda gotten hurt!"

"So could you!" I retorted. "If I hadn't stepped in, you'd be a stain on the pavement!"

He spoke with maddening sincerity. "I'd _rather_ be a pavement stain than see you get beat up, dummy."

"Rude! Shouldn't you be thanking your savior, not berating her?"

"Hey, I don't need saving!" He crossed his arms over his chest and harrumphed. "I coulda taken whatever they dished out!"

"I know you _could_ ," I said, "but that doesn't mean you _should_. Not if I'm around to do something about it."

His smile faded at my serious tone. "Keiko—"

I didn't let him finish, because just then inspiration struck. Devious, devious inspiration. Suppressing a smirk, I put my hands behind my back, jutted my lower lip, and kicked a toe at the ground.

"Kuwabara," I said, "aren't you even the _littlest_ _bit_ impressed by what I did?" I allowed my lower lip to quiver, my eyes to widen, taking advantage of my earlier emotion and still-lingering tears. "I've been taking fighting lessons. Am I not good enough yet?"

Kuwabara blinked. I let my lip reach critical quiver before burying my face in my hands. Kuwabara yelped. I hoped my stifled laughter looked like sobs as I peered at my best friend through spread fingers.

"What?!" Kuwabara said. He leapt back and just as quickly leapt forward again, hands waving because he _clearly_ had no idea what to do with them when faced with an emotional girl. Fights he could handle, but my emotions? Ha! As if. He babbled compliments like bullets: "No, Keiko, don't cry! You were amazing! You were great! I had no idea you could fight like that! Dodge Urameshi, sure, but wow—you took down all of them, and so fast, and they're so much bigger than you! You're the best girl fighter in the whole city, no, the country, at least the best I've ever seen, and—"

Fuck, he was adorable. My laughter could not be contained. I wrenched my hands from my face and cackled. Kuwabara stared like I'd sprouted antlers, then leapt back and pointed an accusatory finger right at my face.

"Hey—you big faker!" he all but shrieked. "You weren't crying at all, were you?"

"Nope!" I socked him on the arm and chortled like a certain Wicked Witch. " _Now_ who's the dummy?"

"Why I oughtta—"

He tried to give me a noogie, then, in one of the first unprompted displays of physical affection he'd ever had the courage to give me. Reminded me of Yusuke's odd reminders of care, in a way. Typical teenage boy, baldly expressing care one moment before hiding it under bravado the next. I let Kuwabara put me in the gentlest headlock of my life and ruffle my hair before slipping out of his warm, strong arms—arms that made me feel safe, somehow, even though I'd been the one doing the protecting tonight.

Too bad that feeling of protection didn't last.

A trio of street punks waited for me outside my school the next day—and judging by the looks on their faces, they intended nothing good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a Yusuke-centric "Child of Misfortune" installment that compliments this chapter. Coming soon!
> 
> Wanted to add a scene with Kurama but it's WAY TOO LONG to include. So next chapter will be lots o' Kurama. All Kurama all the time. Also, here's a timeline update: Only a handful of chapters till Yusuke comes back. Like, two more? Stay tuned.
> 
> So lovely human being SirisDerp drew a picture of Hiruko! AND IT IS AMAZE-BALLS. It's on my Tumblr, so please check it out and praise SirisDerp for the glory that is their work. I drew a pic, too, but it's not as cool (like legit, SerisDerp is fantastic, it's like they went inside my head and drew Hiruko from pictures in my brain). THANK YOU SIRISDERP.


	28. Operation PUNishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko makes an enemy and tries to outfox...well, you know who.

Just as I spotted the punks I'd mauled the night before, the three boys spotted me. I braced my feet shoulder-width apart and tightened my hand around the strap of my bookbag. The punks and I exchanged a long, silent look as other Meiou students swarmed past us and into the gates.

Even though I took a moment to calculate attack strategy and escape routes, I didn't feel overly threatened by these boys. They wore identical dark blue uniforms; I didn't recognize the school. One had a dark crew cut, a strong jaw, and narrow eyes. The other two wore bleached pompadours like Kuwabara; the first had a round face, and the second a pointed chin. All three eyed me with fidgety intensity—mice watching a napping cat.

My face itched. I reached up to scratch it.

The boys flinched.

Well, now. I fought to suppress a smirk. They outnumbered, me, sure, but it was clear my beating from the night before had scared them. No way would these boys attack me with so many people—wait.

As one, the boys bowed low from the waist.

…the _fuck_?

As one they chorused, "We're sorry!"

Their ringing voices (it was amazing how loud they were with their diaphragms all compressed) startled a few of my classmates. I just blinked.

"We're sorry for last night!" they said in a rehearsed series of statements. "We won't go near Kuwabara again, we promise. We are very sorry!"

"Erm," I said. "OK?"

Mindful of the stares these three idiots were attracting, I walked past them through the gate onto school grounds. In my periphery I saw them straighten up from their bows. I promptly put my back to them. I didn't give a shit about these boys. Whatever. Thanks for the apologies, I'm glad you won't pick on Kuwabara, but—

The sound of footsteps made me stop.

The trio had fallen into step behind me. They stood like ducklings following their mother, hands in their pockets, staring and fidgeting. None wore Meiou uniforms—a fact made painfully obvious since they were the only boys in the crowded schoolyard not wearing that Garish Meiou Pink. Pretty sure the school had that shit patented.

"…the heck do you think you're doing?" I said.

"Do you need anything?" the one with the crewcut asked.

"…excuse me?"

"We could carry your books," said one bleach-haired boy.

"Run errands," offered the other.

Crewcut extended a hand. "Let me take your bag—"

I clutched the bag to my chest and stepped back. The boys tensed. The students watching them tensed, too—oh man. So many eyes on me all of a sudden. So many people watching the non-Meiou students, wondering what the heck was up, wondering why the new girl was standing in the yard with them and—

"You can't be here," I blurted.

The boys frowned.

"You—you don't even go here!" I said, sweat beading as I felt the weight of watching eyes. "You don't even go to this school!"

More fidgeting. "If you tell the administration we're your bodyguards—" Crewcut said.

Well, shit. That old chestnut. This explained a few things. I'd have laughed if I didn't feel so painfully self-conscious.

"No." I shook my head, emphatic. "No no no no _no_." I pointed at the gate, channeling my past life's very best boardroom stare. "Out! Out with you!"

"But—"

" _Nope_!" I surged forward, grabbed their arms, spun them and began pushing them bodily toward the gate. "Nope, no, I do _not_ need bodyguards, I will _not_ be the boss of your gang—"

One of them gasped. "How'd you know that's what we wanted?!"

"Let's just say I watch too much anime," I said. "Now out, out, _out_ —"

We didn't get very far, too bad for me and my desire to fly under the radar at school. Amidst a crowd of murmuring onlookers I shepherded the boys in their sore-thumb uniforms toward the gate, but before I could push them over the edge…

"Masaru-kun!?"

On the sidewalk stood a girl in a Meiou uniform. I didn't know her name. Nevertheless, she stared between the Crewcut boy (whom I presumed was Masaru) and myself with wide eyes.

"Masaru-kun, what are you doing?" she asked. Her eyes blazed an accusation. "And who is _she_?"

"Naoko-chan," said Crewcut. "I was going to tell you after school, but—" Here he gestured at me. His voice contained undue reverence when he said: "She beat us. In a fight. All three of us _at once_."

Naoko's jaw dropped. "You told me you'd quit fighting!"

Masaru's face spasmed like he'd bit a lemon. "I'm sorry. But we thought about it all last night, and we decided—we have to repay the trouble we caused Yukimura-san." He sank into another dramatic, ninety-degree bow. "I will not be able to go on dates with you for a while! I am sorry!"

Naoko stood there for a second.

Then she burst into tears. Loud, wet, hiccupping tears that got precisely _everyone and their mother_ in a five mile radius to stop what they were doing and stare at Naoko, and me, and Naoko's (now ex) boyfriend like we were actors in a movie.

A particularly stagy movie. One I had _not_ auditioned to play a role in, thank you very much.

"Um." I took a step backward, edging away from the scene. "This seems like a personal issue the two of you should work through in private, so I'm just gonna—"

Naoko's eyes darted my way as I spoke. "You bitch!" she screeched, hiccups vanished into rage. "You think you can just steal my boyfriend? How dare you! You'll be sorry, just you wait!"

Aw, fuck, teenage drama incoming! I held up my hands. "Wait, no, I—"

Naoko wasn't having my excuses, of course. She'd decided I was the enemy and that was the whole story, thanks, no more information needed. I tried very hard to develop powers and turn myself invisible as she shrieked an indignant rant at Masaru and myself. Masaru yelped apologies and promises to see her again once his 'debt' was paid. All I could do was stand there, stunned and stammering. All I _wanted_ to do was sink into the concrete and disappear. Christ, I hadn't asked for this! Maybe I should've let them beat up Kuwabara, after all—

"Yukimura-san." One of the other boys appeared at my elbow as Naoko yelled her fury. "Can I carry your—?"

"No, you fucking can't take my bag!" I snapped. "Leave me alone!"

Before Naoko could register her enemy had fled, and before the other two boys could see their would-be-boss had sprinted away, I darted past the gates and booked it for the relative safety of the school.

Something told me running away from my problems wasn't the answer, however. Not two seconds after I'd gotten inside, pasted on my best Keiko Face, and put my outdoor shoes in my locker, Junko appeared at my elbow. Ironic, really. I used to think _she_ was the girl to fear at this school. She jerked her head toward the outside doors.

"What was that about?" she asked.

Should I tell her, I wondered? I wore a face of dedicated composure, because several people who'd seen the spectacle at the gates had come in to stare at me. What was I, a sideshow circus act? Junko at least looked at me with understated concern instead of morbid fascination. Maybe it was time to make friends…

"Apparently beating people up is considered flirting in this country, or something," I remarked.

She frowned. "What?"

I told her the short version: Those guys beat up a friend, so I bet them up, they wanted me to be the boss of their gang, and one of their girlfriends had taken exception to that. Junko chuckled under her breath when I finished talking.

"This is sort of hilarious," she said.

"No. No it isn't. It's awful." I shook my head and sighed. "Why me? I just want to fly under the radar!"

She snorted. "Fat chance of that."

"Hm?"

"You had a reputation even before this happened, and you're sure as hell gonna have a bigger one now."

"Wait—I have a reputation?" I asked. "Since when?" I hadn't stepped out of line at this school aside from that one incident with the teacher on my first day. So when had—?

"Remember when I was asking you about your friend Urameshi? Everyone knew about him, and that a friend of his was transferring here." She shrugged when my eyes widened. "The rumor mill never stops running. When you first got here, a bunch of students wondered if you'd be as bad a punk as him."

Oh. Well, this explained a few things: the stares in the hallway, the fact that the only person who'd sit with me at lunch was the intellectual recluse Kaito, Junko's questions on my first day at Meiou…maybe even why Kurama's fangirls were so scared I might be bothering him.

I asked, "Is that why I've had such trouble making friends here?"

"Probably." She nudged my arm. "C'mon. Bell's about to ring."

Junko walked me to my class before making her way to hers. We hadn't had time to bond or anything, but her frank attitude and plain speaking would doubtless grow on me if she kept it up. I thought about her during class, barely paying attention to the lecture. I'd been getting coffee with my friends from my old school on the weekends, but making a few more female friends wouldn't go amiss. How could I go about deepening my friendship with Kurama's Fangirl Gang? Hopefully Naoko didn't get in the way somehow. Speaking of which, how should I go about dismantling that debacle? Something told me it would take more than a stern talking-to to get those boys to back off. But what…?

I flinched when the teacher said my name, then the names of a few other students. She said, "All of you come work these problems at the chalkboard."

Yay, algebra. Sarcasm. I didn't allow annoyance to show on my face as I stood up. Admittedly I dawdled a bit, mind still fixed on my other problems, but after taking a moment to gather myself I stepped out from behind my desk and waked toward—

Pain burst like a dull firework across my shin.

I nearly went down. Thankfully Hideki-sensei's teachings kicked in; I threw my weight to the side and slammed a hand onto one of my classmate's desks, just barely getting my feet back under me in time to avoid a faceplant. The sound of my slapping hand rang in my ears, force radiating hotly through my palm and elbow as I froze in place. The rest of the class froze, too.

Then, quietly—somebody _snickered_.

I looked toward the sound.

One row back, a smirking girl with a high ponytail dragged her foot under her desk.

… _had she just fucking_ tripped _me?_

Didn't have time to wonder. The teacher surged forward at that point, helping me to my feet and asking if I was OK. Other students showed similar concern, standing up and offering to help me to the nurse. Clearly none of them had seen my would-be tripper. I avoided looking at her as the teacher fussed.

I'd bet money that she and Naoko were buddies of some sort. Best not rat her out. Payback would only escalate the situation.

Not that the situation needed my help to escalate.

When I got to my next class and saw the words "home wrecking bitch" scrawled across my desk, my certainty increased.

A few girls giggled when I walked into that particular classroom. They turned their faces away when I glanced at them, but it was pretty obvious they'd had something to do with it. I didn't spare them a second look, however. I refused to give them the satisfaction of gaining my attention—because clearly that's what they wanted. They wanted to intimidate me: perhaps on Naoko's behalf, perhaps at her behest. They wanted me to know people were watching, and waiting, and feeling less than sympathetic for Yukimura Keiko.

"Feeling less than sympathetic" is a euphemism for "feeling outright hatred", by the way.

I got tripped again in my third class.

I found more graffiti in my fourth.

Naoko worked fast, it seemed.

Lunch, as you might imagine, felt like a reprieve. I scurried from the classroom before the bell even finished ringing and all but ran down the hall toward the stairwell where Kaito waited. Once I got away from the crowds I slowed down and paced myself.

Much as I wanted to get away from the preying girl-gang, I knew seeing Kurama today was tantamount to throwing myself out of the frying pan and into the fire. The green-eyed, secretive, formerly-fox fire that could hurt me more thoroughly than any number of dramatic teenage girls.

Today I would put my Kagome-approved plan into action.

It was possible that would be the last thing I ever did.

I tried very hard not to think about that. Don't be dramatic, Keiko.

Before I entered the stairwell, I crouched down and meditated. Breathe deeply, clear the mind, calm the body. Focus on the physiological sensations of calmness—steady heart, even breathing—and hold tight to them. Give anxiety no quarter. Minamino was Minamino and no one else. The name 'Kurama' meant nothing. Minamino was Minamino _was Mina-freakin'-mino_. My plan relied on believing this, or at least fostering momentary amnesia regarding his past. Hell, my _life_ probably relied on this, not to mention my acting skills.

Ugh, Keiko. Try not to think about that.

I kept meditating. Only once I felt sufficiently centered did I open the stairwell door.

Minamino (he was just Minamino, I reminded myself) favored me with a pleasant smile as I walked up the stairs and took my customary spot on the stairwell windowsill. In contrast, Kaito shot me a withering look over the top of his glasses as I pulled out my bento.

"You're late," he said.

"A woman is never late," I airily replied. I paused, working through a rapid Japanese translation in my head before speaking. "Nor is she early. She arrives precisely when she means to."

"Tolkien," Minamino said. "I didn't know you were a fan of fantasy."

I laughed. "Wow. You got that quote even through a language barrier?"

Kaito rolled his eyes. "Of _course_ he did."

"Well, that was the correct phrasing of the quote in Japanese, aside from creative adjustments to accommodate your gender," Minamino said—as though admitting something mildly incriminating.

"Oh. It was?" I said. "I translated on the fly. I've only read it in English."

"I confess the same," said Kaito. "I haven't read it in Japanese, I'm afraid."

"Then the two of you have me outclassed," Minamino said with wry amusement. When Kaito quirked a brow, Minamino clarified. "I've only read the Japanese translation."

I counted myself lucky, that Kaito spoke next and drew Minamino's attention—because just then I froze.

I saw my shot, glaring like dawn off water.

_Now was the time to act._

"Really?" Kaito said, brows almost level with his hairline. " _You_ haven't read it in English?"

"Afraid not. My oral English skills are far superior to my reading skills." Minamino shrugged, hair glimmering in strands of garnet and inky black. "I find the constant phonetics tiresome and prefer the more pictographic attributes of written Japanese, though of course I can read English when I must."

I didn't take a deep breath. I didn't gird myself. I forced the anxiety away and spoke naturally, normally, casually. Thank you meditation for the borrowed calm.

"Interesting," I said.

Minamino turned my way. "Oh? What is?"

"Just…I didn't expect that," I said. When he looked confused I smiled. I shrugged. I waved a hand, off-the-cuff and teasing. "You know. It's weird you're not better at English when you're such a demon at tests."

I spoke with no notable inflection. No emphasis on the word 'demon'. No knowing smile. No ironic smirk. No wink. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

Still: the effect was instantaneous.

Kurama—because he was Kurama now, not Minamino, transition as obvious as it was sudden—went utterly, completely still the second the word 'demon' left my mouth. Green eyes darkened like the clouds of an oncoming storm. His weight shifted in my direction, subtle indication I'd gotten his attention. At his sides his hands curled into hard fists.

…all according to plan.

Now for Phase Two.

I didn't allow myself the luxury of observing his reaction beyond that initial shift. I smiled and immediately changed the subject. Toying with my bento box on my lap, I said, "I prefer reading in English, myself. Don't know why. It's my best subject."

"And here I thought that would be literature," Kaito said, "given your propensity for nuanced critique."

I smiled at him. "I'd rank literature as my second-best subject, tied with biology. In fact—"

Kurama's eyes stayed on me as I spoke, weightier even than the combined stares of my peers' when they watched my feud with Naoko. I poured every last ounce of my willpower into acting naturally, into maintaining an air of casual, indifferent ignorance. I acted like I hadn't done what I'd just done. I acted like I had no idea the mistake I'd just made.

Or rather, I acted like I had no idea I'd just made a very stupid (not to mention dangerous) pun.

Because that was my plan, you see.

Puns.

Puns were my plan. Puns, and the dumber the better. Because no sane person would taunt someone like Kurama with something as low-brow as a pun—especially not one about his past life. And Kurama knew I was smart. He knew I was too smart to ever do something as _stupid_ as this.

…well.

Surprise, I guess.

Stupidity—not to mention a heaping helping of pig-headed _gall_ —was to be my shield.

I chattered on with Kaito for a few minutes more about our favorite subjects. Sinking into conversation—rife with our practiced brand of banter and Kaito's dry humor—provided familiar comfort. Kurama watched, eyes on me, but soon the tension in his shoulders eased a bit. Probably because I hadn't made any more puns, intentional or otherwise. Perhaps he'd written it off as a slip of the tongue. An unwitting pun made by an unwitting party. Because I wasn't stupid, and therefore the only possible conclusion he could come to was that I made that pun accidentally.

Little did he know I was counting on that big brain of his to come to that conclusion.

I knew full well the pitfalls of overthinking. Now it was Kurama's turn.

"Anyway," Kaito was saying. "For film class we're required to see a movie in theaters. Alas, I detest most modern cinema." He shoved his glasses up his nose with a derisive sniff. "We have traded literary merit for explosions and nudity."

"So you prefer the classics?" Minamino asked (he was Minamino again, pleasant-smiled and cheeky instead of terrifying).

"Of course. Although finding theaters that show them can be a trial." Kaito eyed me sidelong. "And you, Yukimura? Classic or modern cinema? Please note that your answer will greatly impact my opinion of your taste and intellect."

"Heaven forbid you think badly of me," I said with exaggerated concern. "Personally? I think being snobbish is a waste of time. I love the classics as much as anybody, but some modern movies can be fun."

Kaito chuffed. Minamino gave a chiding chuckle.

"Ah, Kaito," Minamino said, "has her answer offended your sensibilities?"

"Depends on which modern movies she prefers," he solemnly intoned. Then he looked pained. "Just—tell me you are not a connoisseur of the chick flick. Please."

_Legally Blonde_ crossed my mind, but that movie hadn't come out in this timeline. "Maybe I just haven't found the right one yet."

Kaito shook his head. "Careful. If you're too open-minded, your brain could fall out your ear."

"And if you're too close-minded, you could lose out on a wonderful new experience," I shot back. I glanced at Minamino. "Tie-breaker?"

He smiled with contrite reluctance. "Sorry, Yukimura. But I prefer the classics as well."

"Of course you do," I said with a dramatic sigh. "You're an old soul, after all."

Minamino's smile faded. Another veiled reference to his true nature, though not quite as elegant a pun as previous—seems he'd spotted it regardless, that wily fox. I held his gaze for a second, then shook my head and tutted.

"You and Kaito are peas in a pod," I said. "Why do I even hang out with you old fogies?"

"Old fogies?" Kaito repeated. "I'm insulted. I assure you, I am full of youthful vigor." He looked at Minamino askance. "I trust you take umbrage with her words, as well?"

"We've already achieved the unthinkable and agreed once today," Minamino teased—but his eyes held an edge, calculating and cold. "Perhaps once is enough."

"Oh, stop with the stoic act," I said. I drew myself up and declared, "My insult are cutting, barbed and poisonous! It's understandable if you feel insulted. In fact, it's only natural!"

Minamino tittered skeptically. My jaw dropped—but only to cover a sly smile. I nudged his knee with my toe as he took a delicate bite of _onigiri._

"Are you not human, Minamino?" I said, quoting _The Merchant of Venice_ with theatric panache. "Do you not bleed?"

I wish I had the verbiage to explain how satisfying it is to see Kurama choke on a rice ball. Alas, I possess no such verbiage. I watched with amused concern as Kaito pounded Kurama on the back. When his airway cleared, Kurama _glared_. I don't have the verbiage to describe that, either, but let's just say that if I hadn't entered a calm, meditative head-space before enacting my plan, I'd have probably crapped myself.

Kaito quoted Shakespeare like I had. "'If you poison us, do we not die?'" he said. The boy pursed his lips, looking oddly pleased. "Seems Minamino's human, after all."

Kurama went still, like he had earlier, only this time he stared at Kaito with that glare that could cut glass. I mentally cheered. Yes, Kaito, yes—make unknowing puns! Further confuse the fox! Now it wasn't just me who looked innocently suspicious.

Kurama studied Kaito for a moment. Kaito stared back with a bored expression, clearly waiting for Kurama's reply. Kurama cleared his throat with a grimace.

"Seems I am susceptible to choking, at the very least," Kurama said, velvet voice roughened from his cough. That voice get even rougher when he looked first at Kaito, and then at me, through hooded emerald eyes. "Now…just what are you two playing at, exactly?"

A loaded question…and I was the only one who knew it. Kaito frowned, confusion evident. I mirrored the look. Kaito made for great camouflage.

"Does friendly banter require ulterior motive, suddenly?" Kaito asked. "Interesting. I was not aware."

"Yeah—we're just teasing you." I nudged Kurama's knee again. "Sorry. Didn't mean to offend."

Kurama's lips thinned as he observed my apologetic smile. For a moment I thought he'd say something else—dig deeper, press for what we knew about his past life, interrogate and question—but then he looked away.

"Apologies," he murmured. "I'm afraid I'm out of practice. It's been some time since I've spent lunch hour with my peers."

A quick lie to cover that he'd just suspected Kaito and me of knowing about his past. The falsehood would fool anybody who wasn't already looking for it. Kaito nodded, buying the lie outright.

"Yes, you are always tucked away in that greenhouse," Kaito said. "Speaking of which, Minamino. I could use your expertise. I was reading a mystery novel in which a tincture of hemlock was used—"

Kurama relaxed as Kaito picked his brain about a plot device's plausibility. From my vantage point I observed Kurama's rigid posture loosen, his eyes quell their fire, and his fists uncurl. He was Minamino again in short order, bearing the brunt of Kaito's questions with quiet enthusiasm (I think he was happy to get to talk about plants with someone). Their conversation lasted until the bell rang.

_Minamino_ only lasted until the bell rang, too.

Kaito made a habit of walking me from lunch to my next class. We'd never spoken about it, and he'd never asked for information, but I got the sense he did so to keep me from being alone with Kurama. Guy was too smart to not read the signs during our first lunch with Minamino, and he was too good a friend to not act on those signs' implications.

Too bad today he had to use the bathroom.

The moment Kaito trotted away toward the toilets, Minamino disappeared—leaving me alone with Kurama. It was easy to tell when the shift occurred. His eyes flashed in a way I couldn't ignore when he said my name. I stopped, brow knit in silent question as we traded a long gaze in the empty stairwell. Somewhere in the distance I heard feet and voices as students made their way to their next classes, but here, we were very much alone.

Time for Phase Three of Operation PUNishment.

"Hmm?" I said when the silence stretched thin. "What's wrong?"

He stood with his hands in his pockets, posture lazy—but I knew enough to fear whatever he might be hiding in said pockets. Or should I be more afraid if he started messing with his seed-storing hair? Whatever. He was scary either way in spite of his porcelain complexion, heart-shaped face, and full lips.

I was lucky I'd been looking at his lips when he next spoke, because if I hadn't been, I wouldn't have heard him talk.

Kurama was _distractingly_ pretty. But now was not the time to wonder if his hair felt as soft as it looked.

"Yukimura," he said. My name sounded like a purr, somehow, although his eyes held no softness whatsoever. His next words came as carefully-measured as coffin dimensions. "Am I correct in thinking you know something about…?"

He trailed off, eyes knowing, like he expected me to fill in the gaps and admit to something unspoken.

Perfect. Phase Three was going according to plan.

I mimicked Kaito's earlier, confused frown. "Do I know about what, exactly?"

Kurama stared at me hard enough to burn holes in my uniform sweater. I shot him a what-the-hell-is-your-problem scowl.

"Do I know about _what_?" I repeated.

Kurama opened his mouth.

Then he closed it.

I saw the war in his eyes, and I freaking _loved it_. He couldn't interrogate me without giving himself away, without mentioning his past directly, but he couldn't let my puns go unexplained, either. And I highly doubted someone as tactful and secret-keeping as Kurama would ever use a demonic plant-trick on a student unless he had concrete proof doing so was absolutely necessary. Kurama balanced on the knife-edge of an unresolved question, a catch 22 of inquiry, with no way to gain answers from me without giving up answers of his own.

We played a game of 'chicken,' in a sense.

A partially demonic, pun-reliant game of chicken.

Only question was who would break first, and be the first to admit they knew too much.

Although he did not speak, Kurama's eyes blazed like a forest catching fire. I took a step back on reflex. Fear fit all of the masks I could possibly wear in this moment. Fear was fitting. Fitting, and believable.

"Uh…you're acting weird right now, you know that?" I said.

Kurama's lips tilted, smile tight. "Am I?"

"Yeah. Like, _really_ fucking weird." I lifted a thumb over my shoulder. "I'm super uncomfortable being alone with you when you're looking at me like that, so if you don't mind, I'm just gonna…?"

I didn't wait for permission. I snatched my bento off the windowsill and turned away, heading toward the stairs to the next floor.

"Yukimura."

I paused with my foot on the top step. Looked over my shoulder.

Kurama had become Minamino again. I saw it in the fall of his hair and the twist of his beautiful lips.

"I'm sorry," he said. This time his smile looked languid, not tight—but his brittle eyes told a different story. A story of suspicion, and tension, and unwilling uncertainty. "It seems I made an erroneous assumption. Can we, perhaps, forget that exchange occurred?"

I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling for a moment, the portrait of an internal debate.

"Whatever, weirdo," I said. I turned from him and scurried up the steps. "See you tomorrow."

"Yes." His voice floated after me, full of promise I don't think he realized I could recognize. "I'll be seeing you."

Took every pounce of my willpower not to sprint away, just then.

Judging by Minamino's eyes and the tenor of those parting words, he'd given up today's battle. But he had no intention of losing the war.

Kurama _never_ lost the war.

In spite of my fear, an electric thrill streaked through me when I muttered, "Let the games begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! I'm in the middle of moving to a new apartment and I was busy packing all weekend. All this week I'm packing, and movers will come Friday for the furniture. This weekend I'll be travelling to attend my grandfather's 92nd birthday party (his first birthday since my grandmother passed, so I won't have much personal time). Will update as soon as I can but I can't quite promise when. Will resume weekend updates ASAP.
> 
> Anyway: KEIKO'S PLAN WAS PUNS.
> 
> I love puns. Puns are amazing. I once made someone cry with puns (funny story). This makes sense if you know me. Hope you liked it! More on the Pun Games, and on Naoko and that situation next chapter.


	29. Only Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko receives help from an unlikely source. She provides help to an unlikely recipient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for bullying and tooth trauma in the first section.

Dr Pepper was the drink of choice for us fourth graders.

They didn't serve it in the cafeteria. We ran around the back of the gym when teachers weren't looking and bought bottles from a vending machine. Usually took a team of kids to pull it off: one to keep watch, another to distract the teachers, the last to make the soda run. My classmates would spend recess pulling this scheme, then surreptitiously sip their ill-gotten gains beneath the jungle gym. Those bottles looked like war badges—testament to bravery, status, popularity.

Unluckily, I didn't have any friends to team up with. I asked my mother to buy Dr Pepper so I could bring it to school. She said no, because it would rot my teeth (my _baby_ teeth, I argued, but it was no use). I was doomed to a Dr Pepper-free existence. I spent recess reading at a picnic table, hot Texas sun gleaming off the pages until my eyes smarted, watching as the other kids worked together to earn their prize.

When Ashley—popular, daughter of our teacher—asked me to be the runner in a Dr Pepper grab, I leapt at the chance.

It wasn't often I was asked to play with others, let alone someone like Ashley.

I was the runner. Ashley fell down and pretended to cry, and when the teachers ran to her, accomplice Christina gave me a nod. I sprinted around the side of the gym like a demon chased me, then fed coins into the vending machine with sweaty fingers. I hid the bottles under my shirt, cold condensation slicking my belly, and waited until Christina started singing a Backstreet Boys song. The signal to sneak back. Perfect.

I brought the bottles to them behind the jungle gym. Christina and Ashley each took one and crowed their delight. I opened my own bottle, careful to tap down the carbonation before twisting the cap. I started to drink, smiling, because I was about to enjoy the soda with two girls who maybe, just maybe, might be my friends after all—

Ashley waited until I put the bottle to my lips before striking. She lifted her hand and slapped the bottom of the bottle like she was spiking a volleyball. I wrenched back, pain firing across my face as Dr Pepper cascaded down my shirtfront.

I tasted blood and soda.

The girls ran off laughing.

Stunned, I reached up.

My front tooth fell apart between my fingers, shards of bone mixed with bright red blood and brown Dr Pepper.

That night, my mother asked how I'd lost my front tooth. She's been wondering when it would fall out. I was late to lose my baby teeth.

"Ashley hit me," I told her.

"Don't say such awful things," my mother scolded.

Ashley's mother was her friend.

I lost three teeth to Ashley's "game". She lurked around corners for the next six months and slapped any drink that neared my mouth. Eventually I stopped drinking at school altogether. My mother watched me guzzle juice and water after school with a smile

She mused over the rate at which I was losing my baby teeth.

I said nothing, to no one—and when I finally smashed Ashley's drink in her face, a desperate attempt to get her to stop, I was suspended from school for a week.

When I came back, Ashley stopped smashing things into my teeth.

She cut my ponytail off with a pair of scissors, instead. But no one saw her do it.

* * *

"Bitch."

"Tramp."

"Skank."

Before the start of our last class of the day, I discovered more graffiti on my desk. Junko appeared beside me just as I started to rub the words from my desk with a wet paper towel. I tried to cover the ballpoint writing, but she grabbed my wrist before I could blot the insults from existence. She stared at the words. Read them aloud, one by one. Her brow furrowed above her perfect mascara and precise eyeliner.

"Naoko," she said, as though the name alone explained it all.

"It's fine," I said.

"You call that 'fine'?" She shook her head, ponytail flying. "You didn't even do anything wrong. What a drama queen."

I made sure not to look toward the front of the class, where two girls sniggered in our direction behind their hands. "It'll die down in a day or two, once they get bored."

Junko raised a brow. "You sure about that?"

I wasn't sure. But I wasn't about to admit as much to Junko. I pasted on a cheery smile and made an excuse: flippant, dismissive, and breezy. Then I changed the subject. "We're on for tomorrow night, by the way. My mom said she'd help out. I'll have a friend there for a tutoring session but he shouldn't get in the way."

My ploy worked. Her eyes brightened, concern for my wellbeing forgotten for just a moment.

"Oh, good," she said. "The girls are looking forward to it. Actually—"

She shut up when Minamino entered in the room. Junko, like most of the fangirls, had an uncanny Minamino-sense. We exchanged a knowing nod before she walked off for her desk. I began scrubbing at mine in earnest. Didn't want to spend class staring at graffiti.

Apparently Minamino didn't want me to, either. A pale hand holding a tissue joined mine in scrubbing. When I looked up, Minamino wore a tight frown. For a second I wondered if he was going to interrogate me about my lunchtime puns again—but no.

"Who did this?" he murmured.

I ducked my chin. "Doesn't matter."

"I disagree." His hair swept across his jaw when he inclined his head like an imperious king. "Although I trust you to take care of yourself, I warn you, I will intervene if I sense the situation drifting out of hand."

He spoke with calm assurance—assurance that surprised me. We'd been sitting together at lunch, sure. And I'd been giving him tidbits of intrigue to chew on pretty much since we met, yeah. But that statement, it seemed almost like…friendship, I guess? Like he was watching out for me. But we weren't close enough for that, were we?

"Sorry to be blunt, but what do you care?"

The words just sort of slipped out, but I didn't mind. Kurama hummed, frown edging a hair closer to a smile.

"I confess I've found my lunch hour… _interesting_ , as of late," he said. "Would be shame if that came to an end so soon."

'Interesting.'

Was this a veiled way of acknowledging, despite his earlier apology, that he suspected me of knowing too much? Or was he merely saying he enjoyed eating lunch with company?

I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I just smiled at him, and watched as under our hands the foul words on my desk disappeared.

* * *

Kuwabara sensed something was wrong the minute we sat down to study that night. "OK Keiko, I know you too well to miss that look in your eye. Spill! What the heck's buggin' ya?"

He slurped down a bowl of ramen as I explained, in halting terms, what had transpired at the school that morning. Guy practically choked when I told him about the punks and Naoko's revenge.

"Aw, man—I knew something bad was gonna come of all this!" he yelped. "Darn it, Keiko, this is why I didn't want you getting involved! Street punks might be jerks, but they've got codes. Somebody beats you in a fight, you owe them, or work for them, or whatever."

"And now they want me to be the boss of their gang. What an anime cliché." I ran a hand over my hair and cursed. "Honestly, they're the least of my worries. I can take being followed by them. I'll just kick their asses again if they get weird. It's Naoko I'm worried about."

"I mean, couldn't you just kick her ass, too?" Kuwabara said. I could tell he was trying to be helpful. "That's the best way to deal with bullies. Show them you won't stand for their crap, they back down."

He was right, in a way, but his solution wasn't that simple. Fight back, things could escalate, and I could get in trouble. It wasn't as simple as throwing one punch and expecting the problem to disappear—especially when I had Keiko's reputation to worry about.

Not to mention I'd suffered worse than a defaced desk in my past life. This was nothing. I'd withstood bullying far more dangerous for _years_. I could handle this. And I could do it without jeopardizing my record.

"The thing is, I just got kicked out of my old school for fighting," I said. Kuwabara grimaced. "And I learned today that people at my school know I was friends with Yusuke. They expected me to be as bad a punk as him when I joined Meiou."

Kuwabara's eyes widened. "Gosh, really?"

"Yeah. So if I beat up Naoko, I'm playing into that reputation. And Meiou might kick me out if they think I'm dangerous." I sighed dramatically. "Naoko isn't stupid enough to pull pranks on me and leave evidence. I can't report her to the school without proof. Waiting it out might be my only option."

Kuwabara hummed. He leaned back in his seat, put down his chopsticks, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I hate that you got caught up in this," he said. His dark eyes narrowed, all traces of my loveable goofball friend vanishing under the weight of concern. "I have half a mind to march down there and put an end to it, myself."

"I thought it was against your code to pick on girls," I teased, but Kuwabara didn't lighten up.

"It's not," he said, "but for you, I'd make an exception." He leaned forward, jaw jutting, eyes intent on my face. "The minute things get bad, you call me. Ya hear that? If I've gotta walk ya to and from school for a year to keep those guys away, I'll do it."

I believed him. I touched his hand and smiled my thanks. He turned bright red, of course, and looked away muttering about his duty as a man to protect his friends. Seemed glad when I changed the subject and we started studying for his English test. He only had a few more days to go, and we needed to make the most of these cram sessions. Couldn't risk Okubo losing his job. Another thing Kuwabara's honor dictated he mustn't allow to occur. Kuwabara had vowed to put the drama with Iwamoto to bed, and gosh darn it, he'd do it no matter what!

I just hoped that by the time the test rolled around, I'd have found a way to put my own drama to bed, too.

* * *

The smell had leaked into the courtyard. I knew even before opening my locker that Naoko had done something to my indoor shoes. Sure enough, I found my shoes filled with pickled fish and rotten milk.

Like the day before, Junko appeared at my elbow. Fury radiated off her like heat from a lamp, threatening to burn even me as she helped put my shoes in a garbage bag and take the refuse to the trash furnace behind the school.

"Those bitches," she hissed.

"It'll die down," I said. "I can't imagine they'd go farther than this."

She bared her teeth so hard, her lipstick smudged them with a line of pretty pink. "How can you be so calm about this? They ruined your shoes!"

I shrugged. "I'll get new ones."

"But Keiko—you gotta retaliate!"

"Why?" I said, tone cool. "And play into my delinquent reputation?"

Junko fell quiet, helping me shove the ruined shoes and garbage into the furnace chute without speaking. Winter had arrived without much fanfare, warm weather bleeding into cool days and cold nights so slowly, I'd barely noticed the change in season. But when a chill wind stripped by I remembered how cold a Sarayashiki winter could be, and reminded myself to buy Yusuke a winter coat.

In the manga, he'd remained asleep through Christmas, when he helped a fixated ghost move into the next life.

Still a ways to go before he returned, per my calculations. Still a month or two before my favorite delinquent came back to me.

Speaking of which…

After we dumped everything into the furnace, I turned to Junko. She had trouble meeting my eyes. Idly I wondered if she felt guilty for spreading the reputation that now held me back, but I put the question aside. It hardly mattered. What was done was done.

"I can't risk retaliating, if it means getting in trouble." I offered her a collected smile, to show her I wasn't worried (funny—of all the things I should be worrying about, this wasn't actually that high on the list). "I've already been kicked out of one school this year. I risk that happening again."

She stared at me a second. She repeated: "You can't risk it."

"Yeah," I said.

" _You_ can't risk it." Her odd emphasis stuck in my head like a catchy tune, but I felt less than amused when her lips pulled into a smirk. "Right. I get it."

"Um…I don't think I like the look in your eye."

"Oh, trust me. You like it," she said with a wink. "Naoko, however, won't."

Oh god. "Junko…what are you planning?"

"Nothing," she said, far too innocently for comfort. She skipped around me with another wink and a broad smile. "See you in class!"

"Naoko!" I called after her—but she didn't slow down, and disappeared around a corner.

* * *

Kaito sat alone in the stairwell at lunchtime. He looked up at me with a scowl. "Minamino?"

"Not with me," I said. "I figured he beat me here."

"Hmmph." He hefted his book higher in front of his nose, then lowered it just as swiftly. "Perhaps he will spare us the burden of his entirely too perfect presence."

"Perhaps," I said. I walked to the window ledge and set my bento on it. My eyes drifted across the lawn below the window, grass brown and brittle beneath the watery winter sun. The greenhouse at the edge of the school grounds gleamed like jade. "It's not like him to be late." And after his comment the day before about enjoying lunch hour with company, it felt odd that he hadn't shown up. "Do you think he came to school today, or—oh."

A flash of red caught the light, glittering like garnet before disappearing into the greenhouse below.

Well. That explained it. But what was Minamino doing down there during—?

Behind the tinted glass panels of the greenhouse, something moved. A dark shape, a silhouette, tall and lean: Minamino, probably. It cast a shadow over the glass as it moved…and then another shape appeared beside it.

A short shape.

A short, dark silhouette of someone much smaller than Kurama.

Oh.

_Oh._

_Oh my fucking god, don't tell me…!_

"Hey Kaito—wait here," I said.

He muttered something about being unceremoniously abandoned, but I ignored him and trotted down the steps to the landing on the first floor. I pushed through the door at the bottom and walked outside, onto the school's back lawn, and jogged across the dying grass toward the greenhouse. It occurred to me that I might be doing something incredibly, unpardonably stupid, but I wasn't worried. There was no way Kurama would let me see anything he didn't want me seeing. And no way would he allow a mere human to take him by surprise. There would be no accidentally stumbling upon a meeting between criminals—

—but there was absolutely no way I could pass up this chance, either.

Because what if—?

The greenhouse door swung open beneath my hand, silent on oiled hinges. A wash of warm, humid air sluiced across my face. I tried not to think about how badly my hair might frizz as I stepped inside.

"Minamino?" I called.

He stepped out from behind a tower of ferns. All traces of red had vanished from his mane, washed out by the filtered green light above. He held a large bento box wrapped in a kerchief in one hand. The kerchief's color lost itself in the green gloom, but even so, I recognized Amagi's handiwork when I saw it. Had he just come down here to get his lunch?

No. I hadn't imagined that other figure. That short, dark shape that maybe, just maybe…

"There you are," I said. I peered past him, but I saw no one standing amid the rows of potted plants at his back. "I thought I saw you come in here."

"What sharp eyes you have," he said, cool and pleasant as a spring day.

"All the better to see you with." I gestured at the plants. "What're you up to?"

He replied smoothly, without any trace of hesitation. "Merely enjoying a moment of solitude during a hectic school day, is all."

I studied him. He wore a polite smile, warm yet mechanical. But I'd seen that other figure in here with him, and I knew those cold green eyes far too well to get taken in by Kurama's would-be deception. Sly fox, sure, but not when you knew how to read his tracks through the forest.

"Solitude," I said. " _Right_."

He blinked, innocent and yet totally untrustworthy. "Why, Yukimura. You sound skeptical of me."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Though I cannot fathom what I've done to earn your distrust."

His stare chipped at me like hail. Maybe I'd said too much. If short-dark-figure was who I thought it was, I might be stepping over a line. Time for a cover story. I made a show of looking under the nearest table, pushing aside a hanging tapestry of vines as though expecting someone to pop out from behind them.

"So there aren't any fangirls hiding in here with you?" I said. I nodded at his bento. "That's Amagi's handkerchief."

I'd expected a smooth reply. Maybe a knowing glance, or a comedic quip about his own popularity.

I was not prepared to see Kurama freeze and look away, hands cupping the bento with self-consciousness I'd never before seen from the self-possessed fox. I watched with puzzled interest as he cleared his throat and shuffled his polished shoes awkwardly against the concrete floor. Seemed he was only human and got awkward sometimes, too.

After a spell of prolonged quiet he said, "Ah. No. She's…not here."

He didn't say anything else. He looked embarrassed, though I couldn't figure out why. It was just _lunch_. Maybe his demon pride made accepting favors difficult?

Though I somewhat enjoyed seeing Kurama thrown off-kilter, his refusal to meet my eyes didn't gratify me. I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. "You coming upstairs for lunch or what?"

The awkwardness cleared immediately. "Yes," he said. "But I'm afraid I'll be delayed. Some plants need attending to, and I will be busy after school, so lunch provides my only opportunity."

"Right," I said. I turned for the door. "See ya up there, I guess."

He nodded, eyes expectant. Before I walked out, however, I put my hand on the door and looked at him over my shoulder.

Couldn't let an opp-PUN-tunity pass. Ha ha.

Sorry.

"Don't worry," I said with a conspiratorial smile, "I won't tell anyone you're down here."

He looked uncertain. "While I appreciate your discretion, it's no secret that I spend much of my time—"

"I'll let you _steal_ another moment of solitude in peace." I pushed the door open and waved over my head. "Ciao!"

Kurama didn't have time to react to that one. I was out the door and running in an instant.

* * *

Kurama looked somewhat troubled when he finally joined Kaito and me for the midday meal, but he didn't address my thief-related pun. We parted ways for class with congenial goodbyes and no hidden meanings, and when I saw him later in class, he merely afforded me a polite nod before sitting at his desk.

…were my puns not working? Maybe he really _was_ buying that they were too stupid to be made on purpose, and had decided I was making them on accident, and therefore I wasn't an interesting puzzle, after all.

Damn. I wanted the game to go on longer than a few days!

I sulked for the remainder of my classes, until last period. I beat Minamino there. Man, he was normally so punctual—was this a sign of brewing trouble? Of his descent into the Artifacts of Darkness Case from Yu Yu Hakusho? That shadow in the greenhouse boded as such…

As I set my school bag on my desk, I paused my pondering to note a conspicuous lack of graffiti on the desk's surface. Interesting. I dragged my finger across the smooth plane and smiled. Perhaps ignoring the situation had worked, after all.

"Did you hear?"

"About what?"

"About what happened to that Naoko girl!"

I froze, finger stuck to a faint tracery of blue writing I hadn't quite managed to scrub away the day before. Fearing I'd draw attention, I turned my head in increments until I saw the speakers from the corner of my eye. Two girls and a guy, standing a few desks away, spoke to each other in hushed voices.

"Someone cut out the back of her skirt during PE, when it was in her locker!" one said.

"Oh my gosh!" The other girl put her hand over her mouth. "When?"

"Just last period."

"She walked down the hallway with her butt hanging out!" said the boy. "Practically the whole school saw!"

He looked both mortified and just a little pleased by the aforementioned events, that asshole. I didn't like Naoko, but I didn't like the thought of her getting leered at, either.

"Oh my gosh. Poor girl."

"And that's not all," the boy said. "Akemi, Chiyo, and Momoko had all their skirts torn, too!"

The first girl's eyes widened. "Aren't those Naoko's friends?"

"Yeah. That's why they're not in class today. They had to go home and get clothes!"

I remained very carefully neutral as I looked around the room below my fringe of bangs. Sure enough, the girls who had defaced my desk the day before weren't present. But who had—?

"How awful!" said the second girl. She echoed my internal monologue when she asked, "I wonder who did that to them?"

"Beats me."

"But it was clearly someone who didn't like them very much," said the guy.

My skin crawled, but thankfully none of them so much as glanced in my direction. It wouldn't be illogical to suspect me, but it seemed word of my (one-sided) feud with Naoko hadn't spread too far. I put my back to them and sat at my desk, holding a book up to cover my face. Don't look awkward, don't look awkward, don't—

"Hey, girl!"

My desk shifted as Junko settled her weight atop it. A well-manicured finger hooked over the top of my book and gently pulled it down. I don't think she'd been expecting my dead-fish expression, however, because she pulled back and looked at me like I was wearing clown makeup.

"Junko," I intoned.

"Hmm?" She inspected her nails. "Keiko?"

"What period do you have PE?"

Her innocent expression reminded me, quite uncannily, of a certain crafty fox demon. "Why do you ask?"

My dead-fish stare intensified. "Junko…"

She giggled. Her index finger rapped against my book's hard cover.

"Let's just say you've got friends all over this school," she said—and she winked, miming a pair of scissors with her fingers.

Class started before I could demand she explain herself, but something told me the sly-smile Junko wouldn't give up her secrets so easily. She seemed to be enjoying herself far too much for that.

* * *

Took me most of class, but I decided not to ask Junko too many questions about the how, the when, and the why of what she had done to Junko and her friends. Like my grandmother used to say: Don't look a gift horse in the mouth unless you want a face full of horse spit.

I appreciate her twist on that old idiom. I let it play in my head, recalling her warm, warbling voice as I tuned out the day's lecture. When class ended I offered Junko a peacemaker's smile. Behind her, the other students filed out of the classroom, eager to leave school for the day. I caught Minamino's eye over her shoulder; he nodded in my direction but said nothing as he left the room to pursue his own ends.

Maybe he was off to meet a certain fire demon.

Much as I wanted to know for sure, I couldn't follow him. I already had after-school plans.

"Hey." Junko jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm gonna run and grab Amagi and the others."

"They meeting in the empty classroom?" I asked—the same classroom where we'd had our first fangirl confrontation. Apparently it functioned as the de facto boardroom of Minamino's fangirls.

"Yup." Junko glanced at my desk "Still working?"

"Unfortunately." We'd been asked to write a short essay during class, but I'd been distracted thinking of Junko's skirt-tearing and still needed to pen a conclusion. "I can meet you over there if you want."

"Sure. See you soon!"

She trotted out of the room, last of the students to leave aside from me. Much as I felt anxiety about the coming evening (I wasn't accustomed to hanging out with so many girls at once) it promised to be fun. I smiled to myself as I wrote the final paragraph of my essay. When I finished and handed my paper to the teacher, she grinned.

"You're in a good mood," she said.

"I'm hanging out with friends after school," I said, basically beaming.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" She looked like she meant it, oddly enough. "It's nice to see you making friends."

Yeah, it was. Friends who stood up for me, even in dubious ways, were worth their weight in gold. But were they _actually_ friends? My smile faded as I left the room and walked down the hall toward the meeting room. Perhaps I was overthinking this. If Junko really had stood up for me, that pointed toward friendship. But I couldn't shake the illogical thought that maybe, just maybe, the other shoe would drop. She'd turn on me after an overture of comradery. Knock out my tooth as I took a sip of Dr Pepper, as it were. But that was silly, and—

"You _bitch_."

I stopped walking.

Naoko stepped around a corner. She wore sweatpants and her uniform shirt—and on her face a ferocious scowl.

"How dare you do that to me?" she growled. She took two steps forward; I stood my ground, feet squaring under my body, hands fisting at my sides. "How dare you cut my—"

"Back off," I barked when she came just within striking distance. She halted at my harsh words, eyes popping wide. "I didn't do anything to you."

"Oh, please. Spare me. Who else would do this to me?" She sneered, lips curling around her straight, white teeth. "It's not like you have _friends_."

My face—which I'd arranged into lines of firm, do-not-fuck-with-me gravitas—spasmed, beyond my control as she unknowingly pressed a sore spot I had only just been irritating. She grinned as I faltered. She ran a hand through her bleached hair, smug satisfaction turning her dark eyes bright.

"Oh, that's right," she said. "I know all about you. You transferred here because you got kicked out of your old school for punching a teacher."

I did what I always did when I felt awkward: I fell back on humor. I'm only human, after all.

"Technically, I withdrew," I said. "And technically, I _didn't_ punch him." When she frowned I added, "Oh, I _tried_ to punch him. But someone intervened, you see. Which is a pity because I'm certain he'd have come out the other side of my fist better-looking, and they wouldn't have wanted me gone if that had happened, because I'd have done them a favor. So it's their loss, really."

My word-vomit, flippant monologue rendered her speechless for just a moment. Then she shook her head and made a wordless sound of mounting frustration.

"Whatever!" Naoko spat. "I know you're behind this! I checked your schedule. You eat lunch the same period I have PE." Naoko looked quite satisfied by her detective skills; maybe she should change her name to Nancy, as in Drew. "So during lunch you could have—"

"Sorry to blow a hole in your theory," someone interjected, "but that's impossible."

Relief flooded me like a sip of cool water at the sound of Minamino's voice. He appeared at my side as quietly as…well, a fox on fallen leaves, to call a spade a spade. He didn't look at me, though. He stared at Naoko with disdain he did not care to conceal, green eyes as edged as nettle strands.

"She was with me during lunch," he continued. "I can vouch for her whereabouts. I suggest you keep scurrilous accusations to yourself.

"Minamino!" Naoko said, surprise draining some of the malice from her features. "What are you—?"

"Naoko-san," he cut in. "I suggest you leave."

Pink lips curled, malice returning as quickly as it had dissipated. "Why should I?"

Minamino—no. _Kurama's_ reply came simple, quiet, and as weighty as a stone.

He said: "Because you're outnumbered."

Kurama was no liar, of course.

Only a moment later, the cavalry arrived.

They marched around the corner, then. Every last fangirl, from Amagi to Junko to even the taciturn Hotaru, strode down the corridor and hemmed Naoko in, glaring at her as they caught her like a rabbit in a trap between themselves and the fox demon at my side. She gasped, spinning in a circle as she realized the situation—and then Hotaru grinned.

"Nice pants," she said, simpering and not at all sincere. "Pity about your skirt."

"Yes," Amagi agreed. Her lovely oval face held nothing but cold disdain. "A pity."

"Pity about what's gonna happen to your _ass_ if you go anywhere near Keiko again," Hotaru finished. Her hip cocked, hand resting on it with indolent nonchalance. "Think this was bad? This was nothing."

It dawned on Naoko at last. "It was you!" she said, pointing at the gaggle of girls. "You did this to me, and to my friends!"

She was right, of course. Achingly, painfully, glaringly correct. But the girls weren't about to admit as much outright. They looked between each other and exchanged an unspoken agreement—one to keep mum, I was sure. Strength in numbers, and in plausible deniability.

"Prove it," one of them said.

"Yeah," said another.

"Go on."

"Prove we did anything to you."

"And which one of us, exactly, is supposed to have wrong you?" Amagi said.

"Yeah, which one?"

"Who are you accusing, exactly?"

Naoko's jaw dropped as the barrage of questions struck home. There were too many people here, too many taking credit, to accuse them all. She sputtered and stammered, then eventually pointed at me over her shoulder.

"She stole my boyfriend!" she said, as if that explained everything.

"No, I didn't," I said. When she looked at me, I held her gaze with the firmest, yet most patient and placid, look I could muster. I didn't let myself look angry. Anger might read as deception. "I beat him up and now he's following me around. It's part of his honor code, or something. He has one, right?"

I saw the 'yes' in her eyes, even though she didn't speak. I shook my head and sighed.

"Look—I don't want him," I said. "If you want him back so badly, go kick his teeth in. Trust me, he seems into it."

(At my side, Kurama breathed the daintiest of snorts. I ignored him.)

Naoko didn't react for a moment. She just stared at me. Emotions flickered across her face, complicated and perhaps contradictory. Then her mouth worked, and the barest beginning of a sentence slipped free.

"I…" she said, and she felt silent. Uncertain. Unsure. Her passion drained before us, water from a broken sieve.

Amagi appeared to run out of patience at that point. She stepped out of the crowd of girls and touched Naoko's shoulder.

"Naoko," she said. "Let me make something clear for you." Her eyes blazed bright and clear, allowing no room for argument. "You are not the only girl in school who has friends to fight on her behalf. Do you understand?"

I sucked in a breath.

_Friends_.

Call me dramatic, for treasuring that word the way I did. But never in my life had anyone fought for me quite like this.

Naoko didn't reply. I saw the defeat in her face, then, and hope the girls would back off their intimidation tactics—but they didn't appear to get the memo.

"Just think," Junko said. "If we got to your skirts the way we _allegedly_ did, what else could we do?"

Naoko looked very much alarmed. Hotaru tossed her hair.

"Go get your boyfriend back and leave Yukimura the freaking hell alone," she said. She flapped her hands as if warding off an annoying pigeon. "Now shoo. Don't bother us anymore."

For a moment it seemed Naoko wouldn't take Hotaru's sage advice. She stood in the hallway, staring at Amagi, and me, and the others for far longer than anyone should when they were so outnumbered—but then her head dropped.

"Fine," she said. "Whatever."

And with that…she left. As soon as she rounded the corner, the fangirls started high-fiving and giggling. Some even started forward to talk to me, eyes alight with mischief and triumph—but then all of them, almost as one, went quiet.

Their eyes fixed on Minamino.

Oh god.

This…was about to get awkward, wasn't it?

Lucky for me, Amagi took the wheel at that point. Good ol' Amagi. Pretty _and_ poised. She took a few steps toward me, expression composed and serious. Not at all giddy like you'd expect of a fabled fangirl.

"Minamino-san," she said. Her eyes scanned me before returning to the boy she so admired. "Thank you for looking after our friend."

"It was nothing," he smoothly said.

"We value your efforts, regardless." Her head tilted, frown tightening her full lips. "We hope you've been well, lately?"

An unspoken question lingered in her words. A subtle urgency, a light emphasis I understood more through instinct than logic. She was, in a veiled way, asking about his mother, or at least his health in relation to that situation. And Minamino appeared to understand.

"Yes." His throat moved when he paused and swallowed. "Thank you, as well. For…"

He trailed off—and for the second time that day, I witnessed Kurama looking…awkward. His eyes dropped to the floor. He took a deep breath. But he didn't start speaking again, and only smiled a small, tight smile as he regarded the floorboards with off-putting interest.

Amagi appeared to understand.

"Yes," she said. "Say no more. Girls…?"

As one, every single young woman in Amagi's retinue clasped their hands and bowed in Minamino's direction. He bowed back, a jerky bend at the waist, and said nothing as the girls straightened up and turned away. Some shot him looks of ill-concealed longing, but Amagi spotted this and touched their arms in subtle warning. Amagi herded them down the hallway like a sheepdog. I started to follow on reflex.

Because this…was my pack, I supposed. Found through unconventional means, forged in spite of misconception and miscommunication.

My pack. My people.

My friends.

"Yukimura."

I'd been so caught up in following the girls—the girls who were my _friends_ —that I'd quite forgotten about Kurama. I stopped walking when he murmured my name. He stood with hands in pockets, lips pursed, but despite the cool arrangement of his features, tension pulled his shoulders taut.

"I was not aware you were friends with… _them_ ," he said once the girls were out of sight. He spoke with razor delicacy. "You recognizes Amagi's lunch, and I wondered, but…"

"It's a new friendship." The words sent a tumble of pleasure through my chest. "And I have you to thank for it."

Green eyes narrowed. "In what manner?"

It was my turn to choose my words with care. "They thought we were dating," I said, "and they took exception to that."

One of his eyebrows lifted, almost imperceptibly. "Interesting. What gave them that idea?"

"You stalking me at lunch, mostly." I laughed when surprise parted his lips. "Don't worry. I set them straight."

"How so?"

"I…told them you aren't interested in me in a romantic capacity," I eventually informed him.

His eyes gleamed in a way that defied description. "Is that so."

"Yes."

"And they believed you?"

His phrasing—lightly skeptical, obviously intrigued—gave me pause. I said, "As far as I know, there are no reasons for them _not_ to believe me." Then I smiled, sly and joking. "Unless there's something you aren't telling me? Hmm?"

Damn fox didn't miss a beat. Voice like silk, he said: "Do you _think_ there's something I'm not telling you?"

"Well, you do follow me around a lot." I opted for raw logic undercut with a teasing grin. "And I definitely wasn't the one who initiated our little lunchtime powwow."

"Ah." His amused smirk made my toes curl, my cheeks heat—uh oh. Bad sign. Curb your hormones, girl. "Perhaps I'm pining for you, and you don't even realize it."

Once more, I covered my sudden nerves with humor. Because if I didn't, I was pretty sure I'd blush like a radish and make a stammering fool of myself.

Gosh, Kurama was pretty. His red-dark hair curled around the line of his jaw, falling to trace his throat and shoulders, highlighting hard muscle hiding under his bright uniform—

Oh god, no. Stop. Focus, Keiko.

"Oh, yes," I said, words laced with liberal sarcasm—and a spontaneous pun. "You stare at me from across the classroom and think, 'Maybe, in another life…'"

I clasped my hands under my chin and gazed wistfully into the distance, painfully aware of Kurama staring at me like I'd just pointed a gun at him. I shot him a confused look and let my hands drop.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I said. "Is there rice on my face?"

He stared a moment longer. Then he seemed to shake himself, as if out of a trance.

"No. Sorry," he murmured. No trace of his earlier levity remained, replaced instead by intense, soft scrutiny. "I admit I'm looking for a mask. But I don't believe you're wearing one right now."

My pulse sputtered. "Astute of you to notice."

Because I wasn't wearing a mask, just then. Dancing around Kurama felt dangerous and thrilling—but it was fun. I didn't need to wear a mask so much as merely choose my words with care. I guess Kurama could sense that lack of deception. Good for me, I reckon.

"Anyway." I ran hand over my pigtail, toying with the end of it between two fingers. "Apparently those girls have been feeding you without much variety. They're coming to my place tonight for a cooking lesson."

I think he'd been on the verge of asking about my relationship with them, because his eyes cleared at my words. He said, "Right. Your parents own a restaurant."

My correction came automatic and prideful: "Two restaurants and a fleet of food trucks."

"Sorry. Two restaurants and a fleet of food trucks," he amended, tone placating. He hesitated a moment. "Those girls. Did they tell you about—?"

He stopped, words almost catching in his throat. He didn't need to speak for me to know what he meant to say. _Did the girls tell you about my mother?_ For a private person such as him, the question felt only natural.

"Yeah. They did," I admitted. "I'm sorry."

Green eyes fluttered shut. A spasm of pain—barely visible yet unmistakable—cast his ethereal features into raw relief.

"Don't be." I sensed he'd said these words before, a script he repeated often. "It's not your fault that—"

"I'm not sorry as in apology. I'm sorry as in _sorrow_."

He stopped talking. We traded a long look, silent but not empty. My voice came soft when I spoke next.

"Cooking lessons are the least I can do," I said.

He spoke stiffly: "I do hope you don't go out of your way on my account."

What a very Japanese thing to say, asking for someone not to inconvenience themselves on your behalf. Kurama had adapted to human culture pretty well, after all. I smiled at him, enjoying this little discovery.

"I won't," I said.

Kurama's hands came out of his pockets. Something I said agitated him. His lips pursed, brows lowering above narrow eyes.

"I did not ask for their help," he said. "I did not ask for them to cook for my family. I did not—"

Pieces clicked together like engine parts while he spoke. Certainty rumbled in my chest. His awkward looks when asked about the bento. His reaction to my cooking lessons. These protests, unnecessary and repetitive—

"Does being cared for make you feel uncomfortable?"

Kurama stopped talking.

Ah.

So that was it, then.

"Those girls cook for your family because they care about you," I said as gently as I could. "They want to support you."

His head rose, regal and resolute. "I did not ask for—"

"Oh, I know you didn't ask for their help," I said. He fell quiet, uncertainty painting his features. "Sitting on their asses and watching you take care of your mother alone would make them feel bad. In some ways, they're caring for themselves as much as they're caring for you, when they make you food."

Kurama's eyes widened—and internally, I realized that maybe he hadn't adjusted so well to being human, after all. Judging by his shock and doubt, Kurama hadn't come to this conclusion on his own…and it was a very easy conclusion to come to. Offering to help, helping when it wasn't even necessary, was human nature when someone was dying. People wanted to help because _not offering to help_ made them feel like a bad person. Sure, they wanted to care for the person in question. But that's not all there was to it.

Did some aspects of human nature still elude Kurama, after all these years spent in human skin?

"If you have trouble accepting help," I said in the spirit of helpfulness, "think of it in reverse. _You're_ making _them_ feel better by accepting their generosity and care."

He admitted the truth like coaxing a snarl from his hair. "I…I hadn't thought of it that way."

"I figured," I said.

"But I still do not require their assistance," he repeated. "I can handle my mother's illness on my own."

His insistence grated on me, opening up trails of thought I hadn't trekked before. Kurama acted bound and determined to reject help, to reject care. But why?

Was he simply not accustomed to accepting help?

It made sense, when I thought about it. I couldn't imagine demons spent much time altruistically helping each other. He probably wasn't familiar to being cared for, for placing even one small part of his wellbeing in the hands of another (he'd rejected his mother's care as a child, after all). It more than likely rankled his demonic pride, to have a gaggle of weak human women catering to his needs. He hadn't asked for the help. Far as Kurama was concerned, he probably didn't think he needed it.

Call me patronizing, but I knew better than that.

If your mother is dying, you need support—even if you don't feel like that's true.

We stood in silence for a time, just sizing each other up. My brain conjured images as I watched him stand there: Aunt Lana in her bed, fireworks popping in the night, face contorting as she screamed in pain. My grandmother on the couch in her last days, unable to walk, resigned to a fate she'd watched her sister die from mere months prior. My best friend's mother, a waxy yellow skeleton, crying as cancer ate her from the inside out.

I thought of my father, my best friend, myself—crying. Clinging to each other. Needing desperately to be supported even as we watched over someone whose suffering eclipsed ours like rising moons.

The silence wore thin after a while. Words bubbled in my breast like water in a heated pot.

"It can be difficult to remember, when someone you love is suffering," I said, slow and searching and deliberate, "that _you_ are suffering, too."

Kurama frowned. I smiled. My lips trembled the merest nanometer.

"When we juxtapose our pain with the pain of another, and judge their pain as greater, we run the risk of discounting our own needs," I said. "We forget that we, too, could use support sometimes. That we could use some help."

He interpreted the need for support with weakness, that demon. I could tell because he barely managed to suppress a sneer when he said, "I'm handling my mother's illness, thank you."

"I don't doubt that," I said.

"I appreciate Amagi's help," he continued. "I do. But the thought of involving others…"

He trailed off, discomfort with the notion obvious—and yet his eyes reflected a spark of pain. I took a deep breath.

Kurama might be a demon, but he was still human. More human than he knew.

Perhaps more human than he liked to admit.

"I'm not going to say anything you don't already know," I said. "But sometimes, I think a reminder doesn't hurt."

He quirked a confused brow.

"The next time someone's care makes you feel uncomfortable, I'm giving you permission to accept it," I said. I met his eyes with urgency and sincerity; taken aback, his eyes widened. "You're allowed to ask for help and support. You're allowed to need to be cared for. Even if you're caring for someone who has it worse than you do, _you deserve support._ "

I might've raised my voice a little on those last words. Luckily Kurama took it in stride. He ducked his chin, chuckling while he briefly shut his eyes.

"I wasn't expecting a pep-talk today," he murmured.

"I wasn't expecting to give one, but here we are."

"Yes." He looked at me as if I were a particularly challenging puzzle. "Here we are."

While I enjoyed knowing Kurama still thought of me as a mystery, I didn't like being alone with him when he looked at me like that. I gestured down the hallway with a polite smile—the first polite mask I'd worn that afternoon with him.

"I should go," I said. "They're waiting for me."

"Ah. Yes." And then his mask returned, as well, polite and cool and perfunctory. "I apologize for keeping you."

"It's fine. See you tomorrow?"

"Yes. See you tomorrow."

Breaking eye contact felt like breaking a bone. I turned and walked away, cognizant of the eyes fixed on my retreating back—and then Kurama spoke.

"Yukimura."

My name on his lips sounded like a cool wind. I stopped. Looked at him over my shoulder. He hadn't moved from his spot, nor had he taken his eyes off me. A lock of hair brushed his cheek, red-black silk contrasting with his flawless porcelain skin.

"Why is it so important to you," he said, "to tell me I deserve support?"

For a moment I didn't know what to say…but when in doubt, I make jokes. I looked at him and smiled. The pun came as readily as breathing.

"You're only human, after all," I said. "But maybe sometimes, you need a reminder of that."

I will carry the memory of his stunned face with me until my dying day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another life. Stealing time. You're human, after all. The puns keep rolling in.
> 
> PLEASE FOLLOW "CHILDREN OF MISFORTUNE." Soon I'll be posting a bonus chapter that's in Kurama's POV. Might feature a cameo of a certain grumpy fire demon…but my lips are sealed!
> 
> SUPER PISSED. Wrote a lot of nice lines during editing, computer died, I LOST THEM ALL. Sorry if this seems bare. I'm just mad and want to get this out there and out of the way.
> 
> Wow, didn't expect this to turn into a Kurama character study, but the story ran away with me.
> 
> The punks-want-Keiko-to-be-their-leader storyline gets put fully to bed next chapter, and then we're in Yusuke Returns to Life territory. At last!


	30. Plans and Subplots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko resolves one problem, only to encounter another.

 

My mother walked down the line of girls crammed in our small personal kitchen with a critical eye—the eye she only adopted during the preparation of food, or when she felt like styling my hair. Food was serious business in our household. She looked at their handiwork as they chopped, fried, diced, and sautéed a variety of dishes, offering comments and critiques to anyone in need.

Every now and again she'd glance at the three boys standing near the edge of the kitchen. They stood in silence, watching events with uncertain expressions and questioning eyes.

When I invited the Punk Trio to get dinner with me, I don't think they expected an audience of at least ten other girls. They stood in the corner like awkward penguins as my mother and I gave instructions on how to make her famous _tsunomono_. Once I noticed the boys had arrived (sent upstairs from the main restaurant by my father, no doubt) I disentangled myself from the tightly-packed group and walked their way. They gave me hesitant bows as I blotted my hands on my apron.

"Not what you expected when I told you we had dinner plans, was it?" I joked.

The boys—whose names, I'd learned, were Masaru, Tadashi, and Shinji—exchanged a look.

"Not really," Masaru eventually said. He scanned the girls with a frown. "What are you doing?"

In lieu of an answer, I snagged a bundle of carrots, leeks, and cucumbers off the counter and asked them to follow me into the living room. Once I sat the boys at the _kotatsu_ , I brought cutting boards and paring knives from the kitchen and placed them on the table.

"Do you know what 'julienne' means?" I asked.

Three heads shook.

"Like this." I julienned a section of carrot into thin, even slices. "Do that to the carrots and the cucumber. And then chop the leeks like this." Another demonstration of the preferred technique. "Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," they chorused.

Once they got to work (and once I determined they weren't totally inept at cutting vegetables) I went back into the kitchen. The girls hurriedly turned away from the door when I entered, pretending that they hadn't just been craning their heads to stare at the unexpected visitors. Amagi frowned at me as she stirred a simmering pot of soup.

"Keiko, who are those boys?" she asked.

"The one chopping the carrots is Naoko's boyfriend."

Alarm crossed Amagi's pretty face. "What are they doing here?"

"Learning a lesson in humility."

The last time I'd seen the boys—a quick run-in earlier that morning, in fact—I'd told them to meet me at my parents' restaurant for dinner…only I hadn't planned on eating with them, exactly. I meant for them to observe tonight's cooking lesson, and maybe (just maybe) observation plus a stern lecture would get them off my back.

We'd see soon enough. I had a plan. I just wasn't sure yet if it would work.

"I have it all planned out," I said when I caught Amagi staring, dark and lovely eyes narrow with concern. I nudged her arm with my wrist as I stirred a bowl of eggs (ugh, why did I notice how soft her skin was? This pointless crush was getting out of hand). "Stop worrying. You'll see."

Though her eyes retained their concerned color, she didn't complain. She just kept stirring, and let out a charming little 'eep' when Junko wriggled between us and accidentally planted an elbow in Amagi's ribs. Junko ignored her (even though Amagi's glare sent a chill up my back) and pointed one well-manicured finger at my workspace.

"Hey, what are you making?" she asked. "It's different from ours."

While the rest of the girls made roasted chicken, baked fish, or salads, my workspace contained eggs, rice, grilled fish, and some assorted veggies. I hummed, stirring my bowl of eggs a little faster.

"This is a special breakfast for a friend of mine," I said. I added a pinch of salt from a bowl on the counter, then a dash of pepper. "He has a big test tomorrow and needs a decent start to his day. This will be part of an omelet. I'm going to add fish for more protein and veggies for vitamins, and a fruit salad so he can have something sweet. He liked sweets a lot, but what I'm really excited to make are poppy seed kolaches. They're Czech, and they're really good, but I don't know if he'll like them. Sometimes it seems like he doesn't like foods with weird textures, and if he's not used to poppy seed, he might not—"

Junko and Amagi listened to me talk about the consistency of poppy seed paste and Kuwabara's dietary preferences in silence. When they traded a sidelong glance, I shut up.

"What?" I said. "Sorry. Did I just nerd out over food?"

Amagi delicately cleared her throat. "It's—it's not that."

"…then what?"

"It's just, you look really happy. And you were smiling while cooking earlier," said Junko.

Cooking was fun; what was wrong with smiling? I tilted my head to the side, brow knit. Amagi and Junko looked at each other again, and then Amagi sighed.

"You look happy when you talk about _him_ ," Amagi said.

Junko leaned her elbow on the counter, then leaned her cheek on her hand with an exaggerated waggle of eyebrow. "So…who's the guy, hmm?"

Oh, well wasn't that lovely. They were shipping me with Kuwabara and they hadn't even met him. Not that I minded, exactly. Kuwabara was a fantastic person and would make a great boyfriend to just about anyone. He also happened to be the exact opposite of Kurama in terms of both looks and temperament—so the exact opposite of my friends' "type," so to speak. Would they be so keen on shipping us if they met him, I wondered?

Not that it mattered. Soon Kuwabara would meet Yukina, and he'd probably not have much time for me anymore. Though the thought of him getting into that adorable canon ship made me smile (Kuwabara in love was a wonderful, happy Kuwabara), it would suck if my best friend in this world stopped wanting to hang out with me as much. He'd never be a bad friend to me, of course, but…

He was my favorite character.

Who _wouldn't_ smile, getting to cook for their favorite character?

I would treasure every minute I got with my favorite character, especially the ones before he became distracted by romance. Call me territorial—jealous, even—but I'd guard and treasure moments like these like a dragon hoarding gold. I would not be embarrassed out of cooking for him no matter how many weird looks I got!

"He'll be here in an hour for a study session if you want to meet him," I said, choosing to leave Junko's suggestion of romance unacknowledged. "His name is Kuwabara. He's my best friend, so you'll probably meet him sooner or later, anyway."

Junko's eyes widened. "Oh! He'd the guy those boys beat up!"

"Yup."

"So he's the one who got you into the Naoko mess."

"No." The word came out firm and maybe a little sharp; I gentled my tone with an apologetic smile. "No. I got myself into that mess all on my own."

Junko pursed her lips. "I mean…if you say so."

We got back to work. Soon, after Mom determined everyone had performed to her satisfaction, we finished making our various dishes and moved into the living room. Mom stood at the front of the room and beamed.

"You all did a wonderful job cooking, so now it's time to taste-test," she said. "Take note of which flavors complement each other. When crafting a meal, you need to pay attention to the overall flavor of the dish. Individual components matter, but if they don't work together, your flavors might fall flat or cancel each other out." Her smile blossomed into a grin. "Though in the end, cooking with love and affection matters more. So keep up the good work no matter what!"

She guided us through all the dishes one by one, giving us little tastes and explaining the flavor profiles of each. The girls ate it up (literally and figuratively) but the three punks listened to us talk from the sidelines wearing bewildered expressions—especially when the girls started discussing Minamino's tastes.

"There are rarely leftovers of vegetables, but sometimes he doesn't finish the meat," one girl fretted.

"And he seems to like fish more than chicken or pork," said another.

"But is that him eating the fish, or his mother eating it? We don't quite know what he gives to his mother and what he eats himself."

"Radishes are the one vegetable he maybe dislikes. The last time I made—"

I took pity on them at that point and caught Masaru's eye. He and the others followed me into the kitchen, where they looked quite relieved to be put on dish-washing duty. I left them with their arms submerged in water and rejoined the girls in the living room. I kept one ear on the clinking dishes and another on the conversation at hand, hope the guys were paying attention to us at least in some small measure (my plan depended on it).

A few minutes into our discussion, however, it became clear the punks were not, in fact, listening to us talk.

My mom was the first to notice. She paused mid-sentence and looked at the kitchen doorway with a frown. A few other girls stopped talking, too, heads cocking to the side as they listened to the sounds drifting from the other room.

Someone was singing.

_Three_ someones, in fact. Three male voices wove together in a simple yet solid harmony, and below that came a rhythmic clinking noise like someone banging a spoon against a pot. I recognized the lyrics from a popular rock song, as did some of the girls if their impressed expressions told me anything.

Amagi, who sat next to me, leaned in close so she could whisper in my ear.

"Did you know they could sing like that?"

No. No, I did not know the boys who's kicked the tar out of Kuwabara could carve a rhythm out of dishware and sing like a barber shop trio. I pushed away from the _kotatsu_ and got up, watching the boys where they stood by the sink. They didn't notice me. Their hands still moved, sure, washing dishes like they'd been told, but they kept singing as they worked—keeping time with a song, in a way. Shinji (the shortest of the group, with gangster hair and lean features) lead the singing with a powerful baritone grip on the melody while the others complemented his voices with their own higher and lower tones.

Did they realize they sounded that good, and that they'd managed to find voices that fit each other's so neatly?

Their song came to an end right as they finished drying the last of the dishes. A smattering of appreciative applause at my back had them jerking to attention. Clearly they hadn't realized we could hear them, music coming naturally and spontaneously as they worked.

"Can you three come with me?" I said.

We went to the alley behind the restaurant. Not the cleanest or brightest place, but it was the most private one I could think of. We settled atop empty shipping crates as I handed them rice balls and passed around a basket of fried shrimp. They eyed me as they ate, clearly wondering what tonight had been about. Wariness showed on their faces like paint on a white dress.

"Thanks for your help tonight," I said when they polished off the last of the shrimp. "You guys can _sing_ , by the way."

Masaru's chest puffed. "We're in a band."

"We're gonna be the next Megallica!" said Tadashi (Shinji nodded along in silence—for the best singer of the bunch, he did the least amount of talking).

But Masaru sighed. "Yukimura, you probably think that's impossible, right?"

"Not at all."

That took them by surprise. Each of them gaped at me—unused to being taken seriously, I guessed. The plight of every teenage musician when they first got started.

"I love Megallica," I said. All three of them looked elated to learn that factoid. "I think it's awesome that you have big goals. A lot of people never learn what they want to do in life, and if you've found your calling this early, you should go for it with everything you've got."

Seems I'd struck gold. They grinned, beaming like I'd just told them they'd won the lottery. Sometimes, at this age, all you needed was a single vote of confidence to get yourself inspired. Hopefully I'd done something helpful just now.

I asked, "What's the band called?"

As suddenly as they'd perked up, the three of them deflated.

"Uh…we don't know yet," said Masaru.

"We haven't exactly been able to play a gig yet," came Tadashi's evasive clarification.

"We're too young for most places."

"Yeah, bars won't let us in."

"Well, let me know when you put out your first record, because I'll buy it," I said.

Even Shinji thanked me when I said that, half bowing in his seat before lapsing into a shy, pleased silence. I made sure to smile at each of them.

"Anyway," I said. "I'm sure you're wondering why I invited you here tonight." I waved a hand at the upper floor of the restaurant. "Do you know what those girls were doing in there?"

They shifted atop their crates. "No."

"They're learning to cook," I said, "for the boy they like."

For a second they didn't react—but then Shinji's eyes narrowed.

"The boy?" he asked. "Singular?"

Sharp guy, apparently, even if he didn't talk much. I nodded. "They all like the same guy. And don't go talking about it in front of them, but…his mother is dying."

None of them quite knew how to react to that. They stared at me in horrified silence until Masaru muttered, "That's awful."

"Yeah. It is. But those girls, they cook to make his life a little easier," I explained. "Every day they leave him a meal in his locker. They don't talk to him, or get in his way, or ask for attention. They just do what needs to be done and leave it at that. They respect his time and they know he wants to spend it with his mother, not them."

I stared pointedly at each of them, one by one. One by one, they hung their heads.

OK. Good. Seemed they were starting to get it.

"You have a code, right?" I said. "That's why you've been hanging around me. Because you have a code, and I beat you in a fight…"

They all nodded. Said Masaru, "Right. We have a code. We're men, aren't we?"

"Kuwabara has a code, too. So I get it." I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees. "You admire me because I beat you in a fight. And I get wanting to honor the people you admire. But the thing is, I spend my time making food for people. I study. And I watch out for my friends." I shrugged. "I don't want to head up a gang, I'm sorry to say. It's just not in me. So if you really admire me—in whatever way, because of your code—I hope you also _respect_ me enough to abide by my wishes."

The three of them sat in silence for a time. Shinji, voice low and melodic, broke that silence first.

"We respect you," he said.

The other two seemed to take their cue from his words, uncertain expressions gaining new solidity.

"We respect you enough to know we caused you trouble, when we beat up Kuwabara," Masaru said. "We want to make up for that."

"But how do we do that without helping you out, and being around you and doing stuff for you?" Tadashi asked. "'Cause that's how the code works. You mess with someone, and they beat you, you pay them back."

They wore identical looks of confusion and trepidation. A few small stray ends clicked into place, then. Their code dictated they had to make up for the trouble they caused me—and whether or not I wanted their help didn't matter. This was a matter of conscience for them. They'd feel badly if they didn't do something for me.

Ironically, it was Kurama and the fangirls (whose meals comforted the girls who made them) all over again.

"Tell you what," I said after a moment's contemplation. "At some point, when your band is big and you're too famous for this town, I'll call you for a favor. How's that sound?" I winked at them, watching in satisfaction as their eyes slowly lit up from within. "That should make up for any inconvenience you think you've caused me, right?"

Shinji nodded. "It should."

"Provided we can make it big," Masaru grumbled.

"This just means you _have_ to make it big," I said. "You just promised me a favor, and if I can't collect, the debt remains unpaid."

Masaru and Shinji nodded gravely. We all jumped when Tadashi lurched to his feet.

"That's right!" he exclaimed. "Now we've _gotta_ make it as a band!"

"We've gotta focus on our music," Masaru agreed.

"Yeah—so cool it with the fighting if you can," I said, tone mild. The boys looked away, guilty. "Go make music instead. From what I heard, you're good at it. If anyone has a shot at making it, it's you three."

"OK," said Masaru. He stood up, too. "OK, it's a promise."

Shinji also stood. He bowed at the waist, hands stiff at his sides. The other boys followed suit.

"We will work hard in your honor to become the next Megallica," Shinji solemnly intoned. "Thank you, Yukimura-san."

"Thank you, Yukimura-san!" said the other two.

"You're welcome." I rose to my feet, walked past them, and stood with my back to them in the restaurant doorway. Over my shoulder I barked, "Now beat it! I don't want to see your faces until they're plastered on a billboard, got it?"

"Billboard faces!" Masaru said. "Got it!"

"We won't disappoint you!" said Tadashi.

"Thank you," Shinji said—but quietly, as if he didn't expect me to hear.

I didn't look at them, listening instead as I heard their feet travel away from me and out of the alley. Couldn't help but smile to myself, of course. I remembered being a kid with big dreams, and I remembered needing a word of encouragement in order to summon the courage to follow them. Maybe they really would become the next Megallica. No harm in dreaming. And if maybe, just maybe, my words got them to quit fighting and focus on their music—

"They gone?"

I flinched, but it was only my father moving around the corner of the alley. I stepped out of the doorframe and glared at him.

"You scared me!" I accused. "What were you doing over there—lurking?"

"Of _course_ I was," he said with an exasperated roll of his eyes. "Those boys looked like trouble."

"Funny. They dress a lot like Kuwabara, but you approve of him."

"True. But Kuwabara is a special boy."

"Special how?"

"He's a good, _good_ boy, that's how," Dad said, like it should be obvious. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about." He reached into the front of his chef's jacket and pulled out a small object, which he passed my way. "I have a present for you. Here."

A small canister, black and unremarkable, hung from a small key ring—but I'd had something like it in my past life. I knew what it was, especially when I pressed a button on the side and a cap popped off the top, revealing a trigger like that of a squirt gun.

"Pepper spray?" I asked. "What's this for?"

"Your mom doesn't like it when you fight," Dad said, not bothering to be anything but blunt. "Maybe use that instead of your fists, the next time you make some punks owe you a debt. OK, honey?"

I blinked at him—and then I laughed, resting the heel of my hand against my forehead.

"OK, OK, sure," I said though my giggles. "Thanks, Dad."

"Don't mention it." He turned to head inside, then shot me a mischievous wink. "And start hiding your workout clothes better, huh? Your mom thinks you quit the dojo, but those sweaty clothes of yours tell a different story!"

I only laughed harder as Dad skipped inside with a merry whistle.

Leave it to him to call me out in a way that made me laugh.

* * *

Kuwabara's jaw dropped when he saw me standing by the gate of Sarayashiki Junior High the next morning. Some other students shot me wondering looks, too, but I paid them no mind and waved a hand above my head. "Hey there, Kuwabara!"

"Keiko!?" he yelped, scampering over. "What are you doing here?"

"Just coming by to wish you good luck before your test," I said. I reached into my bag and pulled out a cloth-wrapped stack of bento boxes, which I presented with a flourish. "Here. Consider this your good luck charm."

Kuwabara blinked at the bento, then pointed an uncertain finger at himself. "Is...is that for me?" he asked.

"You bet your sweet ass it's for you," I said. I giggled when my crass wording made Kuwabara's face turn a brilliant shade of cherry. "It's brunch! Your test isn't until fourth period, right?"

"R-right."

"Good. You'd better eat beforehand so you don't get distracted with hunger. I made it with brain foods to help you remember things. And I made some for your friends, too." I mock-glared, raising a fist that looked more comical than threatening. "So you'd better share, OK?"

Giant hands gentle, Kuwabara reached for the bento. He cradled it against his chest with an awed look, caught halfway between gratitude and wonderment.

"Keiko—thank you," he said. His typical growling voice had gone a little softer, narrow eyes warm with happy disbelief. "I don't know what to say."

The corner of my mouth hitched. "Say you'll kick ass on this test and show Iwamoto who's boss."

He looked askance, feet shuffling atop the placement. He said, "I mean…I'll _try_ …"

I blinked at him, realized he'd just doubted himself, then placed a hand over my heart when I determined such a thing to be completely unacceptable.

"What's this?" I said with faux offense. "Why, Kuwabara! I'm _insulted_!"

It was his turn to blink. "Huh?"

"You've been studying with an _amazing_ tutor for a week, and you still have doubts about your abilities?"

Panic flashed across his craggy face when he realized he'd accidentally insulted me in the act of doubting himself. "N-no, Keiko, you were amazing!" he yelped. "Best teacher in the world! I didn't mean—"

I laughed, slugging him playfully in the arm. "Oh my gosh, I'm kidding!"

"O-oh." A bashful glance at the ground. "Sorry."

Frowning, I leaned forward, inserting myself into his line of sight.

"Hey," I said. "You know you've got this test in the bag, right?"

He shot me a furtive look.

"…I like hearing you say it," he mumbled.

"OK. Sure." Nothing wrong with needing a bit of validation from time to time. "But _you're_ the one who needs to say it. _You're_ the one who needs to believe it."

"I mean. I guess?"

"Hmph." I planted my hands on my hips, chin jutting out. "Well, Kuwabara. I think there's only one way to fix this, and that's for you to repeat after me. So please say: I got this."

The big guy looked mildly embarrassed, mumbling under his breath, "I got this."

"I'm amazing."

"…I'm amazing."

"I kick English's butt like it's a soccer ball wearing a 'kick me' sign."

"I kick English's butt—but, oh man, Keiko, _do I_?" he said, and at that point his mumbled words pitched into a mini-screech of desperate confusion. "Do I actually kick butt at this? Because I'm so nervous! What if I don't do well? What if I fail? What will Okubo—!?"

Clearly Kuwabara wasn't expecting me to grab him by the cheeks and drag him down to my level, so I could butt my forehead against his and glare at him dead in the eye, but that's exactly what I did. I wasn't expecting to do that, either, to be honest. I grabbed him on a whim, but when I got close enough to see the doubt in his eyes (the doubt partially obscured by comically terrified awkwardness at being so close to a girl) I knew I'd made the right choice.

It was time for a pep talk. And not the gentle kind.

"Now you listen here, and you listen good," I all but growled. "You're going to do _great_. You got that? You're going to be _amazing_."

Kuwabara grumbled something about not being so sure, but I squeezed his cheeks a little tighter.

"You're smart," I told him. "You're _so smart_. You went from knowing nothing but the English curse words to being able to ace a test in a week. That's amazing. And you should be so proud of yourself."

I wasn't flattering him, either. He'd come to me utterly hopeless: vocabulary minuscule, pronunciation garbled, grasp of grammar nonexistent. He still wasn't fluent, or even conversational, but through sheer stubbornness he managed to cram a small dictionary into his head in just one week. He memorized all the grammar formulas I threw at him with frantic gusto. The kid could really retain information, when given proper incentive. Kuwabara was a beast when he applied himself.

"You're smart, and now you're applying yourself, and that just _doubles_ how competent you are." I let my glare—my aggressively encouraging glare—go supernova. "If you apply that big fucking brain of yours and don't lose your nerve like a big ol' chicken, this test won't stand a snowball's chance in Hell at high noon of beating you. You got that, you punk? _You got this._ "

Maybe my confidence was bleeding onto him, but as I held him there, his big face warm in my small hands, a fire lit behind his eyes. A smile of bared teeth creased his mouth. His forehead butted back against mine, hockey players slamming helmets in the locker room to rile themselves up before a game.

"Yeah." He pushed me; I pushed back, an inverse tug-of-war. "Yeah. Yeah! That's right. I got this! I got this test in the bag!"

"Fuck yeah, you do!" I shoved him away and pointed dramatically up at the school, not giving a rat's ass that my former classmates were staring—because Kuwabara had finally started to grin, the expression I most liked to see on his big beautiful face, and the people staring could go kick rocks with open-toed shoes. "You're gonna fucking _murder_ this test. Now go kick ass and save Okubo's butt!"

"Roger that!" He threw a fist into the air and bellowed, "I have a promise as a man to fulfill, and gosh darn it, I won't let Okubo down!"

"That's the spirit!" I hopped in place, hyping him up before pushing him bodily through the gate. "Now get going!"

"Yeah!" He ran halfway across the yard before tossing over his shoulder, "Thanks, Keiko! You're the best!"

"No," I said as I watched him go. "Pretty sure that's _you_."

Hopefully he'd learn that for himself once he aced that test.

* * *

Although I had visited the Higurashi Shrine before, I had never met Kagome's grandfather. He wore the traditional robes of a Shinto priest (every single day, Kagome claimed with pronounced exasperation). Short and beady-eyed, with a scraggly mustache and an old-fashioned topknot, he looked like a relic of times long passed, resurrected to tend the ancient shrine and protect it from the encroaching modernism of Tokyo.

He also really, _really_ fucking liked to talk about old crap, too.

We had to follow old Jii-chan around the shrine or an hour, listening to him rant about the history of that _torii_ arch and that ancient tree until he finally grew too tired to walk any more. We sat by a dusty well at the edge of the property—a normal well with a cute little roof over it, from which he drew a bucket of clear water. The day was cold but the cool water still tasted lovely.

"Now," he said, settling onto the brown grass at the well's stone foot. "Kagome tells me you're doing research for a little story you're writing together, eh?"

"Yes, sir." Kagome had prepped me on the cover story before I came over today. "I appreciate your help very much."

"Yes, yes," he said, running a hand down the mustache strands trailing across his chest. Black eyes glittered with humor. "Though I must say, I didn't realize you'd be so much older than my granddaughter. You met in Hideki's _aikido_ class, you said?"

"That's correct."

"Keiko is really cool, Jii-chan," Kagome chirped. She lay on her belly on the grass, toying with a stick with nimble fingers. Shadows from a tree overhead dappled her pale skin grey. "And we have a cool idea for a story. We both like writing. We're going to take a bunch of mythology and mash it up and—"

She prattled on for a time in a very Kagome sort of way, one thought bleeding into the next in a confusing mélange of topics nigh unfollowable. I wasn't sure if she did it on purpose as a sort of diversionary tactic or not, but that's how it played out. Jii-chan cleared his throat and shoved his hands inside his sleeves.

"Yes, yes, Kagome, that is very interesting," he said in a comically dismissive fashion. "Now, you said you wanted to research two gods in particular?"

"Yes. Though one of them is Greek."

"Ah. Can't say I know much about Greek myth, I'm afraid, though I'll do my best to be of service. Which deity are you after?"

"Clotho. One of the three Fates."

"The Fates!" he repeated with a bark of laughter. "Now _them_ I know about. Though they're called the Moirai in Greek." He stroked his mustache, eyes distant. "Yes, yes. Atropos, Lachesis, and Clotho. Cloth was the youngest, of course, and spun the thread of life on her spindle. Next came Lachesis, who measured life's thread with her measuring stick. And then the eldest, Atropos, who cut the thread of life with her shears."

Kagome and I exchanged a look at that, while I tried not to appear confused. Clotho had held a pair of scissors—but they belonged to a different sister? That didn't seem quite right.

"The _abhorrent_ shears, they were called," Jii-chan continued. "They could cut even a god's life in half. Fearsome weapons. The Moirai were feared even by the Olympic pantheon, as I recall."

Well, wasn't that just fantastic? A creature feared even by the gods was involved in this—maybe. Still had no proof Cleo was who she said she was, even if she had a pair of antique scissors and could vanish on command.

I pushed the thoughts aside. "Is there anything more you can tell me about Clotho in particular?" I asked.

Jii-chan frowned, looking up at the roof covering the well. "Clotho? Hmm. I believe she was knowing as the decision-maker of the Moirai. Sort of their leader, in a sense, who chose when people were born and when people would die. But that's about all I know."

Kagome and I exchanged another look.

The Fate who decided when someone was born, huh?

Had she had something to do with our situation in this strange new world? Hiruko claimed responsibility for our predicaments, but it sounded like Cleo might be better suited.

Jii-chan didn't leave me time to ponder much more. His hand descended onto his knee with a smack.

"Now. What other thing did you want to ask me about?" he said.

"Well, I came across a name while reading," I said. This was a lie, of course, but I couldn't exactly tell this man about the kid who visited me in my dreams. "I tried looking for more information but couldn't find much. So I don't know if the name is from myth, or another source."

"Hmmph." He pursed his lips. "What's the name?"

"Hiruko."

Jii-chan didn't immediately react. He blinked at me for a second, like I'd just announced I was going to join clown school—and then he threw back his head and laughed. Kagome's eyebrows lifted. She sat up, pouting at her grandfather until he calmed down enough to speak.

"Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time!" he chortled. "Well, no wonder you didn't have any luck with your research. Hardly anyone uses that name anymore. That book you were reading must've been even older than I am!"

"So—you know it?" Kagome said. She rolled to her knees, eyes bright. "Well, don't just sit there laughing like a hyena! Tell us who that name belongs to!"

Jii-chan chuckled for another minute, then looked at me.

"Kagome said your parents own a ramen restaurant, is that correct?" he asked.

I frowned at the non sequitur. "Yes. Why?"

"Then I reckon you know exactly who Hiruko is." He grinned, slapping his knee again. "Not too many Japanese restaurants go without a lucky Ebisu statue."

I found myself unable to speak for a second.

"E…Ebisu?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. The god of luck and fortune. We probably have a statue of him around here somewhere, in fact." He stroked his mustached thoughtfully. "Big belly, laughing, holding a fishing hook…yes. There's a statue of him near the Bone Eater's Well, in fact, to ward off any ill omens that might come forth."

Kagome sat up at that. I saw her look at me from the corner of my eye.

I didn't look back. I couldn't—because just then, I couldn't move.

_Ebisu_.

My eyes unfocused as memory came rushing in: Kuwabara at my side, my father standing in the alleyway behind the restaurant, packing wet concrete into a plastic container. "Making an idol for the new restaurant," he'd said, showing us the mold he poured. "We're opening a second location next week. New place won't feel like a real restaurant until I pour up a new patron!"

There was another idol in that alley—another concrete statue right by the back door. It had watched over me all my life, eyes kind slits set above enormous, smiling cheeks and gleaming teeth. He held a fishing pole in one hand and raised the other in greeting. I'd put a garland of flowers around his neck during Golden Week every year since I could walk. I'd patted his head when I came home at night, and I'd offered him a half-hearted prayer before every test at school at my mother's bidding.

That idol was an old friend. A lifelong companion. A fixture since the day I found myself awake in a new world.

"He's certainly a happy Buddha," I said.

But Dad had corrected me

"Buddha?" Dad said. " _That's_ not the Buddha!"

"It's not?"

Dad rolled his eyes. "I didn't read you enough fairy tales as a kid. This is Ebisu—god of fortune and food." He winked. "Perfect god for a ramen shop, don't you think?"

_Perfect god for a ramen shop, don't you think?_

My chest felt hollow, like I might drift away on the wind like dandelion seed.

Jii-chan kept speaking, oblivious.

"Hiruko's story started off a sad one, as I recall," he said. "How much do you know of Shinto creation myth, hmm?"

"Not much," I murmured. I wasn't capable of saying more.

"Ah. I see." Jii-chan sighed, shaking his head. "Kids these days have no appreciation for the old things, for stories, for tales! Why, when I was your age—"

"Oh, can it, Gramps," Kagome groused. She braced her hands on his leg, peering into his face with a scowl. "Just tell us the story, why dontcha?"

"Oh, all right, all right," he said, waving her off. He settled into his seat, hands stowed in the sleeves of his robe, and spoke with the measured patience of someone who had told his story many time.

"Mukashi, mukashi," he said (the traditional Japanese introduction to a fairy tale). "Long ago, there lived the god and goddess of creation, Izanami and Izanagi."

Kagome said, "Just skip to the part about Hiruko!"

"Don't rush me, child!" Jii-chan fired back. "The pair wished to conceive a child together, and so, they married. However, their marriage ceremony was botched. During the ceremony they exchanged words, which is forbidden. And so their firstborn son was born marred, flawed—or, more specifically, he was born without bones."

"Without bones!" Kagome repeated with a gasp. "That's weird!"

"Weird, and not at all what they wanted in a child," Jii-chan agreed. "But gods aren't accustomed to being disappointed. Not wishing to acknowledge their son, they crafted a boat of reeds and set him adrift on the ocean, likely in the hope he'd die."

Kagome gasped again. I sat up a little straighter.

"Before they did, they gave him a name," Jii-chan said.

"Hiruko," I guessed.

"Yes," he said, "and to add insult to injury, they spelled his name with the characters for 'leech' and 'child.'" He tilted his head back, gazing at the awning above with a sorrowful expression. "They abandoned their boneless leech child in a boat, and pushed him out to sea to die. Can't exactly say they're model parents, but gods aren't known for behaving in ways we modern folks approve of."

He spoke the truth. I remembered Greek myth in particular brimming with gods behaving badly. Casting your child into the ocean because he didn't measure up to your standards was low even for unscrupulous gods, in my book. Poor guy. He hadn't asked for a life like that, and yet…

Don't pity him just yet, Keiko. He had still used you, even if his story was a sad one.

"Wait—but he's the god of luck, I thought," Kagome said. "How'd he go from boneless on a boat to famous god of fortune?"

Jii-chan chuckled. "I suppose he just got lucky, when you get down to it. Legend has it that he washed up on the shore and was taken in by the Ainu people, on the island we used to call Honshu. He grew bones, grew strong, and eventually grew to become the patron god of the people who took him in." Jii-chan's eyes lit up as his enthusiasm for the story grew. "The Ainu were fisherman. At first only fishermen worshipped Hiruko, but eventually his reputation grew, and worship of him spread from fisherman to merchants. Eventually he became the god of fortune...probably because he got so lucky, surviving an ordeal like what his parents put him through. Somewhere along the way, he started going by the name 'Ebisu.'"

I murmured, "I would, too, if my given name was 'leech child.'"

"You and me both," said Kagome.

"Yes, I suppose you have a point," Jii-chan admitted. "Now he's living large, as far as gods go. Can't find a restaurant or kitchen without a shrine to him inside it these days." He slapped his hands together. "Now, what else can I help you with? I can tell you more stories about this shrine, if you'd like!"

There wasn't a good way to say 'no', so we resumed the tour of the shrine and let Jii-chan have his fun. Eventually Kagome made up some excuse or another (I think she said we needed to go work on this 'story' we were supposedly writing) and managed to get us away from Jii-chan.

We went to the only private place we could think of: The Bone Eater's Well.

The doors had barely shut behind us, and Kagome had barely managed to turn on an electric lantern, before I started ranting.

"That snake," I hissed, pacing the length of the walkway above the well. "That snake! I can't believe he's been so close all this time! He's been right there, right on my goddamn porch, just watching—"

Kagome listened, eyes growing wider and wider with every detail I revealed. Multiple Ebisu statues adorned my parents' home and restaurant, but somehow I had missed out on learning Ebisu's real name. Years of proximity, years of clues, uninvestigated and undiscovered. I wanted to tear my hair out just then—but luckily Kagome's cheerful calm cut through my haze of anger.

"Hey, it's not your fault!" she said, tiny fists shoved resolutely against her hips. "You heard Jii-chan. Not many people know Ebisu's real name anymore."

"Still—I should've learned it in school," I said. "They taught us Greek myth in school. They should've taught us Japanese myth here in Japan, right?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, I frowned.

Kagome did, too.

We stood there in silence for a moment, each lost to our own thoughts. I assume Kagome's mirrored mine, because soon she raised her eyes and voiced exactly what I'd been thinking.

"Why didn't we learn about Japanese myth in school?" she said.

And she was right. Much as I racked my brain, much as I turned over all the memories I had about growing up in Japan, I couldn't recall a single incident in which I'd been taught Shinto or Buddhist myth. My parents had taken me to a temple on New Year's a few times, and they made me pray to (what I'd thought was) the Buddha statue when I needed to take a test…but my bedtimes were bereft of Japanese fairy tales. At least the ones involving gods or goddesses. I knew some luck and funeral rituals, some wedding rituals, and similar…but the actual tales behind the traditions I knew very little about.

Why the hell was that?

Why hadn't I leaned about these things before, or even gotten curious enough to look them up for myself? Curiosity was my middle name!

"I mean, I'm literally in elementary school right now," Kagome continued, tone uncharacteristically worried. "I don't think we've _ever_ had a unit covering myth or fairy tales. Jii-chan will tell me some stories, but my mom doesn't even talk about them. And I don't recall my friends ever talking about them, either."

"Same here," I said.

"In my old life, legends and fairy tales were all over the place. Hell, I taught them to my kindergarteners. You know, Aesop's Fables and Grimm's Brothers stuff?" She looked at me with odd hope, like she hoped I'd tell her she was wrong. "But here, nobody talks about that stuff. Like, _nobody_ -nobody. I don't remember a single person telling me about Cinderella even once, and that right there's some cross-cultural shit."

She was right—more right than she knew.

"In college," I said, words slow and searching, "I took courses on fairy tale study and analysis."

Kagome rolled her eyes. "Of _course_ you did."

"Shut up." I shook my head, composing myself so I didn't freak out. "Tales exist in all cultures—and sometimes the same story will take place in multiple cultures, but before those places had any record of contact."

"Wow. Really? That sounds weird."

"Yeah. There are versions of Cinderella in almost all cultures." I ticked them off on my fingers "Chinese, German, Russian, Native American…and even Japanese." I met her eyes, a worried mirror of my own. "If fairy tales are so pervasive, why didn't we hear them growing up?"

Neither of us spoke.

Kagome blurted: "This is weird."

"Weird on more than one level," I concurred. "Weird because why didn't we never heard those stories…and weird because, why didn't we _notice_ we hadn't heard them before now?"

In any other scenario, I would've found it funny that Kagome started pacing in an odd mimicry of my usual nervous habit. Just then, however, I saw nothing humorous in it at all.

"Well, I dunno about you, but I'm freaked," she said. "Freaked. Freaked. Like real freaky-freaked. It's one thing to not hear those stories, but it's another not to notice not hearing them. Why didn't we—"

Lucky for her nerves, I'd already concocted a quick working theory.

"Maybe since we already knew those stories, we weren't looking for them," I suggested. "Not being taught or told those stories didn't feel unnatural. We didn't _need_ to be taught. They were already in our personal story repertoires, so why seek them out? That's why we didn't notice their absence."

"Maybe?" Kagome said. Her voice climbed into a higher register than usual. "Maybe that's it? Maybe? I dunno, Keiko! But something about this just seems _off_.

Kagome normally did the reassuring in our relationship, but for once the responsibility rested on my shoulders. I reached out and hooked an arm through hers. She met my comforting smile with a surprised smile of her own. To my satisfaction, her pacing feet ceased to move.

"I haven't had a chance to go to the library since I first met Cleo," I said. "I'm going to go right now and pull every book on fairy tales and myth I can find. I'm sure something will come up that'll help us figure this out. So don't sweat it, OK?" I winked at her. "Never did ask if you're a Doctor Who fan, but as the good Doctor might say, books are the best weapons in the world."

"Tennant was my favorite," she said, response almost automatic. She shook her head, eyes clearing of their panic. "I'll do the same at my school library. See what I can dig up. Because this is weird, Keiko, in ways I can't put my finger on—and that ambiguity just makes the weirdness _worse_."

She was right, of course.

But to keep her calm—not to mention to keep myself calm—I didn't agree aloud.

* * *

"You just _had_ to go and ask questions, didn't you?"

"Why hello, Hiruko," I replied. "So nice to see you."

He wore a smile more teeth than good humor, pink hair mussed like he'd just woken from a deep sleep. Somehow it didn't surprised me to see him in my dreams that night. Learning his true identity, after all, seemed like a kind of broken rule even _he_ might not find palatable. I hadn't had a chance to hit the library after seeing Kagome—Mom had asked me to help in the restaurant before I got the chance—but I got the feeling I'd already heard enough about Hiruko to rustle his jimmies.

"You couldn't leave well enough alone," he said. He stood with feet apart, head ducked as if he might try to ram me in the gut with his bubblegum skull. "You just couldn't stem that damnable curiosity of yours, could you?"

"What, you don't like having your past pried into?" I asked with faux innocence. "Interesting. You really don't like that I know who you really are, do you?"

"You know nothing about who I am," he snarled.

I shrugged. "I know _some_ things, Leech Child."

" _Don't you ever call me that again, you insignificant little—!"_

I jerked back as though bitten by a dog. He'd never snapped at me quite like that before, and even Hiruko seemed taken aback by his tone. He blinked, mouth working around air, before turning away from me and clearing his throat.

"Would you prefer Ebisu over Hiruko?" I asked—but gently. Not with malice, or derision, or sarcasm. I asked with sincerity, because…well. I actually wanted to know, believe it or not. "Just tell me, and I will."

I of all people knew the importance of honoring one's name.

Hiruko, inch by inch, turned around again. Suspicion turned his eyes brackish.

"I wish you hadn't found out," he said, voice raspy with emotions I couldn't identify. "I wish…"

He lapsed into silence. I shrugged.

"For what it's worth, I think what your parents did to you was shitty," I said. "No one asks to be born. It's stupid to punish a child for something they couldn't control."

His eyes hardened with glacial chill. "Heed your own advice, lucky child." He tossed his hair with a harsh laugh. "Feh! Lucky child? More like _guilty_ child. Still stressing over taking the real Keiko's place, even if it's not your fault? How pointless!"

I didn't rise to his bait. Voice even, I said, "You're lashing out at me right now. But I didn't do anything to you." Another shrug. "Not tonight, at least."

I half expected him to fight me—but he didn't. Hiruko's shoulders sagged as though weighted by a boat's heavy anchor.

"I know," he admitted. "It's just…"

Whatever he meant to say, he couldn't say it. I waited, but he didn't speak.

Guess it was up to me to take the initiative.

"What do you want, Hiruko?" I eventually asked. His head jerked, like he'd forgotten I was even there. "What's your goal? Why did you do this to me, to Kagome?"

He shifted atop his wooden sandals. "That's my secret."

"It's not fair to drag me into this and keep me in the dark," I said. Emotion broke through my calm veneer like a whale breaching the surface of the sea. "Like I said—no one asks to be born, and most certainly not into someone else's body. And nobody wants to be a subplot in someone else's story."

His eternal smile—the smile of the god of luck and fortune—faltered. "A subplot?"

"Yes. A subplot. _Yu Yu Hakusho_ is about Yusuke, not Keiko." I gestured at myself, at my dream body, at the character I inhabited as well as the person housed inside her. "All this, my life…it's overshadowed by Yusuke. My choices don't matter as much whenever he comes near. The least you can do is tell me why you've suddenly given Keiko the chance to become a bigger player." When he did not reply, and merely stared with his oceanic eyes, I heaved a sigh. "Can you at least tell me what your goal is? Or tell me what you want me to do in this world?"

His throat worked as he swallowed. "Like I said—I want you to break the rules."

That old chestnut.

That old broken record.

What a fucking joke.

I was tired of this. Frustrated, angry, disgusted—but more than that, I was tired. Tired of being jerked around and fed evasive lines. Tires of equivocation. Tired of being used. Tired of asking questions that would never receive an answer.

I shut my eyes and said: "No."

"…no?" Hiruko repeated.

"You heard me. No." I opened my eyes and glared. "You want me to break the rules? Well, sorry Charlie, but _fuck that_. I won't do it. Not until you do something for me in exchange." I raised a finger and leveled it right between Hiruko's smug eyes. "I'm going to follow the script to the letter and not break a single goddamn rule unless you give me the answers I want."

Took Hiruko a minute to realize what was happening. His jaw dropped.

"Wait. Are you _blackmailing_ me?" he said.

"Blackmail is such an ugly word," I said...and then I winked at him. "I prefer 'extortion'!"

Hiruko's jaw dropped again. Then his eyes narrowed, mouth clacking shut as his teeth collided.

"Lucky Child," he said, glowering. "More like _Licentious_ Child."

"Is that a yes?" came my prim response. "Will you agree to my terms?"

He swore, colorfully for a child—only he wasn't really a child at all, was he? I watched as he stomped in a circle, swearing swears I notated for future use, and wondered just why he'd taken this particular form. Was it an illusion, or did he actually look like this? The portly statues at the restaurant did not resemble this pink-haired kid, that's for sure.

But no matter. I had bigger questions at the moment…but maybe I was barking up the wrong pink-haired tree. Time for a new tactic.

"Ugh. You know what?" I said, throwing up my hands with exaggerated frustration. "Forget the deal. Maybe I'll just ask someone else for answers."

Hiruko stopped swearing and looked at me, alarmed.

"Maybe I'll just ask Clotho. Or Cleo, as she called herself." I smirked. "She seemed to know a whole lot about you, that's for sure."

I'd hoped to get a rise out of Hiruko, name-dropping Clotho like that. Maybe I'd glean something from his reaction, or at least determine Hiruko's attitude toward the potential sister of Fate.

But Hiruko didn't react.

Instead, Hiruko froze. He stared at me with wide eyes, as still as though he'd been replaced by a wax simulacrum. Hard to read anything in a block of granite, and that's basically what Hiruko had become.

Too bad he couldn't remain a statue forever. His mask soon cracked when he bit his lip—and in his eyes I saw a spark of something bright and hot.

"You…you talked to Clotho?" he whispered.

He sounded shell-shocked. I frowned. "You mean you didn't know? I assumed you saw that."

The spark in his eye caught fire, then—and it flamed into searing _fear_.

"No—oh," Hiruko said. "Oh _no_." His smile portrayed panic, maniacal and pleading. "This is bad. This is really, really bad—"

I didn't need to ask why.

Two seconds late, I found out.

As always, Hiruko and I stood in a formless void. Shadows stretched in all directions below us, giving the illusion of ground where perhaps there was none. Behind Hiruko sprawled endless, featureless grey, a vast expanse of shapelessness that hurt to look at for too long. Eyes unfocused with nothing to focus on. The void appeared to ripple and pulse, like it might coalesce into a shape and lurch right at you if you stared for a second too long.

You can imagine, then, that when a black slash struck across the void, it was kind of hard to miss. One second empty grey pulsed at the cores of my eyes, and then a thin black line drew my vision the way a gunshot draws the ear. It almost hurt to look at, and then the black widened, bloomed into a dark flower of open space, and from it swam color and light on a backdrop of swirling, burning stars—

The color coalesced into Cleo, leather jacket and boots and sunglasses and all. She stepped from the black and became solid, and then the black behind her disappeared.

"Hello, Hiruko," she said with a toss of her cobweb hair. "Did you really think you could run from me forever?"

Hiruko let out a strangled 'eep' before darting behind me, where he crouched into my side like he thought I'd protect him. When I took a dramatic step away, hands held up in a 'what the hell' gesture, he stuck out his tongue.

"You little thief," Cleo continued. Her leather jacket flapped like wings of some dark beast as she strode toward him. Reaching into her jacket she said, "Give back what you took, or so help me…"

The scissors—copper, gleaming, ancient—appeared in her hand. Hiruko's eyes widened; his mouth curled in a pleased smirk. I don't know if his sudden confidence was merely playacted bravado or true self-assurance, but he stepped forward and peered at the scissors as though he weren't actually afraid of them at all.

"Oh, ho!" he chortled. "So Atropos finally learned to share, I see? Siblings have _such_ trouble learning to share." A wink at Cleo, conspiratorial and overstated. "I would know."

"Can it, brat," Cleo snapped. She grasped the scissors by the hilt, holding them in front of her body the way fencers hold a foil. "And these scissors aren't all she shared."

The scissors—no, the abhorred shears, I reminded myself—gleamed like they'd caught fire. The glare intensified like a star burning its last hurrah, shooting from the base of the shears in a long, thin arc. I shielded my eyes with a curse.

When the light faded, and I could look again, the scissors had lengthened into a sword: a thin-bladed rapier. A seam down the length of the blade that meant it could still probably function like scissors if Cleo—Cloth, I reminded myself, because at this point I think I believed her true identity—needed them to function as such.

Hiruko took a step back when he saw the sword.

This time, it was Cleo who smirked.

"That's right. I mean business." She hefted the sword higher. "Now give it back. Give back what you took from us, Hiruko."

Hiruko placed a finger on his chin as if thinking. Crystalline blue eyes rolled toward the ceiling in contemplation.

"Hmm. Let me think," he said—and then his eyes snapped to Cleo in a spark of blue fire. "How about 'no'?"

The finger on his chin shifted toward his ear. With a tug and a twist he pulled the earring free—and from it spilled a thousand strands of fishing wire.

My father in my past life had been an avid fisherman. I couldn't count the time I'd been made to untangle fishing wire, strands cutting viciously into my soft fingers until the clear line stained pink with my blood. I knew at once the material when I saw it—but it behaved in ways I'd never seen.

I wasn't sure where this wire came from, to be honest. I certainly hadn't seen any on Hiruko's person before he took the hook from his ear. Connected to the base of the hook in a shining knot of clear threads, strands of gleaming wire rippled and twisted across Hiruko's skin, through his hair, around his limbs, spreading outward in a flowing tangle of thread until the air around him gleamed like it had been filled with spider's web. He swung the hook through the air like a bell, twirling in place as he lashed the hook like the handle of a bullwhip. Shimmering, gossamer threads wove into a loose-weave tapestry, a complex cage of fibers cupping him like a cradle, and when Hiruko finally stilled, he stood in the center of a gossamer hurricane. The threads drifted on winds unseen and unfelt, buoyed aloft by forces I couldn't name.

"Shit," Cleo said, eloquently.

"I'm having too much fun to stop just yet," Hiruko chirped. He gestured with his free hand at the maelstrom of fishing wire. "What do you think, Clotho? Do you like my handiwork?"

"You," she said, but she stopped. The sword dropped to her side; grey eyes gleamed silver with cold horror. "What have you _done_ to it?"

Hiruko pouted. "Meanie. I've only made some minor adjustments." He smiled with patronizing pity. "Your work is lovely, but it needed a fresh eye. Even you can admit that, right?"

Her hand tightened around the sword. "Fuck you, Hiruko. We trusted you, and this is how you repay us?"

He tittered. "Oh. So ungrateful. Oh well. I suppose even geniuses will have their critics." His eyes slid my way, then, with another pitying smile. "Sorry, Keiko. I'll commit to your little bargain another night."

He held up his free hand—and when I saw that familiar gesture, something inside me snapped. I rolled my eyes, tilted my head so far back I almost fell over, and took a deep breath.

"Goddammit and _fuck_!" I bellowed.

Neither godling nor Fate had anticipated that reaction, it seemed. Both of them gasped and stared at me like I'd grown antlers. I threw up my hands and stomped in place, unable to contain my agitation.

"Really?" I said, words all a-drip with acerbity. "Really, Hiruko? _Again_? You're just gonna banish me as soon as it gets good? Banish me from _my own dream_? Again? Because it's getting old." I threw up my hands again, with shaking, angry vigor. "You could at least _try_ to come up with something fresh, but no! But _no_! You'll just make me wake up and that's that, you unoriginal troll!"

Hiruko blinked in abject surprise. Cleo laughed, loud and barking.

"He's an ass, isn't he?" she said.

"Oh, like you're any better!" I snapped, and now it was Cleo blinking at me. "Remember how I just got to asking the good stuff, and you just disappeared when I started talking? The two of you are no different as far as I'm concerned. Both of you are _annoying_." I shooed them like they were nothing more noteworthy than bumbling pigeons blocking my way on a sidewalk. "So go on! Go play your little war games, fight your little fights, scheme your little schemes—but please. Do me the courtesy of doing it in someone _else's_ head, because I'm _done_! I'm _out_! I'm sick and tired of this bullshit and you both _suck_!"

"Keiko—" Hiruko said.

"Nope! No! Nuh-uh!" I wagged a finger at him—my middle one. "Don't you 'Keiko' me. I'm done being your little plaything, so get up and get out of my goddamn head!"

Cleo stepped toward me. She said "Keiko" with comforting urgency, the way my old life's grandfather would try to gentle a panicked horse. "Keiko, Keiko, please—"

"Oh, shove it up your ass, Cleo," I snarled. "I'm in no mood to be placated. You know as well as I do that 'Keiko' isn't even my name, and _neither of you_ are my friends."

And with that—I made myself wake up.

Not entirely sure how I did it. One minute I beheld Cloe and Hiruko in my dreams, and the next they both looked stunned and maybe a bit horrified, and the next I jolted awake in my bed. Moonlight streamed in the window like bolts of soft, rippling cloth.

I lay in my bed that night and wondered what the hell I was supposed to do now. I'd have to talk to Kagome. I'd have to go to the library like I'd promised, do my research—but first I'd organize my questions. I reached beneath my mattress and pulled out one of my many dozen notebooks. Inside of it I wrote everything I'd learned from Jii-chan, and every question that came to mind after tonight's ordeal.

How are Hiruko and Cleo connected?

What did Hiruko steal from Cleo?

Is Cleo friend or foe?

And what is Hiruko's final goal?

When sleep claimed me again, my dreams remained empty, save for echoes of the questions I'd asked in the waking world. I resolved to address them as soon as I could and put this mystery to bed before it drove me up the wall.

Too bad for me, I didn't get enough time to explore my questions fully.

Before I could get to the bottom of the mystery of the godling and the Fate, Yusuke returned to life. He came back like a freight train, momentum unstoppable—even when set against the obstacles of all my plans and subplots.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter got WAY out of hand and went on longer than expected, but I needed to cram in a bunch of loose ends before Yusuke's return next chapter, so here we are. Be warned: scenes that feel like "filler" might become important later on.
> 
> Can anyone find the Futurama quote in here?
> 
> The Kurama oneshot I promised last week is almost finished. Also expect another Kurama deleted scene that was supposed to go in this chapter but didn't fit.


	31. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiko and Kuwabara face their fears.

 

Despite my occasional flair for the dramatic, the spotlight doesn't appeal to me. I get too nervous to stand in its hot light—nervous and _sweaty_.

A few weeks after learning the truth of Hiruko's origin, and after a very eventful weekend, when I went to school I kept my head down and did my very best to blend into the wall. Amagi and Junko weren't fooled and jumped on me the minute they saw me, despite my efforts to remain invisible, but Kaito reacted in a markedly different fashion. He looked up from his book when I arrived for lunch and said, "You're late."

No other reaction. No commentary, no widening of the eyes, no questions.

When Minamino arrived a minute later, he stopped midway through 'hello' and stared.

"What?" I touched the back of my cold neck. "Cat got your tongue?"

He immediately schooled his features into a less curious expression. Still, I could see the questions brimming behind his mild façade.

"Apologies," he said in that rich silken voice of his, "but—your _hair_?"

I touched my neck again, conscious of every little breeze brushing my bare nape. Sometimes I reached up to grab my hair, pull and twist it between my fingers to cope with stress, but in those moments I tangled my fingers in nothing but my shirtfront.

"Yeah," I said, running my hands over my short, thick locks. "I got a little trim."

Minamino lifted a brow at my bland understatement. Kaito merely lowered his book and peered at me, lips pressing into a confused line.

"Is your hair shorter?" he asked.

Minamino's brow rose even higher. "She cut off more than a foot of hair, by my estimations."

Another searching look in my direction. Kaito shrugged and raised his book again.

"Oh," he said. "I hadn't noticed."

"Kaito—her hair was even longer than mine." Minamino stared at our bespectacled friend in utter disbelief. "How could you not notice?"

Unamused eyes appeared over the top of Kaito's book.

"I suppose I was distracted by the bandages on her chest and arm," he said. "Those seemed slightly more important than a haircut, by my humble estimation."

Ugh—how had he noticed? I thought my winter uniform concealed the bandages. I tugged my collar and my sleeve to cover any edges peeking from my clothing, wincing as adhesive tugged my sensitive skin, but Minamino—more like Kurama, given the intensity of his stare—swung his eyes in my direction before I could completely hide the evidence.

"Of course," he intoned. "I noticed them as well. I merely thought I'd begin with the most obvious change to Yukimura's appearance."

I met his stare with insouciance and a shrug.

"Rough weekend," I said, in lieu of a real explanation.

"Yes. I can see that," Kurama said, in lieu of a sardonic what-the-hell-aren't-you-telling-me.

"I'd ask if you went through a bad breakup," Kaito cut in, "but the bandages suggest a more harrowing story…unless, of course, there is someone Minamino and I might be compelled to murder on your behalf."

"I don't know if I should be creeped out or touched, that you basically just offered to kill any abusive boyfriends in my life," I said, because…aww! How cute, in a totally weird way! Even Kurama looked oddly in tune with Kaito's logic, offering me a disarmingly innocent smile. I chose to ignore that; thinking of how the fox might enact revenge (even on someone who deserved it) chilled me to the bone. "But why would you assume I went through a breakup because I cut my hair?"

"It is my understanding that women often cut their hair when they go through an abrupt life change," Kaito said. "Breakups are the cliché example of an impetus for this behavior. But as I said, the bandages suggest an alternative explanation." He licked a thumb and turned the page of his book, though I don't believe for a second he'd actually read anything. "Furthermore, I have it on good authority that you do not date under any circumstances, reducing the likelihood of a breakup to zero."

Kurama frowned at me, then. I rolled my eyes.

"Leave it to you to turn my new haircut into a chance to show off your deductive skills," I carped. Walking past Kurama and Kaito, I plopped down on the window sill and reached to adjust—shit, no pigtails. This would take some getting used to.

Kurama watched me with expression shrewd and searching. "If not a breakup, may I ask what prompted this change?"

Careful to only touch the edges, I traced a finger over the bandages on my arm.

"It's a long story," I said.

"Then it's a good thing we have all lunch," came Kurama's silken reply.

One look at his charming, hard-eyed smile told me I couldn't avoid telling them the truth about what happened.

… _most_ of the truth, anyway.

* * *

The city watch vans circled my neighborhood like buzzards, announcing that despite the cold weather, dry conditions had led to multiple fires in the area. Residents should be on high alert for sparks catching on dry debris, and to keep their eyes peeled for arsonists. Two fires lit that afternoon appeared to be the handiwork of a firebug; don't let your home fall victim next!

As soon as I heard the messages, I knew. I knew the way I'd known Yusuke would die, when I heard his name over the loudspeaker at Sarayashiki.

I knew that today, I would have to run into a fire to save Yusuke's life.

And I had to do it, too. Yusuke had to throw that egg to save my life. If he didn't, the beast within would eat him alive, and he'd never come back to life.

Risking my life, then, meant saving his.

…only did it count as risking my life when I knew he'd come to my rescue and save it?

But _did I_ know he'd save it?

Maybe, if I'd changed too much about our relationship…maybe he wouldn't throw that egg. Maybe the fire would consume me as Yusuke fell prey to the call of self-preservation. But that was impossible, right?

…right?

Packing up my things and leaving his body comatose in the house felt wrong, but I had to do it to give the arsonist the chance to set that fire. I left the house when I heard the vans and wandered to the shopping district, prattling an excuse about going shopping to benefit any prying (not to mention ghostly) ears. Tried to look casual in case Botan was watching, of course—a difficult feat when questions of fate, love, bonds, and destiny ran through my head like a roadrunner on crack. I played it cool while I shopped, keeping my eyes on the sky as I searched for a column of smoke in the direction of Yusuke's house.

The moment I saw a ribbon of black stain blue, I turned tail and dashed back the way I'd come.

Even though I knew Yusuke would save me (right?) I still had to steel my nerves before dumping a bucket of water over my head and charging toward the house. I had to do this, I had to do this, I had to do this, I had to! The mantra screamed inside my head as I fought the crowd, pushing through them toward the front door. A few people tried to stop me, of course. I rounded on them with a snarl, recycling a line of Keiko's dialogue so I could call them cowards—and I meant it, too, in that moment. I told them someone was inside, but they still grabbed at my clothes and tried to hold me back.

"My best friend is in there!" I screeched at them, wrenching myself away. "Don't you _fucking_ touch me!"

Despite my big words, fear gnawed my gut like a hungry coyote. How had Keiko done this without the knowledge Yusuke would save her? How could she have been that selfless, that brave? My whole body shook like a taut bowstring as I tore myself from the grasps of strangers, but I tried not to think about how dangerous this was as I turned to face the flames.

I had to save Yusuke.

I _had_ to.

But how could I, when I was so afraid? My limbs quaked with every step, with every movement—but, no. Don't think of it that way.

I had to think of these limbs as _Keiko's_ , not my own.

Right now, I couldn't afford to be myself. I couldn't afford to listen to anxiety, to the voice of fear shouting deafening condemnations in my skull. I had to put myself aside and just let go, give in to being Keiko—strong, brave, indomitable Yukimura Keiko. A woman far braver than my past self had ever been. I had to stop thinking of myself, right now, and simply fulfill Keiko's destiny.

Yusuke's life depended on it. It depended on me letting go of my ego and becoming a woman I was not.

Somehow, against all odds, against my own sense of self-preservation both physical and spiritual…in the wake of that realization, my shaking ceased.

My fear abated, and I plunged headlong into the conflagration.

My newfound determination didn't dull the pain of crashing into a burning building, unfortunately. A gout of flame spouted from the door when I pushed it open; my eyes watered, nose streaming from the smell of burning hair and wood. I tugged my sweater over my mouth and nose and pushed my way inside, picking past the burning couch and coffee table, dodging debris when it fell from the smoldering ceiling. I relied mostly on memory of the house because the heat—the pulsating, suffocating heat—made seeing almost impossible. Breath came in hot gasps as I trekked through the burning wreckage and burst through the door into Yusuke's room, air filling my lungs like boiling water poured into pitiful, thin balloons.

I shut the door behind me. It was hot in here, but nothing had caught fire (yet). I sucked down a great gulp of smoke-free air and ran to Yusuke. Offering silent thanks to Yusuke's caregivers and their tutelage, I removed his IVs and feeding tube and strapped his catheter bag to his leg (no way was I touching Yusuke's dick, emergency or no emergency). I just hoped and prayed that whatever magic had brought him back to life would sustain him though the ordeal to come. Just hang in a little longer, Yusuke, just hang in there…

I took off my soaked cardigan and wrapped it around his thin frame to protect him from the fire. Then I wrapped him in a blanket, hefted him over my shoulder, and kicked open the bedroom door.

The fire surged forward like a living, hungry beast, licking against the arm I threw up with a lash of searing pain. I screamed and stumbled back, but sparks had ignited the bed behind me.

No way through but forward, Keiko.

Get moving before you get killed.

The carpet—cheap and made mostly of plastic, I guessed—had melted more than burned. It stuck tackily to the bottoms of my shoes as I slogged through the house, sucking at my feet like quicksand. I yelped when we reached the middle of the living room and a ceiling tile fell on top of us. I thrust out my arm, screaming yet again as fire seared my skin. When I felt embers trickle down the collar of my shirt I tried to let out another scream—only this time smoke clogged my lungs. I choked, coughed, spat out black saliva as my hair started to smolder. My knees weakened as my vision swam, lack of oxygen turning my impaired vision even blurrier. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't scream, _oh Yusuke, where are you?_ I couldn't smell anything but smoke—

This is where I die, I thought in an adrenaline-fueled burst of clarity.

But then, in the scant space between seconds, something changed.

One second I thought, briefly, that I might actually die here. One second, I could only smell choking, suffocating smoke. The next, an acrid chemical tang undercut the scent—a familiar smell. One I'd been smelling for years. One that my heart identified before my brain could catch up. I relaxed the second I smelled it, lips curling in a comforted smile as it wafted like a cool breeze across my face. It smelled like home and safety, a warm hand and an open heart.

I opened my eyes

The fire had turned blue.

Out of nowhere, a cool wind sprang up, zephyr spiraling past me and into the fire like a spear thrown by steady hand. The fire rippled and shifted, a whirlpool of empty space opening amidst the flames in a tunnel leading—

The front door.

The front door lay at the other end, unobstructed by flames at last.

And then, I was not alone.

Kuwabara ran through the door a moment later, with a scream of my name so desperate for a second I thought _he_ might be in pain. I screeched his name in return, handing over Yusuke's comatose body so he could carry it from the house. We stumbled out together, my hand clasped tight in his, and collapsed on the ground near the edge of the property in a heap. I lay there panting, clearing smoke from my lungs with vicious, bone-shaking coughs. Eventually I wretched, stomach heaving as the last inhaled bits of ash and cinder forcefully left my body. Kuwabara patted my back and murmured comforts until I could speak. Fresh, cold winter air bit at my face like snapping teeth.

"Yusuke," I rasped, vision still full of soot. "Is he—?"

"He's fine, I think," Kuwabara said. He looked around, at the crowd staring at us and the firemen rushing toward the house. "But Keiko, it's not safe—"

He didn't have to say more. Yusuke had died, and as far as the public knew, we were carrying the corpse of a dead boy. I nodded and stood up. Kuwabara joined me, Yusuke slung across his back like a sack of potatoes.

"I know where we can take him," Kuwabara said. He grabbed my hand. "C'mon. Follow me."

Eyes sooty and stinging, mouth full of grit, body thrumming with energy—I didn't question Kuwabara. I grabbed his hand back and ran after him up the street.

If I trusted anyone to take care of Yusuke—and of me—it was Kuwabara.

* * *

After a few minutes of lung-wrenching running, we stood in front of Kuwabara's house. Bigger than expected, two stories loomed above us behind a bit of yard out front. Kuwabara trotted right up the front steps, but I hung back and stared at the flowerbeds by the porch. Kuwabara glanced at me over his shoulder.

"Right," he said. "You've never been to my house." He beckoned me with an impatient wave. "Nobody'll bite ya! Let's get Yusuke inside. C'mon!"

Despite his assurances, I had my doubts…because inside I knew I'd likely encounter Shizuru. No telling how that reunion would go. Did she even remember me? We'd met years ago, after all. Maybe she'd be suspicious of the same girl from the playground worming into her brother's life so many years later, and—

No. Now was not the time. My worries were less important than Yusuke's health. We needed to get Yusuke examined by his doctor, and to do that I needed a phone, so I had no choice but to follow Kuwabara inside.

We found Shizuru in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke out the window above the sink. Her hair had grown to the length in the anime, but she still rocked dapper menswear, same as she had as an unimpressed teen girl. The minute she saw us she dropped her cigarette in the drain and turned on the sink to drown the embers—and thank god for that, because when I smelled that smoke, my stomach clenched with sudden nausea. Shizuru looked at the bundle in Kuwabara's arms and lifted one well-plucked eyebrow.

"Wow, baby bro," she said. "You making friends with dead people now?"

"Shut up, Shizuru, this is an emergency!" he said. He took Yusuke through the kitchen and into the living room beyond. "Keiko, should we call Atsuko?"

"No telling where she is, but I've got Yusuke's doctor's number memorized." I looked at Shizuru and bowed. "Hello. I'm sorry to barge in, but can I use your phone? It really is an emergency."

She studied me a second, sizing me up like a piece of brisket at the market. Apparently I passed muster because she tossed me the handset of the cordless phone on the wall without a word. I dialed the number of Yusuke's doctor and hurriedly told the nurse what had happened. She gasped when I mentioned the fire, but I didn't pause to give her the juicy details. Yusuke needed his doctor, _now_.

"We'll send an ambulance immediately," she said, "but where should we send it—?"

Something touched my shoulder. I flinched, but it was only Shizuru handing me a piece of paper between two fingers. I recognized it as a phone bill and for a minute I had no idea why she'd handed it to me—but then, oh, that was their address at the top of the letter. Perfect. I shot Shizuru a thankful look as I read the address to the nurse.

The next ten minutes passed in a flurry of activity. I called my mother and told her what happened, and what was happening now, and asked her to track down Atsuko, or at least go to the hospital and wait for Yusuke to show up. I promised to meet her there as soon as I could. Then I checked Yusuke's vitals. He seemed to be breathing OK on his own; his pulse beat faint but steady under my fingertips. So far so good. We arranged him on the living room couch where hopefully he'd be comfortable—and when that was done, my strength failed me. I sat heavily in one of the kitchen chairs and put my head in my hands.

It was done.

It was _done_.

Yusuke had survived the fire. He'd sacrificed the egg to save my life.

All according to plan. No rules broken.

_Suck it, Hiruko!_

Kuwabara's big, gentle hand descended on my shoulder. I tangled my fingers in his, squeezing to acknowledge him and provide comfort in return. I heard a siren in the distance, far but getting closer.

"I think they're almost here," he murmured.

And so they were. I had only a moment to rest before they pounded on the door and whisked Yusuke away. I started to follow, to get into the ambulance with him, but the paramedics shook their heads.

"Only family can ride in the back," they said.

"He's basically my brother," I snarled, trying to get my leg over the back bumper, but Kuwabara dragged me off before I could do anything stupid. We watched in silence in the middle of the street as they took Yusuke away with a blare of strident sirens.

And then those sirens faded, and we were alone.

"Well. Time to go, then," I said. Before I could run after the ambulance like Forest-Gump-determination, Kuwabara caught me by the arm.

"Keiko—take a minute to breathe, OK?" he said. His dark eyes glittered with concern, blocky brow furrowed as he searched my face. I didn't move when he swiped a thumb across my cheek. "Geez. You're covered in dirt!"

I touched my face. I expected my fingers to come away sooty, but they were already stained black. I stared at them in disbelief before scrubbing a hand over my face. Mealy dirt rubbed hard into my skin. Oh god. What did I even look like right now? I spread my arms and looked down at my clothes—oh. My shirt had been yellow earlier. Now it was brown and black and _ruined_. I lifted my collar to my nose and inhaled, but I couldn't smell anything but the scent of pervasive smoke.

"Do…do I smell like an ashtray?" I asked.

Kuwabara looked away—but he nodded.

"Oh." I paused. "Um. I guess I'll go home and—"

"Sorry. But you're not going anywhere."

Shizuru stood on the porch. She'd lit up another cigarette, watching us the way a cat watches a bird through a window.

"Not while you look like _that_ , anyway," she said. She jerked her head toward the door. "C'mon. You can shower here, borrow my clothes. And we'll fix your hair while we're at it."

I frowned. "My hair—?"

I grabbed at my chest where my pigtails normally lay, but my fingers encountered only one pigtail. I patted my head and neck, gingerly searching for my hair, eyes widening when I found only one tail where there had once been two. I lifted my eyes to Kuwabara's and gaped at him.

"My hair?" I repeated.

His cheeks colored. "Um. It's—it doesn't look bad, honest!"

"Liar," Shizuru said, sparing no time for niceties. "She looks like hell."

Kuwabara stammered something about tact; Shizuru laughed. Without a word I walked up the steps and went indoors. Shizuru showed me to the bathroom upstairs without speaking. Only when I stepped past the door did she say, "I can wash those clothes if you want, but I'm pretty sure they're ruined."

"You…you can just throw them out," I said.

"Sure." She grabbed the doorknob. "I'll bring you new clothes once you're in the shower."

"OK."

She left me alone…alone except for my reflection, staring at me from the mirror above the sink. I barely recognized myself at first. Huge, dark eyes stared out of a face covered in ash. Though a pigtail hung down from the right side of my head, the left bore only a ragged fringe of ruined hair. Must've gotten burned off when that debris fell on me.

My mom had really liked my hair.

I'd always considered pigtails juvenile, but my mom was going to pitch a fit when she saw this. People would be able to hear her scolding in the next prefecture when she found out I'd run into a burning building.

For no reason whatsoever, my eyes pricked with tears.

Half of the water that cleaned my face, I suspected, came not from the shower I eventually took, but came rather from the fountain of my eyes—eyes that wept with grief for my hair, and the aftermath of peril, but mostly from the feeling of stark, intense relief bubbling painful inside my chest.

Yusuke had sacrificed the egg.

Yusuke was coming back to life.

_I hadn't fucked up canon, after all._

* * *

All told, I came out of the fire ordeal with only minimal injuries. My chest and forearm both sported slick, red, bubbling burns, which I made very sure not to scrub or agitate as I washed my ruined hair and soaped my overheated flesh. They only hurt when I touched them, thank my lucky stars. When the water stopped running black, and when I'd scrubbed the last of the soot from my skin, I dressed in a pair of women's running shorts and a man's soft t-shirt. The neckline hung low off one shoulder, keeping the burn on my chest exposed and away from chafing cloth.

"You OK in there?"

I jumped, but it was just Shizuru with gauze and ointment. I dressed my wounds under her watchful eye (conscious all the while that I was two inches away from flashing a boob in this oversized shirt). She held up a hand when I made to leave the room.

"Wait," she said.

She left, then retuned bearing a chair, a sheet, and a small, zippered black bag of dubious purpose. I eyed the bag with a raised brow.

"I'm not letting you leave with your hair like that," she said.

"Oh, right. Your brother mentioned you're a beautician." I smiled. "Are you any good?"

"Kid, count yourself lucky I'm not charging for this. My haircuts are worth gold." Shizuru thrust the chair toward me. "Sit."

Shizuru cut my hair for me right there, sheet draped around my shoulders to catch spare clippings. She murmured she was sorry to see such pretty hair get burned to a crisp, but I just shrugged.

"About time I updated my look," I said. "Pigtails are pretty 'young.'"

"Yeah. And you've been wearing them for, what…five years now?"

I met her eyes in the mirror above my head. Even if she hadn't been holding a pair of very sharp scissors next to my ear, the cold, hard look she shot me would've chilled my bones regardless. As it stands, I took a deep breath and tried very hard not to look like I was about to throw up. Certainly felt like I might toss my cookies at any moment. My pulse fluttered beneath my burned skin like moths trapped under tissue paper.

"You wore them the first time we met," she continued. Shizuru ran a lock of my hair between her fingers, then sheared it with a precise snip. "On that playground. You remember, right?" A long, measured, searing stare. "And don't try to play me. I'm not my brother and I won't fall for it."

Of course she wouldn't fall for it. This was _Shizuru_. When it came to the preservation of my secrets, I counted her among the three most dangerous threats in this world alongside Kurama and Genkai.

Of course she recognized me.

Of course she remembered.

I'd been a fool to think she wouldn't. She'd just been waiting to bring it up until Kuwabara left the room. I'd jumped the gun, thinking I'd escaped her eagle eyes. Too distracted by Yusuke to read the signs, I guess.

"Yes," I said. Better to admit the truth than play a game with someone like Shizuru. Wearing a mask would do no good here. I met her eyes with candor. "I remember."

"Thought so." She smirked, but fondly. "Too bad my baby brother doesn't remember you."

"Well, we were a lot younger then," I said. "And you were older than us. So your memory is probably clearer."

She hummed, acknowledging my point. Her hands touched my scalp with firm delicacy. For a few minutes she cut my hair in silence. I closed my eyes.

"Was wondering when I'd see you again," she said. "So what's your deal? You stalking Kazuma or something?"

Shizuru didn't sound particularly worried, which I counted as a small victory on my part. I resisted the urge to shake my head and said, "No. Your brother and I went to the same school until recently, by chance."

She hummed again. "I heard you got kicked out."

Took a fair bit of willpower not to look uncomfortable beneath her intense scrutiny. "Yeah."

She didn't reply for a minute, concentrating on my haircut. She didn't look at me when she spoke. I guess she knew I hung on every word.

"Our family has a tendency to attract weird bullshit," she said. "We sense things. Call it intuition. I don't get anything bad from you…but you're an odd one. So I'm assuming you're sort of like us. Maybe you attract weird bullshit, too."

I couldn't help but wince. "Yeah. You could say that."

"You planning on dragging my brother into that bullshit?"

Although she spoke with casual indifference, a threat unspoken lurked beneath her calm exterior. _Hurt my baby brother and you die._ Shizuru didn't need to say it. I heard her loud and clear.

"I would never, ever hurt your brother," I said. "He's the best friend I have."

The scissors paused in their snipping.

"You mean that?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered, instantaneously and firm. "I mean what I say."

"I remember you saying that to me before. At least you're consistent." She scowled. "Whatever your deal is, it's clear you didn't meet my brother and become friends with him by chance. Not after all these years, and not after what you said on that playground."

"I…didn't plan on being his friend." And that was the honest truth. "It just sort of happened."

She didn't react—but then she shook her head.

"Hmmph. I believe you." She looked troubled by her own admission, eyes downcast as she trimmed my hair. Soon her lips curled in a subtle smile. "Kazuma's been talking about his new friend Keiko for months now. We've been teasing him about getting a girlfriend. Was wondering when he'd bring her by. I got a nagging feeling she'd be interesting, but…I didn't expect _you_."

I shrugged, smile apologetic and cheesy—'yeah, I'm here, oops!' Shizuru chuckled, a low caress of throaty humor.

"Is my baby brother aware that his best friend is Volcano Girl," she asked, "or was he too busy gloating that he'd made friends with a pretty girl to notice?"

At first I only registered the compliment, ears heating under my shortening hair (hey, Shizuru was super pretty and I'd had a bit of crush on her even before seeing her in real life). Then the first part of her comment sank in. I sat up a little straighter. "Volcano Girl?"

Shizuru's eyebrows rose. "He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Ask him." She put down the scissors and ran her fingers through my hair, lifting the roots from the base of my scalp—it felt nice, and she stopped too quickly. "All done."

When I looked in the mirror, I didn't really look like myself anymore—well. I didn't really look like _Keiko_ , I mean. In my old life I'd always worn my hair long. At one point it had fallen to my hips. Keiko's long hairstyle (even when worn in those despised pigtails) had felt like a callback to my previous existence. Long brown hair comforted me, as it was the one physical commonality Keiko and I possessed.

Short hair, barely brushing the collar of my borrowed t-shirt, felt and looked as foreign as waking up in a new body…OK, maybe not _quite_ that foreign. Still felt pretty weird, though. Luckily Shizuru appeared to know what she was doing. She'd layered the bangs and side pieces to frame Keiko's delicate features, highlighting the curve of her jaw and cheekbone with silky curls. I wasn't accustomed to the hairstyle, but even I had to admit this 'do suited Keiko better than the previous.

Caught between the shock of change and feelings of appreciation, I said, "It's nice."

Shizuru's glower could melt stone. "It's fucking _perfect_."

"Yeah. Sorry. You're right," I amended. "It blows the pigtails out of the water."

Leaning toward the mirror, I tugged at my bangs, experimenting with their fall. When I felt eyes on me I looked up and found Shizuru staring, a frown etched lightly across her mouth. I met her stare and quirked a brow.

"Um…is something wrong?" I asked when she didn't say anything.

Shizuru flinched like I'd startled her from a deep sleep, though she covered with a laugh at her own expense. A smile haunted the corners of her mouth when she said, "Like I said a long time ago—you're not what you seem. Trying to put my finger on how." She tossed her hair. "Anyway. Like I said last time, don't hurt my baby bro."

Her earlier undercurrent of unspoken threat had faded, thank my lucky stars. Still, best not tempt fate. I nodded and said, "I care about your brother very much. I'd never let him get hurt."

Shizuru's small smile faded into solemn, contemplative examination. We stared into each other's eyes via the mirror for a quiet moment, until she ducked her head. Her smile returned, head shaking as though she'd heard a really bad joke.

"I believe you mean that," she murmured. Then she looked over her shoulder toward the bathroom door and barked, "Kazuma!"

Her voice echoed in the tiled bathroom like a gunshot. Immediately Kuwabara yelped from somewhere far off in the house; two seconds later his huge feet pounded up the stairs.

"Yeah, sis?" he said from the other side of the door.

Shizuru glided over and pushed the door open, free hand waving in my direction. "Walk your friend home."

"Oh, sure." He looked past her at me—and then his mouth fell open. He shut it just as quickly, though. "Oh. Um. A-are you ready to go already, Keiko?"

"Yeah. I need to get to the hospital soon. Atusko'll need backup." I patted my hair like someone in an infomercial and batted my eyelashes. "And I gotta show Mom my new 'do!"

Kuwabara didn't react. He stood there with knees knocked, hands awkward and stiff by his sides, eyes on me, face turning pink. Shizuru rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the ribs—hard. I heard the thud of the impact from across the room.

"Yee-ouch!" Kuwabara said, jumping back a step. "What the heck was that for?"

Shizuru pinned him with a dead-eyed glare. "Tell the lady she looks nice, dumbass."

His eyes widened. "Oh!" And then he stared at the floor, face thoroughly reddened. "You look—very pretty, Keiko!"

Damn near thought his head would explode when he ground out the compliment, voice like rocks caught in a vacuum cleaner. I just laughed and stood up.

"Thanks," I said. I bowed low, conscious of the stinging skin beneath my bandages, of how light my head felt without all that hair to weigh it down. Bowing felt different than before, but not in a bad way. "And thank _you_ , Shizuru, for allowing me the privilege of experiencing your hospitality."

She huffed. "Where'd Kuwabara meet you, charm school?" She turned and waved over her shoulder in clear, uncaring dismissal. "Anyway. Beat it, both of you. I need a nap. Too much excitement for one day, that's for sure..."

No arguing with Shizuru. Both Kuwabara and I knew better than to disturb her when she requested space for a nap. We exchanged a look, put our fingers over our lips at the same time, and tiptoed out of the house like mice avoiding the wrath of a certain sharp-eyed cat.

* * *

Only took me a minute to realize Kuwabara had something on his mind. His shifty eyes, grunt-like-a-caveman responses, and shuffling feet gave him away. Kuwabara couldn't hide anything from me. I knew better than to press, though. I waited, idly chatting about the day's events, letting him work through what to say without any pressure. We'd walked halfway to my house before he finally found the words he'd been looking for.

Those words apparently started with: "Um. So."

I smiled, warm and supportive. "What is it?"

"Um. The fire." He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes wandering anywhere but my direction. "I was wondering…I tried to get in, to go after you, but I couldn't get past the door." He didn't seem to notice my shocked expression—he'd tried to go in after me? He'd tried to save me? Wow. Good ol' Kuwabara. He continued, "I touched the door but it was too hot to open. It didn't seem like I'd gotten there in time to help. But then I felt this weird…"

He stopped talking, shooting me a sidelong look of question, trepidation, and uncertainty. I stopped walking, glancing up and down the quiet residential street. No one nearby. Good. We could talk freely. Our only audience—aside from a certain ghost and his blue-haired companion, perhaps—was the houses lining the street, windows glinting golden in the afternoon sun.

"Yusuke saved me," I said.

Kuwabara blinked. "Yusuke…?"

"The fire…you saw it. It was blue, right?"

"Yeah." His shoulders sagged, tension draining from his eyes. "It was blue. So you saw it, too."

I hummed. "Yeah. I'd gotten burned really badly, and I had to shut my eyes against the smoke, but then…I smelled something." I smiled at that memory, even though I'd likely have nightmares of fire and smoke when I went to bed that night. "When I opened my eyes, the fire was blue, and a path to the door had cleared."

Kuwabara frowned. "What did you smell?"

"Uh…it smelled like Yusuke's hair gel." Admitting so made my ears heat a little, but I pushed the feeling of tender vulnerability aside. "I think he did something to save my life."

Kuwabara didn't speak. He just stared, face smoothing as his thoughts consumed him. I reached out and tangled my fingers in his sleeve.

"I had that dream, remember?" I said. "That he was coming back? And then this happened." I stepped close to him, voice low, urgent, and heartfelt. "Yusuke is out there. He's trying to come home—and he'll make it. I believe in him."

I thought Kuwabara would react with emotion, like he had when he first learned Yusuke had come back to life and intended to return. Instead he surprised me. He put his hand over mine and squeezed, meeting my eyes with an urgent expression of his own.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" he asked.

I blinked. That…had come out of nowhere. The short answer was 'yes,' but only in this life and in this world. I hadn't believed in ghosts (or any supernatural phenomenon, period) in my past life. No evidence suggested its existence, so I just didn't believe.

Truth be told, in this world I hadn't yet reconciled my atheism with the supernatural shenanigans of Yu Yu Hakusho. I still considered myself an atheist, even though I knew an afterlife of some sort existed and that demigods like Koenma walked the Spirit World. It's just that despite the existence of some 'supernatural' occurrences, nothing in Yu Yu Hakusho had ever pointed to the idea of a supreme being existing. Ghosts, souls, and demons existed here, but that didn't mean a supreme being did. Koenma and his father were as flawed as any human being. They didn't fit the bill of a true god. Thus, my atheism continued.

Ghosts, however? Evidence pointed to something that fit the traditional definition of a ghost. Evidence made room in my beliefs for the supernatural. Ipso facto…

"I didn't used to believe in them," I said, because I felt I should be honest. "But now, after everything I've seen since Yusuke died…"

That slightly noncommittal answer appeared to be enough for Kuwabara. He gripped my hand tighter, mouth pulling into a thin line. Light shined through his hair. It looked like spun amber in this context, coaxing ruddy highlights from the depths of his dark, narrow eyes. In a few years he'd grow into those ridiculous cheekbones and rugged jaw, I suspected. Maybe Shizuru's teasing about him getting a girlfriend wasn't too preposterous, after all.

"Keiko. There's…something I need to tell you," he said.

I frowned. "What is it?"

"You…you're probably wondering how I knew to come by Yusuke's house when I did, right?" he said.

I hadn't been wondering—because I knew from seeing the anime that Botan and the Tickle Feeling had led him there. Now that he mentioned it, it would be logical for Keiko to wonder, because Kuwabara's presence was more than a little coincidental. I pasted on my best puzzled expression, as though the thought hadn't occurred to me until he mentioned it. I fancied even Sir Patrick Stewart would approve of my acting ability just then.

"I've been so distracted," I said. "Now that you mention it, how _did_ you know to come by?"

He took a deep breath—and when he resettled his hand on mine, I noticed that it shook. Not dramatically, just a light tremor resonating through the length of his fingers. He licked his lips and swallowed before looking me dead in the eye.

Was Kuwabara…nervous? But what did he have to be nervous about?

"This is gonna sound crazy," he said, "but just let me talk and get it all out before writing me off as some nutjob, OK?

"I'd never do that to you," I assured him. "But OK."

"OK." Another deep breath, this time a shuddering breath that rattled in his barrel chest like nails in a jar. "Well, ya see, Keiko…I'm kind of psychic."

He told me everything, then—everything I already knew from the anime and manga, but he spoke as if revealing a secret he'd been hiding all his life, confession a popping balloon under the pressure of a sharp needle. The Tickle Feeling, seeing ghosts in his dreams, being followed by specters, phantom hands on his neck in the dark, cold whispers sending shivers down his back. He'd been experiencing it since he was a kid. People hadn't always believed him. People had mocked him for an over-active imagination and being a scaredy-cat when he didn't like being alone in the dark.

His bravado, his need to fight, his desire to be strong had all developed out of his need to protect himself, he said.

He'd gotten behind in schoolwork when concentrating became hard, and studying alone in his room at night had become impossible, he said.

"For years I've been coping however I can, but lately, the weird stuff has kicked into overdrive," he said, barely sparing time to breathe. "I'm sensing things I never sensed before. It's honestly getting ridiculous, and I just wish it would stop, y'know?" He looked exhausted just talking about it. "Sleeping is hard. Ghosts hover in my ear saying horrible things and—" He stopped, cheeks sallow, and shook his head. "Not the point. The point is I couldn't lie to you about it anymore. Since you seem chill with the whole supernatural thing, I just thought…I just thought since we're best friends, I should be honest with you. And I hope you're OK with that."

He stopped talking like a car hitting a brick wall. His chest rose and fell with near-panicked breath, eyes shining with hope and doubt and fear and supplication all at once. When I grasped his arm, the look changed. He looked at my hand like it might belong to one of the ghosts that haunted his nightly rest. My heart beat in my mouth like a drum.

"Oh, Kuwabara," I said. "I'm so sorry you've been going through that."

His chest visibly hitched. "You mean you believe me?"

"Of course I do." I offered him an empathetic smile. "You'd never lie to me, ever. And besides: My childhood friend died and came back to life and communicates with me in dreams. You seeing ghosts is _not_ outside the realm of possibility."

"Oh," he said. His head tilted back, face toward the wintry blue sky. "Oh, thank _god_."

I squeezed his arm a little tighter. "Are you OK?"

He didn't look at me right away. Kuwabara blinked up at the sky until he composed himself. I didn't say a word. Take all the time you need, honey.

"It's just—no one ever believes me aside from my sister, but she doesn't count," he said, voice thick with suppressed emotion. "I don't tell people about this. They already think I'm a delinquent. But a _freak_ on top of that?" He shook his head, eyes closing. "Okubo and the rest know about the Tickle Feeling, but even they don't know the worst of it." He tried to smile. Mostly failed. "I guess I was just afraid you'd think I'm a freak or something."

For all my forethought, planning, and knowledge of Yu Yu Hakusho...in that moment, I had no idea what to say.

It had never occurred to me that Kuwabara might not feel comfortable talking about his powers—but now that I thought about it, he'd never directly referenced them in my hearing. I hadn't considered that he might not reveal them to me until we become close, or that he might try to hide them…but this behavior made sense. The supernatural existed here, but common people didn't seem to realize it. And hell, late in the anime he'd actually tried hiding his abilities from his college classmates. There was a precedent for Kuwabara's secrecy, and I'd been too distracted by my own inside knowledge to even notice.

This confession of his was…was a sign of trust, really. A sign that he believed I wouldn't reject him, or be scared of him, or mock him like so many others.

A sign he thought I'd _believe_ him.

I knew what that was like, needing to be believed. Needing to feel like you weren't alone, and someone was there for you.

"I'd never think you were a freak," I said when words availed themselves. I swallowed and tried to think of something clever, something empathetic, something that would wipe the haunted look from his carved features. "I wish you'd told me earlier. I could've…made you dreamcatcher or something, to keep the bad ghosts away."

He laughed at my terrible suggestion, so that was nice. At least I hadn't stepped on a rake and offended him somehow. Still, he laughed way harder than he should've. I cocked my head to the side and scowled.

"What?" I said. "Do dreamcatchers not actually work?"

"No," he chortled. "I tried making one and it didn't do nothin'. But I probably did it wrong."

"Maybe we could get a book from the library and try again."

His eyed lit up like fireworks, warming me to my core.

"Yeah," he said, "we should!"

We walked to my parents' house chattering about his experiences with the supernatural, small though they were at this early stage in his life. When he dropped me off on my front porch, his smile could've powered an entire city block. He looked at me with gratitude I couldn't fathom and promised to stop by soon. He missed studying with me, he said. It had been fun, and he wanted to keep getting better at English even though he'd passed Iwamoto's test so many weeks before.

He wanted to tell me more about the ghosts, he said, and maybe go to the library and learn more about them, now that he wasn't alone.

* * *

Kaito and Minamino stared at me for a few seconds. Kaito pushed his glasses up his nose with one deliberate finger.

"So you ran into a burning building to save...your cat," he said.

"Yup." I flipped my short hair with exaggerated conceit. "I'm a hero."

"No," he deadpanned. "You're a _liar_."

"But she's only lying about _part_ of something," said Minamino (more like Kurama, given the look in his bright eye). "She's telling some truth, but not all."

I did my best not to shrink beneath his perceptive gaze. To recognize that I'd told him the truth about some things (like running into a fire) but to know I'd fudged others (like the identity of whom I'd saved)? That took skill. Kurama basically had superpowers, and not even the plant-based kind I already knew about.

Speaking of powers—what were the odds he'd ever tell me about his supernatural abilities like Kuwabara had? What would it take for me to get a confession like that? From Kuwabara the confession had been a sign of trust, but I got the feeling Kurama would not willingly tell anyone the truth of his demonic nature.

Not that I wanted him to. Our game of pun-based "chicken" was too much fun to give up, even if coming clean would simplify my life.

"Why, Minamino," Kaito said. "I didn't know you were such a psychology buff, to recognize deceit with such alacrity."

Kurama did not take his eyes off me when he murmured, "It's a hobby."

"Your other hobby appears to be prying into my personal life," I groused. I threw my hands into the air and rolled my eyes. "I ran into a burning building to save a beloved pet. What's so hard to believe about that?"

Good luck trying to find a lie in that, Kurama. I was responsible for feeding Yusuke. That basically made him my pet, didn't it?

Kurama and Kaito both still looked suspicious, but the bell rang and afforded me a reprieve from their incessant questions. Kaito, as per his custom, made sure to walk with me to a fork in the hallway and then accompany Minamino to class—still dutifully keeping Kurama and I away from each other when he could manage it, bless him.

Too bad for Kaito, Kurama and I had the last class of the day together. The redhead rapped his knuckles on my desk as soon as I slid into it and said, "Yukimura. Can you accompany me to the greenhouse after school?"

I eyed him with withering suspicion. "What, you wanna harvest my kidneys and feed it to a Venus flytrap or something?"

He coughed. "As their name purports, Venus flytraps eat flies, not kidneys."

"Yeah, I know." I patted my hair like I starred in a shampoo commercial. "But have you seen my fashion sense lately? It's pretty _fly_."

Kurama heaved a delicate, tired sigh at my (innocent, this time) pun. "I suppose. So can you make it?"

"Sure, sure." I stuck out my tongue when he walked away, muttering, "Sorry my puns _bug_ you."

Of course, I spent the rest of class wondering just what the hell he wanted, puns fleeing in the shadow of looming panic. After class he approached my desk with a polite smile, then escorted me to the greenhouse without saying anything revelatory whatsoever (that boy could fill the silence with idle, diversionary smalltalk like his life depended on it). By the time we entered the greenhouse's damp heat, I still had no idea what he wanted from me, and I didn't like that one bit.

I stopped just inside the door and planted my hands on my hips. "OK, mister. What did you want to get me in here for, anyway?"

I didn't like his charming smile one bit, either. "I have a present for you," he said.

My response was as immediate as it was emphatic: "I do not accept carnivorous plants."

So was his: "And I don't grow them."

My eyes narrowed. "Why don't I believe you?"

His eyes did, too. "What are you implying?"

Ah, yes. Our game of "chicken" was still on. We stared each other for a prolonged minute, assessing each other, wondering where the line between knowing too much and revealing too much lay. Eventually I sighed and thrust out my hands, fingers curling in a grabby-hands gesture.

"Never mind," I said. "Now gimme."

He lifted a brow. "So demanding."

"Nothing like a brush with death to make a girl appreciate random gifts." More grabby hands. "Well, don't leave me in suspense. Where's my present?"

He snorted, eyes closing, lips curving. The smile did something subtle to his features, lifting and lightening them in a way that highlighted the line of his jaw and the tilt of his eye. He looked…peaceful, when he smiled. It eased a tightness I hadn't realized lingered at the edges of his mouth.

It revealed a handsomeness that, at times, I was too pun-panicked to notice.

Kurama turned away and reached beneath a table covered in flowering plants. From it he pulled a small pot. In the center of it sprouted a small succulent plant, long triangular fronds covered in spikes, green flesh dotted here and there with milky white spots.

"This is—" he said.

"Aloe vera!" I interjected. For a second I hesitated (this was a plant from Kurama, after all) but then I took the pot from him with a smile. No reason the real Keiko wouldn't take this when its intention was so obvious, and no reason for Not Quite Keiko not to take it when his previously gifted plants had proved harmless. "Thank you! For my burns, right?"

"Right." He looked oddly impressed with me, for some reason. "You've used it before?"

"Oh, all the time. Put it on all kinds of bumps and scrapes as a kid." I eyed the little plant with fondness, burned flesh itching and stinging now that I was thinking about it. "It grew out back of my Grandma's house. She would always take cuttings and put them on sunburns."

"Interesting." Kurama studied me a moment. "It doesn't grow wild in Japan."

Uh oh. Shit. Leave it to a reference to my past to give me away. Ironic, really, when that's what I hoped to do to Kurama with all my puns.

"Well," I covered. "It wasn't wild. She planted it there." I changed the subject by bowing, pot held carefully upright. "Anyway. Thanks! I'll pop a cutting in the fridge for a bit and use it as a treatment on my burns tonight."

My lie seemed to satisfy the fox, although I confess it was hard to tell for sure. He smiled and said, "I hope you recover in short order. And oh, Yukimura?"

I paused midway to the door. "Hmm?"

"Your new haircut." A long pause, followed by a very stiff: "It…suits you."

I stared at him. He didn't move. In fact, he looked rather uncomfortable all of a sudden—like complimenting me hadn't been part of his original plan, and he didn't yet know how to handle his own actions.

Still. I'd never heard a compliment so _forced_ before.

"Wow," I deadpanned. "What an effusive commendation. Such a ringing endorsement of my new hair. I brim with confidence in the wake of your approval."

That produced another of those light-bringing smile of his. "Apologies. Allow me to amend my statement." His eyes glittered like leaves fallen in a clear mountain stream. "It looks _lovely_ on you, Yukimura-san."

I might've been older than I looked, but even I wasn't immune to the effects of a compliment from someone as attractive as Kurama. I covered the hitch in my breathing and the blush in my cheeks by sticking out my tongue—and concocting a rather daring pun, if I do say so myself.

"You're just happy to have the longest hair in the group again, you silver-haired bastard—sorry." I waved an apologetic hand, gosh-golly-gee, how silly of me to confuse that idiom. "Meant to say silver- _tongued_. Consider that a slip of mine."

He shook his head, still smiling—but the dangerous edge I expected to see in his eye stayed dull, unfocused, and distant. Huh. How weird.

"Of course it was." He turned toward the depths of the greenhouse. "See you tomorrow, Yukimura. And please. Avoid any more burning buildings, if you can."

"Will do, captain." I saluted. "See you tomorrow."

I left the greenhouse that day feeling proud of my pun. By the time I reached home, however, I'd begun to wonder why it hadn't elicited more of a reaction from the suspicious, taciturn fox. It had been the most in-your-face pun to date, by my reckoning, but he had merely smiled when I said it. That was weird, right?

Too bad I didn't have time to ponder what might be happening behind the scenes, to account for his distracted response. The restaurant was in full swing when I got home, and between running tables and finishing homework (not to mention talking with Atsuko on the phone about her move to a new apartment) I didn't have a moment's respite before falling into bed.

Not even my dreams gave me a moment to wonder, to think, to deliberate.

That night Yusuke took center stage in my dreams—and on that imagined stage, he glowed the color gold and asked me to kiss him back to life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In manga canon, Keiko meets Shizuru after the fire. Shizuru, a beautician in manga canon, trimmed Keiko's burnt hair. I wanted to explore how that meeting might have gone down, even if this is NQK and not Real!Keiko. Yay for exploring the unexplored!
> 
> Kuwabara hides his gifts in late manga chapters (from his college peers, mostly), so I expanded on that concept here. I doubt he'd broadcast his abilities to anyone but his close friends. That's why in a very early chapter he asked if Keiko had prophetic dreams, and why he looked disappointed when she said no. He was hoping he'd found a buddy.
> 
> Also, that put at the end was very bold. But there's a reason Kurama didn't react.
> 
> Also-also: Two new Kurama scenes have been added to Children of Misfortune (one from Kurama's POV, one a deleted scene of banter between him and NQK; Hiei appears in the former).
> 
> Also-also-also: the first chapter of a new story is up. It's Not Quite Keiko and Not Quite Kagome travelling to the past together, way before Kagome's canon should start. Will explore the reality of NQKagome's situation. Check it out if you're curious! Will be a short fic but I hope you like it.


	32. Story Might Take a While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko comes to a realization, then does what needs to be done.

She didn't even let me order something first. Kagome darted from the awning of the café and tangled her fingers in my sweater the minute she spotted me walking up the street. Eager anxiety had her bouncing in place like the cartoon tiger I'd named her after.

"So?" she demanded. "Yusuke, Yusuke, tell me about Yusuke! I want every last detail you've got, dammit, and I know you've got a lot of them squirreled away in that brain of yours!"

I grabbed Kagome's wrists and eased my hands into hers. She stared with apprehensive excitement, jiggling with energy her small body couldn't quite contain. It had been over a month since we'd last seen each other, though, so I suppose that's par for the course.

"You should sit down," I said. "This story might take a while."

* * *

Two weeks prior to meeting Kagome at the café, I ran into a fire to save my best friend's life, only for him to save mine, instead. That night I had a dream. As soon as I woke up the morning after the dream in which Yusuke asked me to kiss him, I walked to Atsuko's new place. She wasn't there (of course she wasn't) but Yusuke had been set up in his bed by his nurses. They gave me a key to the place—they knew me well enough by now to trust me with one, even more than they trusted the ne'er-do-well Atsuko—and left soon after. Not much to do for a coma patient, after all.

I waited until the door shut behind them to check out Yusuke.

True to the anime, his face wasn't glowing. Neither were his arms where they lay atop the covers. Part of me wondered if I should go to school and act like I didn't believe the dream, to stick with the anime, but…I didn't have the energy to pretend. I just didn't. Running to him at the last minute like Keiko had, with mere seconds to spare, felt far too risky for my tastes. Frankly, it sounded exhausting and superfluous. Best expedite this process and speed things up a bit, thank you.

I untucked the sheets from the foot of the bed and peered at my best friend's feet.

Golden and glowing like paper lanterns.

Yup.

This was happening.

I sat back on my heels, hands braced atop the mattress.

Even as contented warmth flooded my chest, a cold knot filled my gut like arctic water.

I hadn't expected this so soon after the fire. I mean, I knew he came back shortly after sacrificing the egg to save Keiko, but the next day? Koenma sure did work quickly. Must've fast-tracked this process somehow, or maybe he skipped Spirit World bureaucracy altogether. Special treatment for the potential Spirit Detective didn't seem too outlandish.

But still. I thought I'd have more time to prepare for this—for kissing my best friend.

My best friend, who was fourteen years old.

Who was a _child_.

What did that make me, then? A forty-year-old cougar? A _pedophile_? Heaving fucking forbid…

I walked to the head of the bed and ran a hand over Yusuke's forehead. The heart monitor and breathing machine peeped and whistled, keeping his body running even as his spirit ran amok elsewhere. Or maybe his spirit floated close to me right now, in the apartment, observing as I wondered what to do.

"Wondering what to do" sounds like I debated bringing him back to life—which of course wasn't the case. Of course I was going to bring him back. I'd never leave Yusuke dead.

But…

There were a lot of "buts."

The physical act of kissing didn't bother me—not in a broad sense. I'd had to make out with people on stage in my old life when I acted in plays. Kissing someone didn't mean you liked them, and I'd had practice keeping my emotions out of the physical act of kissing. Kissing only held as much emotion as you put into it. A chaste peck on the mouth? I could handle it.

I could handle it when it was other adults, I mean. And so could those other adults. Adults were mature enough (by and large) to recognize a necessary, staged kiss when the saw one.

But Yusuke wasn't an adult. He was a child.

Could _he_ handle it, I wondered?

In the anime, the kiss fundamentally changed Yusuke and Keiko's relationship. If I kissed him, would he imprint on me like an irritable baby duckling? Would he want to begin that will-they-won't-they romantic dance many fans found so engaging? Would I be obligated to date him, even though the thought of dating a teenager ( _any_ teenager, not just Yusuke) squicked me out in an absolutely disgusting way?

And if I did kiss him, and he did fall for me, and I did somehow get over my squick long enough to reciprocate his feelings (though of course that would never happen)…did that mean I had to be with him?

But what if my heart wasn't there?

Rejecting him could ruin our friendship. Could I risk that when I'd come to rely on him so much?

"Well, buddy," I murmured to the comatose boy. "You put me in a bit of a pickle, didn't you?"

Right then, right there in that moment, with teenage bodies and teenage brains and Yusuke's immature personality…the thought of being with him romantically didn't sit right. It felt _wrong_. He was a child. I was an adult. These were the facts, immutable and inconvenient. Give him another decade to mature, and maybe we could talk about dating. Maybe. If I could come to see him as an adult after knowing him since childhood, of course.

Time. I needed time to figure this out.

Too bad time was the one thing Yusuke didn't have.

"Oh god," I muttered. My lips screwed up. "I really have to kiss you, don't I?"

He didn't answer. I put my head in my hands.

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair at all.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, my mind was made up. Once Yusuke got to be an adult instead of an unruly kid (in, like, a minimum of a _decade_ ), maybe we could revisit the chance of something more than friendship, but as of that specific moment…I couldn't date a child. I couldn't fall in love with a child. I just wasn't capable of that.

I could offer him a kiss: chaste, practical, and necessary. But that was all.

And lucky for me, I didn't have to do it alone.

* * *

Said Kagome, "You know, I've had the same thoughts about Inuyasha." Her nose wrinkled. "Well. Sort of."

It was the first time she'd interrupted my story about bringing Yusuke back to life—surprising considering Kagome's chatty nature. I pursed my lips and asked, "What do you mean?"

Kagome sat back in her chair with a frown. "Well, your worries about the age difference don't really apply. Inuyasha even older than my combined ages. So that's not an issue." She met my eyes, anguish showing in the lines of her knit brow. "But do I _have_ to fall in love with him like Kagome did?"

She didn't need to explain. Her eyes said it all: we were doomed to loving whom Keiko and Kagome loved? Did we have a choice? Were we allowed to follow our own hearts, our own destinies?

Because I didn't have answers, I told her: "I wish I knew."

We sat in silence for a time. Eventually she sighed, slumping in her seat like a deflated balloon.

"You know, I never saw the whole anime," she said, "but I think I remember hearing that Kagome and Inuyasha's relationship was part of what destroyed the Jewel. So for the good of everyone, do I have to…?"

The question lingered on the thin, wintry air. I started to speak—though to say what, I'm uncertain—but Kagome shook her head. She shook her head like a dog and slapped her hands flat atop the café table between us. Dark eyes shined bright with irate determination.

"You know what?" she said. "Never mind! I _hate_ thinking about stuff like that! Just not fun, no ma'am." She sat back and waved, shooing the questions away like buzzing flies. "Enough of my belly-aching. Go on. What happened next?"

My lips quirked.

"What happened next is, I found reinforcements."

* * *

Kuwabara, at his core, is a somewhat predictable soul—at least insofar as his hobbies go. I leaned my elbow atop an arcade game, coaxed my lips into a lazy smile and said, "Mornin', Kuwabara. Fancy meeting you here."

Caught in the middle of a rally car race, he did at least two double-takes before realizing he knew the person looming over his video game. The big guy yelped like a puppy who'd been stepped on and leapt from his chair. Onscreen, his Porsche 911 Turbo crashed against a wall in a shower of pixelated sparks.

"Jumpin' Jehosephat, Keiko, you scared the bejeezus outta me!" he said with a finger pointed in my direction. The finger dropped when he frowned and blinked. "Wait. What the heck are you doing here?" Horror lit his eyes. "Hold on one minute. It's a school day! Are you playing a hooky?!"

"Yeah. But don't look so scandalized—you're playing hooky, too."

"Yeah, but _I'm_ a delinquent. _You're_ a model student." He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "You should go back to school right now. I mean it!"

"You and what army?" I quipped. I slung my body around the machine and plopped into the driving chair. "Anyway. So what's the occasion?"

He frowned. "Occasion for what?"

"For skipping school."

He stared. Then his cheeks turned the shade of a fire engine, or thereabouts.

"What, a guy's gotta have an occasion to skip?" he said, voice a tad higher than normal. "Can't just skip 'cause I felt like it? Why's there gotta be a reason, huh?"

I shrugged. "I mean. I guess there doesn't have to be a reason."

"Darn tootin' there doesn't." He turned up his nose, proud to have won the argument—or so he thought. "I just felt like playin' some games today, that's all."

I traced my hand around the edge of the game's plastic steering wheel.

"So you skipping today," I said, "doesn't have anything to do with the weird dream you had last night?"

It was almost cartoonish, the way Kuwabara's expression turned from blank to shocked to disturbed in the span of a few seconds. I'd struck the nerve I'd been aiming for, judging by this range of reactions. The big guy stared at me with horror-widened eyes and stammered, stuttered, spluttered: "How did you—I mean, why do you—I mean, I didn't have any dreams, I don't know what you're—"

"I know when you're lying," I deadpanned. "You didn't dream of kissing Yusuke because you have a subconscious crush on him, if that's what you're afraid of."

Kuwabara stopped talking. "Wait. How did you know I dreamed—?"

"Because I had the dream, too." I shrugged when his jaw dropped. "Smelled like Yusuke's hair gel again, so I figured he was trying to communicate something. And I figured he'd contact more than just me, so…"

"So this is really happening?" Kuwabara said, filling in the gaps when I trailed off. "Yusuke is going to—?" His cheeks colored again. "If I—if you—if one of us—?"

"Yup," I said, and because Kuwabara still looked so utterly terrified, I tossed my hair with a winning smile. "It's time our favorite sleeping beauty wakes the hell up."

* * *

Kagome cackled like a hyena. " _Please_ tell me you got Kuwabara to kiss him!"

I glowered. "You're a pervert, you know that?"

A flippant wink. "Guilty as charged."

"You're also incorrigible."

"And you love it."

"True. And you'll love what happened next."

* * *

Kuwabara and I waited in silence at Yusuke's bedside. The golden glow crept up his body, from feet to legs to hips to chest to face, like water rising in a bathtub. Outside the window a few birds chirped. Other than that, silence reigned.

"So…what happens now?" Kuwabara said when even Yusuke's hair started glowing. He hunched in a chair, dread visible in every single pore. "I mean, somebody's gotta do it. But who's gonna…?"

"It's gotta be me, I think," I said. "No telling where Atsuko is. And I wouldn't make you do this, obviously."

Kuwabara sagged, dread giving way to relief. But then he frowned and sat up straighter.

"Sorry, Keiko, but I gotta ask…are you comfortable with this?" he asked.

His concern—his sweet, touching concern—would've made me smile most days. Most days I'd crack a joke and tell him something frivolous, tease him for worrying over me so much.

Today, my breathing merely hitched, and I found myself unable to smile.

No. No, I wasn't comfortable with this. Kissing a child who had a history of being romantically interested in the character I inhabited left a foul taste in my mouth, literally and figuratively. But there was no way I could explain any of this to Kuwabara. I covered my unease by running my hands over my short hair, as though its new length distracted me.

"Yusuke is for sure going to tease me about it until the day we freaking die," I eventually grated out, "so maybe he should stay dead." I leaned over and flicked his forehead, channeling all my uncertain energy into an affectionate scowl. "Hear that, ya big jerk? I do this, you owe me!"

I thought I'd covered well enough, but when I looked up, Kuwabara was still staring at me. A blush crept high and hectic across his sharp cheekbones.

"Keiko. If you. Um." He took a deep breath. "If you really don't want to, I—I—"

"Stop." I put up a hand. "You look like you're gonna be sick."

He pressed his knuckled to his mouth, blush fading into pallor. I laughed. Good ol' Kuwabara. Always looking out for his friends.

"It's OK. Thanks for offering—really, I know that was painful—but it's OK." I looked down at Yusuke and the breathing apparatus covering his face. "Kissing him isn't a big deal."

Kuwabara's nausea faded under the weight of confusion. "It's not?"

"No. It's like giving CPR." Wasn't sure if I said that for my benefit or his. "No big deal."

Kuwabara looked suspicious. "Are you sure?"

I shrugged. "Whatever the case, a kiss is a small price to pay for getting him back."

He paused, eyes widening. Then he looked down at Yusuke's sleeping face.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I guess it is."

We sat in silence for a time, watching Yusuke glow like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Kuwabara seemed lost in thoughts I couldn't quite discern. Eventually I broke the silence with a laugh.

"Once he's back, we're gonna go to karaoke," I declared. "The two of you are gonna fight a lot. I'll kick both your asses and patch you up, we'll study together and—"

"Are you OK?" Kuwabara said.

I stopped. My voice had risen as I spoke, out of my control and cracking with emotion. I took a deep breath.

"Yeah," I said. "I just miss him so much." That was the stone cold truth, for all my reservations about the stupid kiss. "And now he's almost here…it's hard to believe."

"Do you think it'll work?" Kuwabara asked. "The kiss, I mean?"

"God, I hope so." If I kissed Yusuke for nothing, I'd track down Koenma and wring his neck myself. Standing up, I clapped my hands together and moved to Yusuke's side. He was glowing all the way now; the time had come. "OK. No sense beating around the bush. Here I go."

Kuwabara peered at me from between his fingers as I fiddled with Yusuke's respirator and began removing the tube. "Oh, Keiko! I can't watch!"

"Oh, grow up, you big baby," I groused. I fell quiet as I dealt with Yusuke's ventilator the way the nurses had shown me. Once it was removed and I'd wiped stray saliva from Yusuke's chin, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

"I better not be doin' this for nothin', understand?" I murmured in near-inaudible English.

I leaned down and pressed my lips to his.

As far as kisses go, it was as chaste as the kisses I'd given my mother and grandmother when they put me to sleep at night: warm, dry and soft and simple, accompanied by a rush of breath as he exhaled. Nothing to make the heart race.

So why, then, did my heart stammer like a nervous schoolboy when I kissed Yusuke?

And not in a girl-kissing-a-boy way, mind you. The minute I kissed him, something in my chest tightened and then burst, sending a wave of odd heat coursing through my body. I gasped against Yusuke's mouth but the heat ricocheted against my ribs and chased that inhaled breath back out of my lips. I flinched, crashing onto the floor on my ass, because suddenly contact with Yusuke felt like kissing a bowl of poprocks.

Kuwabara appeared at my side in an instant.

"Did it—?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," I said.

We waited a moment, staring at our comatose friend. One moment turned into two, then three.

"Do you think—?" Kuwabara said.

Just then, Yusuke _gasped_. His spine bowed, chest rising toward the ceiling, and with a pop the golden glow suffusing his body scattered in a burst of glittering sparks (that hadn't in the anime, came my distant observation). It was my turn to gasp as a warm wind blew my hair from my face, but just as suddenly as it appeared, the wind subsided—leaving Yusuke lying on his back, breath churning from his mouth like he'd been running a marathon. His head lolled to the side, covers kicked all askew, mouth agape as he tried to breathe on his own for the first time in months.

Our eyes met.

It was like being thawed after a winter of immobility. I lurched to my knees and threw myself toward his side with a feral screech of his name.

"Yusuke! Yusuke, oh my god, _Yusuke_!" He tried to sit up, rolling to his side and pushing up with his weak arms. I attempted to ease him back onto the bed but he waved me off, rasping and wheezing and coughing. Eventually I realized he was trying to speak. Just one word, over and over again.

"Water," he was saying. "Water. _Water_!"

"Oh, I got it! I got it!" Kuwabara yelped. I didn't turn around, but feet pounding on the floor told me he'd run for the kitchen.

Yusuke, meanwhile, flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His hand trembled when he tried to reach for his hair (it was in his eyes, lacking its usual gel) but the IVs in his arm pinched and made movement impossible. He ground out something that sounded suspiciously like a curse and reached for the tubes.

"No," I said. "No, don't pull those out, here, let me—"

I grasped his arm with one hand and grabbed a gauze pad off the nurse's tray next to his bed. I took out the IVs as quickly as I could, pressing the holes in his skin with the gauze to stem the bleeding.

"Kei—Keiko."

I looked up. Yusuke stared at me through hooded eyes, bleary like he'd just woken from a very long nap (which I suppose he had, in a very literally way). His voice sounding like it had gone through a woodchipper.

"I'm here," I said. My voice cracked; my eyes pricked. "I'm here, honey."

"Y-your hair."

Took a minute for me to realize what he was talking about. I shook my head with a helpless smile. Of all the things for him to ask about…

"It got burned off," I said.

He tried to talk. Collapsed into a coughing fit. Sweat slicked his forehead like morning mist. I fretted—where the hell was that water, Kuwabara?—but soon his coughs quieted. I told him not to talk, but he didn't listen. Yusuke never listened.

"You look…like a boy," Yusuke said—and he smiled that same devil-may-care smile he was famous for. My ire flared at the comment.

"And _you_ look like a money's ass," I retorted—and without warning, the tears took over, because that insult of his was so _him_ , so _Yusuke_ , that my hurt feelings merely felt like home. Tears coursed down my cheeks; I fisted my hands in his shirt and cried into his chest, big heaving sobs of relief and happiness I couldn't quell.

That gentle, teasing insult brought the realization home.

I hadn't fucked up canon.

Yusuke was back.

_I'd done it._

I hadn't realized how direly I needed this to happen until it did, and now, I was lost to my own emotions. I cried even harder when a hand touched my boy-short hair in a weak, trembling show of comfort.

"That's my Keiko," Yusuke wheezed. His strained, rusty voice took on a wicked tone. "N-nice kiss, by the way."

I sniffled, pushed away from him, and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. "Shut up."

His grin widened. "…too bad…your breath stinks."

I glared. He laughed. Another coughing fit took over—and this time it didn't end, even after Kuwabara came back with the water. The next hour passed in a blur. We called the doctors, tracked down Atsuko, called my mother, had Yusuke taken to a hospital where his miracle of an awakening could be poked and prodded and pondered by people who didn't understand his recovery couldn't be attributed to natural causes.

His resurrection was supernatural, and from that moment forward, the supernatural would dog his steps like a bloodhound on a hunter's scent.

* * *

"So he's back." Kagome looked as excited as I'd felt when Yusuke first woke up, grinning and all but bouncing in her seat. "He's really, really back?"

"Yeah," I said. I couldn't help but smile. "He is."

"But wait." Kagome put a finger to her chin. "That was like…a month ago, right? Before the Winter Holiday and New Years? That was the last time I saw you."

I nodded. "That's right."

"So he's been back for a month." She processed this. "How's he been since he woke up?"

"Pretty OK, I guess. Except for the grumpiness."

"Grumpiness?"

I twisted a napkin between my fingers, thinking of the past month. Yusuke hadn't been the most pleasant company, that was for sure, but I also didn't blame him for it. I'd be in a bad mood, too, if I was in his place. Hell, I _had_ been in his place in my past life before, but that's a story for another time.

"Well…let's just say Yusuke is a free spirit," I said. "He doesn't like being cooped up."

Kagome's brow furrowed. "Why is he cooped up?"

"Same reason anyone who was in a coma for months would be cooped up."

Her brow furrowed more. "Oh?"

I didn't blame her for not predicting what happened. The truth of the matter had surprised me, too. Based on the anime, I hadn't expected what happened next. But this wasn't an anime series. This was real life (albeit a version of real life influenced by an anime series) and logic dictated reality must diverge from fiction…much as Yusuke hated to admit it.

And boy, did he _hate_ to admit it.

I hated to admit it, too, but for reasons quite different from Yusuke's.

Kagome cocked her head to the side. I smiled.

"He's been cooped up lately," I told Kagome, "because he's not quite done with physical therapy."

She looked as surprised as I'd felt the first time I was told Yusuke would need that therapy to regain use of his limbs—as surprised, and as worried. Turns out the anime had done nothing to prepare me for the trial that lay ahead, and the story of Yusuke's resurrection didn't end with our fated kiss.

Like I'd told Kagome before: "This story might take a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NQK can't get over being 40 when Yusuke is 14. Wanted to make it clear that for her, relationships will have to wait. Not saying they're an impossible pairing, but NQK has anxiety about being a cougar. That's why she has her "no dating" rule so firmly in place.
> 
> Going to put a realistic spin on Yusuke's recovery. But no worries. He'll be back, punching the daylights out of his foes, faster than anyone expects. Much faster.
> 
> Next time: Yusuke, fairy tales, and Kurama. The YYH plot is about to take off like a rocket.


	33. Left the Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NQKagome makes a startling discovery. So does NQKeiko.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some medical stuff; beware, if you're squeamish.
> 
> Cultural Note: Not-Quite-Keiko uses the Japanese proverb "自業自得" in this chapter. "One's act, one's profit" is basically a way of saying 'you get out of it what you put into it.'

It looked like a staple gun, sort of, square and made of metal with a rubber handle for gripping. The doctor had me grasp it with my left hand. He instructed me to squeeze, hard. A dial spun to measure pounds per square inch of force exerted by my fingers. Then he asked me to take it in my right hand.

I could barely lift the damn thing, let alone squeeze, but I tried my best. My elbow—suffused in a dull, hot ache since the day I shattered it months prior—panged with a current of electric hurt. Bones inside my elbow creaked like dry hinges.

I hissed between my teeth and stopped squeezing. The doctor noted the PSI with a frown.

"Show me the range of motion in your shoulder and wrist," he said.

I lifted my arm as high as it could go, stopping when my shoulder spasmed. My hand was just about level with my scalp. My wrist hadn't suffered much; I could bend it in all directions, but when he pricked my pinkie and ring finger with a needle, I couldn't feel it. I could barely bend any of my fingers at all. I'd been taking my junior year tests orally. Holding a pen had become impossible.

But I'd learned to apply eyeliner one handed, with my non-dominant left hand. So that was a plus, I guess.

The nerve damage was, in a word, 'extensive.' But that was to be expected after shattering one's elbow. We weren't sure the partial paralysis of my right hand was permanent or not, either. Unable to use my hand, unable to lift my arm higher than my shoulder, my mother had to help me with basic tasks like bathing and getting dressed long after my cast (which I wore for months) was removed. Tasks like writing, driving, and using a computer were distant dreams. Mom had to wash my hair for me in the kitchen sink; I had to learn to not stab myself in the gums when brushing my teeth with my left hand.

Initial surgery had repaired my shattered bones as best it could, but it left behind five metal rods and two screws—a lot of hardware in a rather small joint. More surgery removed some rods. The rest had to stay behind. There wasn't enough bone left to go without. Surgeons told me they'd picked out bone shards with a pair of forceps. I tried not to think about that, though, as the physical therapist measured my elbow's mobility. I couldn't extend the elbow fully. I could only bend it 45 degrees. My elbow had the range of motion of a Barbie's leg.

"Therapy will definitely improve your strength, and it will encourage nerve regrowth," I remember him telling me once the assessment was through. "We need to work on fine motor skills, as well, based on your levels of degeneration."

"OK," I said.

"We start today," he said.

"OK," I said.

My assigned therapist—a woman named Nicole, who wore hot pink scrubs and her hair in a gorgeous, curly, natural crown—started that first session by putting me on the arm bike. It was just like a stationary bike for the legs, only the pedals were positioned in the location of conventional handlebars. Nicole set the resistance settings at zero since it was my first time. She turned the dial on an egg timer and set it atop the contraption, saying, "Five minutes forward, five minutes backward. Get to it, woman!"

That day I only managed a dozen rotations in my five allotted minutes, mostly using my undamaged left arm. Sweat poured off my face, a puddle forming on the jutting leather seat between my thighs. My shoulder and elbow burned like someone had heated them in a forge. My right hand kept slipping off the pedal, sending me face-first against the bike's gearbox, until Nicole wrapped her hand around mine to keep it steady. I could barely grip the pedal hard enough to keep myself attached.

"Just breathe through the pain, honey," Nicole said. Her voice was high, sweet, and encouraging, cutting through the sound of my ragged breathing like a cheerful knife. She sat next to me on a stool, palm lightly supporting my bad elbow, helping me keep it aloft as I pressed and pressed and pressed the stupid pedals in their endless circle. When the timer buzzed she said, "Good job, sweetheart. Now we go backward. Get to it, woman!"

By the time we finished the second round, I was crying. I cried into her shirt cradling my arm, hand and shoulder spasming with white-hot pips of sharp pain. She gave me water and painkiller (though only half of my prescribed Vicodin) and waited until I stopped crying to speak.

"It hurts," she told me, eyes firm yet sympathetic. "I know it hurts. But you gotta keep going if you want to make progress, OK? Now let me show you the other exercises."

The other exercises numbered among the following: holding my arms parallel to the floor for set lengths of time (hands empty, at first, holding dumbbells after a month or two); rolling string onto a stick with arms parallel to the floor (string empty at first, string supporting a weight later on); rolling two metal balls around my hand without letting them touch (they were heavy, and slippery, and it took a very long time for them to stop striking each other with a metallic clang); and the Squeeze.

I hated the arm bike, but I hated the Squeeze even more. It always came last. I spent every session, Mondays and Thursdays for the next year, dreading the moment they sat me at a table, placed my elbow on it, and manually bent my elbow past the point it would naturally go. Nicole had to hold me down by the shoulders while another PT put his full weight on my forearm. My arm wound slowly bend, joint aflame, every micrometer of movement a torturous, creaking labor of unnatural, forced mobility. I could feel the bones moving in my arm, hyperaware of the way the metal moved under my skin, huge bumps showing beneath the thin membrane like horns trying to sprout.

I cried almost every time.

By the time I died and became Keiko, I had only managed to bend my elbow to a 90 degree angle. It was far more than the doctors thought I'd be capable of. 90 degrees was practically a miracle. I'd developed a nice layer of muscle in my arms and chest, but my grip strength remain pitiful. The pain hadn't gotten better with PT, either. My shoulder and elbow screamed with it day and night, shrieking even louder when I strained the limb too much. The constant, creaking pain in my joints followed me till the day I died, when I crashed on the IH 45 between Houston and Dallas, driving home one-handed in the dark.

* * *

As I explained to Kagome: Yusuke had been in a coma for months. No matter how good Spirit World was at reviving bodies, his body had been dormant for months. He couldn't just hop out of bed and resume his normal life.

And Yusuke absolutely _hated_ that fact.

He wasn't accustomed to being handled with delicacy. He wasn't accustomed to being told to wait. I don't think I realized just how much of Yusuke's identity depended on his physicality, but seeing him confined to a bed drove home the point nicely. His spirit itched behind his eyes, limbs trembling with urges he couldn't fulfill as he lay feeble in his bed.

Yusuke was his physicality. Yusuke was his athleticism. Take that away, and you were left with a grumpy, snappish, lost little boy—a boy who barely knew who he was, or what he was supposed be.

So basically Yusuke was even more of an ass than usual, these days.

After he woke up, he stayed at the hospital for observation for about three days. Eventually they let him go back to Atsuko's new apartment, a contingent of nurses in tow—only most of them quit within a week. I showed up after school and found one of them storming out, face thunderous and carved from stone.

"That boy is a _menace_ ," she snarled.

She didn't give me time to ask what the hell had happened. She just stalked off. So I stalked in, right into Yusuke's room wielding my most withering glare. He sat in his bed against a mound of pillows looking thin and pale, but when he saw me, he sat up.

"What?" he asked, alarmed. His voice still sounded like he'd been smoking a pack a day, raw from disuse and intubation. "What? What'd I do?"

"Want to tell me why that nurse just walked out?"

His lip curled in a sneer. "Isn't it obvious?"

I frowned—and then I noticed the mess on the floor. I walked over and lifted up a serving tray to behold a puddle of clear broth, pureed vegetable, and a broken bowl on the floor.

"I _asked_ for a _steak_ ," Yusuke said, as if it excused everything. "And that's the crap she brought me. Literal baby food! How many cut-rate nurses—"

"You had a feeding tube in for months, you idiot," I said. "At first you had to spit into a cup because you couldn't remember how to swallow. Do you really think you're ready for a steak after four days?"

Yusuke opened his mouth to reply. He shut it just as quickly and snatched a paper cup off his bedside table—into which he spat a thin ribbon of saliva. Looked quite embarrassed of the whole thing, not that I blame him.

"See what I mean?" I asked. "You still don't have the hang of it. And I refuse to believe a nurse left because you threw a bowl." Nurses were made of strong stuff. "What did you do? Call her names? Attack her?"

I was not to get an answer today. He set down the cup and settled back into his pillows without a word, glaring at the wall like it had insulted his manhood. I sighed, cleaned up the broken bowl, and fixed him a new dinner in the kitchen. He hadn't moved by the time I returned. I settled the food on a serving tray and put the legs of it on either side of his thighs.

"I know you hate this," I said, "but your physical therapist comes tomorrow. You need to keep up your strength and eat." I'd made a special broth, calorie-rich and recommended by the doctors for patients transitioning away from feeding tubes. "Let me help you sit up, and I'll—"

Brown eyes flashed defiant. "Fuck that."

Took him almost a minute to even sit up. His fingers fumbled around the spoon, still not sure of their fine motor skills after so long at rest, and he lifted a slug of broth to his mouth.

He spilled it all down his pajama shirt.

I think he tried to throw the spoon, then, but it bounced off the bed as if thrown by a toddler. Yusuke stared at it for a moment, eyes disbelieving. Then he slowly leaned back into his pillows. I watched the fight drain out of him inch by inch, bit by bit, eyes losing their sheen as he realized just how weak he'd become.

It was the single most heartbreaking thing I'd seen in Keiko's life.

Yusuke wasn't meant to look like this. And he most certainly wasn't mean to hold that look of defeat in his eye.

"This _sucks_."

I hadn't meant to speak, but out the words had come. Yusuke looked at me askance and snorted.

"You're telling me?" he said.

"I'm _empathizing_ with you, jackass."

A longsuffering eyeroll. "Like _you've_ ever been in my position."

Very nearly gave myself away, the urge to correct him reared up so strong. I knew exactly what it was like to be in his position: to have someone feed you, help you bathe and dress, cater to your every unwanted whim because you were too weak to take care of it yourself. I understood with the clarity of experience how humiliating, how undignified it felt to lose your ability to care for yourself—and I knew how pride could be a barrier to your own recovery, your own ability to adjust, accept, and embrace your new capabilities. I'd lived Yusuke's truth before. I knew every helpless detail of it. And I knew better than he did what it was like to live with the effects of it for the rest of your life. Yusuke would get better, I was sure of it. I'd lived with chronic pain, with permanent change to my way of life, so don't you _dare_ tell me I don't know what it's like, asshole.

But I couldn't say any of that.

"True," I told him, even though it hurt. "I don't know what it's like, but I have a heart, and an imagination. I can still empathize." I swiped the spoon off the floor and cleaned it before scooping up some broth. "C'mon. Eat."

I held the spoon out, hand underneath it to catch any drips. Yusuke refused to look at the spoon, or me, but then his stomach rumbled. He accepted the broth with grudging tolerance, practically growling under his breath as he allowed me to feed him. Didn't take him long to eat everything. Boy had had a bottomless pit for a stomach even before his coma. I put the spoon in the empty bowl with a small smile and stood up to take it to the kitchen. Hopefully Yusuke would be able to set aside his boundless pride long enough to accept the help he needed to recover. If he didn't—

"I hate you seeing me like this."

He spoke with face turned away; I couldn't see his expression. I sat back down, bowl rattling like a hollowed skull on my lap.

"You've seen me when I'm a blubbering mess," I said, keeping my tone airy. "Consider us even."

His eyes flashed my way. "Keiko—!"

Yusuke stopped talking and took a deep breath. He looked away again.

"I mean it," he said in a softer voice. "I mean it, Keiko. I _hate_ this."

Yusuke didn't need to explain further. I knew what he meant—and more importantly, I knew what he needed. Even if it came at my expense, I knew what my best friend needed.

His ankle radiated heat through the blanket covering it. He looked up when I rest my hand on that joint, surprise and confusion and raw, agonizing hurt waging war in his brown eyes.

"I can stay away if you want," I said.

Those conflicted eyes widened.

"It's no big deal," I said, shrugging. "If you want me to stay away while you recover, I will."

He didn't speak.

"I made a friend at my new school whose mother is dying," by way of explanation. Yusuke's brow furrowed at the apparent non sequitur, but I pressed on. "A lot of people want to help him, but I've noticed that helping him makes _them_ feel better. They're doing it for him, but also for their own benefits." I shrugged again. "I don't want to be that person here. I admit not helping you would make me feel guilty. But my feelings matter less than yours in this scenario."

Yusuke muttered my name, then. I met his eyes with a smile—a warm, supportive smile, judgement-free and nurturing. He probably felt like the world was against him just then. He needed to know that I was on his side.

"Whatever you want, Yusuke," I told him. "If it's for me to stay away, so you don't feel embarrassed, I'll do it. Just let me know."

He searched my face, looking for…hesitation, maybe? I wasn't sure. Eventually his shoulders sagged. This obviously wouldn't be an easy decision for him. I certainly didn't want him to send me away. At the same time, having your best friend watch you in your most vulnerable moment wasn't comfortable. If not having me around helped soothe his wounded pride, and allowed him the freedom to get better, I'd gladly trade proximity for his progression. Gladly. Any day of the damn week.

Yusuke searched my face a moment more. He sighed and shook his head.

"I don't know," he said. "I'm sorry, I…I just don't know."

"That's OK. Just keep me posted." I patted his ankle in a casual gesture of comfort. "But if you never want me to see you like this again, you'd better not chase off your physical therapist. That's how you'll get through this. That's how you'll get better."

He screwed up his eyes at me. "What do you mean?"

"Like I said, your physical therapist comes tomorrow," I said. "You can't chase her off like you did the nurses. You'll need her to get better. The harder you work, the faster you'll recover. 'One's act, one's profit,' as the saying goes."

Yusuke started to speak, but he stopped when I stood up and walked to the door. Under its arch I paused. I looked at him over my shoulder. This time I didn't smile.

"Therapy will be hard," I told him. Even though he didn't know my past, my heavy tone rendered him quiet. "Therapy will hurt…but they're called 'growing pains' for a reason. Every exercise will be an uphill climb. You'll want to give up. But you can't." I allowed a smirk to break through. "Not unless you _enjoy_ it when I feed you like a baby."

Yusuke bristled. "I ain't no baby."

I grabbed the spoon and waved it in a circle. "Whoosh! Open wide! Here comes the airplane!"

"Oh, fuck off, Keiko!" Yusuke said. He had to manually lift his middle finger with his opposite hand, but the meaning was clear. "Screw your plane and open wide, 'cause here comes the goddamn _bird_!"

He dropped the hand and cackled. I laughed, too.

"Screw you, too, Yusuke!" I said through my giggles. "You're the worst!"

Nothing in what he said hurt my feelings. Not that day, at least. In our language, those insults were expressions of affection. I cherished each and every one.

* * *

"Funny," Kagome said. She stared into the space between us without seeing it. "In the anime he just hopped out of bed and was back in action like it was nothing."

I shrugged. "Apparently not everything from the anime translated perfectly into real life."

"Hmm. Weird." Sincere worry resonated in her words. "But he's doing better now?"

"Now, yeah. After we found a therapist willing to work with his loud ass, of course." Apparently rumors of Yusuke's temper had resonated throughout our town's small medical community. "His therapist is great, a real trooper. We're lucky to have her. Only person who doesn't balk at Yusuke's foul mouth."

Kagome giggled. "That little firecracker. He's so cute."

"Yeah. He is." Because Yusuke wasn't around to protest, I said: "He's like a baby bird learning to fly again."

The thought was both entertaining and sobering at once: entertaining because picturing him as a small, chirping bird made me laugh, sobering because the thought of what came next sent a worried shiver up my spine.

The sooner Yusuke got better, the sooner he became the Spirit Detective…and the sooner he'd be in danger.

"Uh oh." Kagome's lips twisted in a knowing grimace. "Judging by the look on your face, you're probably thinking of leave-the-nest metaphors and worrying for his safety, right?"

That got a laugh out of me. "You know me too well. But speaking of leaving the nest…"

* * *

Yusuke worked at physical therapy harder than anything in his life. Seriously, if the guy put that much effort into school, he'd be at the top of his class. He attacked every exercise with the tenacity he normally preserved for street fights or pissing off Keiko. Sometimes I walked in on him doing his therapist's prescribed stretches on his own time, or snuck up on him while he performed repetitive movements meant to reengage his fine motor skills—like tapping his fingers against his thumb, for instance, one by one in a loop. At first his fingers tapped slowly, unsure of their own motion, but soon they picked up speed, faster and faster until they blurred into one another.

Still: although he attacked his exercises with gusto, the going wasn't easy.

True to what I'd told him, therapy hurt. It didn't hurt as much as mine had, if I had to take a guess (frustration seemed in greater supply than actual pain when it came to Yusuke), but his joints were stiff from disuse and his muscles had atrophied past the point of swift return. At first the therapist made him stretch, working on engaging nerves that had collected dust during their time of inactivity. Yusuke called it "namby pamby yoga bullshit," especially when Tamaguchi- _sensei_ made him perform a watered-down form of meditation she called "conscious corrections."

I'd heard of conscious correction when I took _tai-chi_ classes in my past life. Essentially, Tamaguchi had Yusuke sit very still and concentrate on each of his individual muscles, starting from his scalp and working his way from there down to his toes. The goal was to simply make him aware of his muscles, reconnect body to mind, but to Yusuke it just felt _boring_. He groused and griped about not being given actual strength training before, during, and after every single session—but when they finally transitioned to strength training, he sang a different tune.

Namely the tune of "shit-goddammit-fucking-hell", to be precise.

Tamaguchi wasn't the type to pull punches. Using weights, elastic straps, stability balls, and good old-fashioned techniques reminiscent of the Squeeze I'd so hated in my old life, she poked and prodded and pounded Yusuke's muscles and nerves until they sang with energy and new life. Yusuke at first was mad she didn't let him "pump iron" (or whatever his macho teenage self called it), but soon his complaints quieted. Tamaguchi worked Yusuke hard, though judiciously, challenging him in ways I don't think even he realized he could be challenged. Yusuke would call a session a breeze immediately after it ended, but the next day he'd be a writhing ball of agonizing soreness.

"I didn't even know I had muscles in my goddamn ass," he said after one particularly grueling leg session, "but fuck it, they _hurt_."

Tamaguchi was sneaky like that. With her help, Yusuke progressed quickly, resistance training getting more and more difficult with every passing therapy session.

One day, about two weeks after therapy started, Tamaguchi and I crossed paths on the street outside Atsuko's apartment. She carried her usual bag of tricks over her muscular shoulder, grey hair gathered in a braid down her back. We exchanged a few pleasantries, but it didn't take her long to drop social niceties in favor of asking what was on her mind. Not very Japanese of her, but I appreciated her direct nature.

"Maybe you don't know, but I have to ask," she said. "Is he working outside of our sessions?"

"He's doing the exercises you gave him. Why?"

She nodded, considering this a minute. "His muscle recovery is…well." She scowled. "It's spectacular."

"That's great!" I paused as her dour look sank in. "So why do you look like you swallowed a needle?"

Her scowl deepened. "I assume he's doing extra exercises on his own."

For a second I considered saying Yusuke wasn't the type to put extra effort into something so reminiscent of homework, but then again, this was his strength we were talking about. He'd do just about anything to be strong again…maybe even homework.

"I want to deny that he'd do extra work," I said, "but I can't. That sounds _exactly_ like something he'd do."

Tamaguchi looked grimly satisfied. "I warned him overexerting himself could set back his recovery, but it seems that fell on deaf ears."

"Stubborn," I corrected. " _Stubborn_ ears. He can hear you just fine. He just doesn't listen."

"He doesn't listen to _me_ ," Tamaguchi said, odd emphasis on the last word.

There followed a moment of silence. She stared at me, expectant, until I figured it out.

"…but he listens to _me_." Seems Tamaguchi could use subtle Japanese implications when it suited her, after all. "I'll talk to him, if you want me to."

"Yes, thank you. That would be ideal."

Indomitable woman though she was, even Tamaguchi didn't fancy confronting Yusuke directly after a session, when he was at his most grumpy.

True to form, Yusuke gnashed his teeth when I asked him if he'd been exerting himself without Tamaguchi's guidance. Face streaked with sweat from his session, he lay on his back on the floor in the living room and glared up at me. Barely had the energy to move, but that glare of his still had teeth.

"That nag," he said. "Always telling me to slow down. Why I oughtta—"

"Maybe she has a point," I interjected.

"Point, schmoint. I hate being cooped up and I wanna be back on the streets, dammit!" He summoned the energy to lash out a hand as if striking an invisible enemy. "So what if I exercise a little more than normal? If it gets me out of here faster, screw Tamaguchi!"

I flopped down near his head, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. I kept my tone mild when I said, "She said your recovery is spectacular."

Yusuke's scowl turned into a grin. "See? It's working! Tell the old broad to lay off!"

"But she said you could overexert and send yourself back a step, if you aren't careful." His grin faded at my matter-of-fact wording. I flicked a finger at his nose; he snapped his teeth at me. "Look. I can't control you, and I won't nag you. But keep in mind your limits, OK? Stop if something starts to hurt worse."

"You worry too much. Almost as much as that naggy therapist." He thrust a fist toward the ceiling. "I'll slow down when I'm dead—hear that, Tamaguchi? And I ain't dying again any time soon!"

His words triggered associations in my head, stopping any pithy replies in their tracks. Yusuke grabbed onto the couch and used it to lever himself upright. He leaned against it and swiped his shirt over his face to mop up the sweat. Then he frowned.

"What?" he said. "What're you looking at me for?"

"You were dead," I said.

Yusuke shifted, not looking at me. "So they tell me."

"Like, really, really dead. Stone cold dead. Deader than the Monty Python parrot."

His brow furrowed. "The what?"

"Never mind." I made a mental note to track down tapes of the Monty Python sketches and educate him at some point. "It's just, Yusuke—what happened while you were gone?"

Yusuke froze.

I mean, I hadn't expected much else. This was his death we were talking about. He was bound to have some complicated (and unprocessed, knowing him) emotions about the whole ordeal. I hadn't had the opportunity to ask about his time as a ghost yet. Had been waiting for him to bring it up, but I couldn't keep the curiosity bottled forever. Sometimes Yusuke needed a nudge to acknowledge his feelings, and that nudge I was more than happy to provide.

Yusuke didn't move for a few seconds. He stared at the floor in front of his outstretched legs without expression, lost in thoughts I couldn't decipher.

"I saw your corpse," I eventually murmured. "I…I touched your hand. It was cold and you were _dead_. They didn't miss your pulse in the ambulance, like we told the authorities. You actually died."

Yusuke's eyes flickered in my direction. They flickered away just a quickly.

"You died, and you came back," I said.

He took a deep breath and, sounding like a child in a middle school theater class, said: "I don't know what you're talking about, and—"

"I'm not an idiot and I know when you're lying."

He winced at my brusque words. I didn't crack, though, not even when he shot me a look of helplessness—like he was pleading with his eyes for me to let this go.

"I'm not supposed to tell you," he said.

"Why?"

"They told me not to."

"Who's _they_?"

Annoyance narrowed his eyes. "Just this annoying Spirit World _brat_ who—"

Yusuke stopped. He clapped his hand over his mouth.

"Spirit World," I quoted, a though speaking the word for the first time. I pasted a look of interest across my face. "Like the afterlife?"

He shifted uncomfortably, but he admitted: "Pretty much."

I paused, pretending to think about it and put the pieces together. I already knew the truth, of course, but Yusuke didn't need to know that.

"Somebody in the afterlife helped you come back," I intoned with all the gravity such a discovery should deserve. "Interesting. So there's really an afterlife?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny," he said—but then a grin broke through his awkwardness. "Oh, fuck it. Let's just say even hell couldn't handle me!"

He looked quite proud of himself; my reactionary laughter was completely genuine. "Damn straight, hell couldn't handle you." I leaned toward him. "Why, though? Why did they bring you back?"

Another awkward shift. "I'm really not supposed…aw, to hell with it!" He smacked a fist against the carpet, eyes blazing—because nobody told Yusuke what to do, least of all a toddler brat too big for his britches. "Apparently they thought I was such an asshole, I wouldn't help that kid get out of the way of the car. They didn't prep a place for me in heaven or hell. I had nowhere to go but back to life. So this blue-haired lady who said she was as grim reaper came out of nowhere on an oar and—"

He told me a surprising amount of details, then, from Botan's appearance to Koenma's ordeal to what he spent time doing while he was dead. He didn't tell me about throwing the egg to save me from the fire (he just said Spirit World 'helped' protect me, as well as his body), but for the most part he told me everything. If I looked shocked during his story, it wasn't because I was acting. I was floored he'd tell Keiko all of that, because he sure as shit hadn't told her this much in the anime. Why the change, I wondered? Maybe it was a timing thing. In the anime he'd been recruited as Spirit Detective just after waking up, but now, with all this extra time between his awakening and his recruitment…

Yusuke settled back against couch cushions with a long, dramatic sigh. I'd helped him move onto the couch halfway through his story. I sat next to him while he talked, at one point bringing a glass of water when he started coughing. He closed his eyes a minute, silent, then cracked them open in my direction.

"Damn, I actually feel better," he said. "I haven't had much to do but watch daytime TV so I think about what happened a lot. Fucking _annoying_ , thinking all the time." He smirked. "No wonder you're such a pain."

"Ha ha, very funny," I snarked. "Wow, though. That story…that's a lot to take in."

Even though I knew he had told me the truth, real Keiko—realistic and level-headed—wouldn't likely buy into Yusuke's tall tale right off the bat. Best act just a little disbelieving, at least at first. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at Yusuke with a frown. He frowned back, head drooping atop his tired neck.

"Keiko…do you think it was all a dream?" he asked with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Everything I said, it's crazy. Do you think I just dreamed it?"

Panic—as sudden as it was hot—clenched inside my chest, breath halting with a sputter. Aw, fuck. I hadn't meant to make Yusuke doubt himself!

"Me telling you what _I_ think won't make you feel better," I said, every scrap of willpower funneled into maintaining a calm, self-assured demeanor. "You need to listen to what _you_ think."

"I think it sounds insane," he said. Comical anger had him throwing up his hands. "There were ogres in loin cloths and Spirit World is run by a toddler, Keiko! What the fuck is that supposed to mean!?"

He used anger to cover frustration, doubt—and he'd never admit it, but probably a little fear, too. Fear that his own perception wasn't correct, and that he'd invented the fantastical story that explained so much of his existence. Hurt me to my core to see that doubt in his eyes, concealed though it was by his irate griping. But what could I do to help fix this?

Eventually I settled on: "Let's try the Socratic Method."

He blinked. "The what?"

"…never mind." Philosophy was this overthinker's gig, not his. "How did your body get spared from cremation?"

His eyebrows lifted like rockets off a launch pad. "Um. Do you have amnesia, Keiko? I went inside your dreams and told you to save my body, _duh_."

I didn't rise to his taunt. "Did I have that dream, and did I do what you asked?"

"Yes to both, but—" He stopped. His eyes widened. "Oh. _Oh._ "

"How did you come back to life?" I asked.

"I went inside your dreams and told you that I was coming back if you—well." He looked away, rubbing the back of his reddened neck. "You know."

"I do know," I said. "Did I do what you asked me to do?"

"Yeah."

"Does that lead you to any conclusions?"

He nodded. "It wasn't a dream."

"My side of the story corroborates yours," I said.

The panic in my chest unclenched when the hesitation in his eyes cleared, clouds of doubt scattered by a logical wind.

"So it _was_ real," he said. He smiled for a second, but then he looked infinitely disturbed. "Holy fucking shit, the afterlife is run by a _baby_."

His attitude's heel-face-turn reduced me to a fit of giggles, but before I could recover and ask more questions about his time as a ghost, the doorbell rang. Yusuke glared in the direction of the door and sighed.

"Tamaguchi forget one of her torture implements?" he grumbled.

"No idea," I said. "Let me check."

It was Sunday, and Atsuko was out…somewhere. She didn't often leave a note. A nurse wasn't due to arrive for another hour, hence why I'd come over. Somebody had to make sure Yusuke didn't try sneaking off to pick fights before he was ready (he'd tried that once before, though he didn't get too far when his legs cramped up). I peered through the peephole wondering if the nurse was early today, but when I saw the face on the other side of the door, I gasped in surprise.

"Oh, hey Keiko!" Kuwabara said when I opened the door. He wore casual clothes, jeans and a baseball jersey with a jacket over it. Somehow the clothes made him look like less of a punk than usual. "Sorry to come over unannounced. I called your house and your mom said you were here, so…"

He trailed off, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. I made sure to smile when I said: "It's no problem. Are you here to see Yusuke?"

Kuwabara beamed. "Well, technically I was trying to find you, because I have something really _really_ awesome to show you, but then I heard you were here, and—well, two birds with one stone and whatnot. I figured I'd stop by and cheer him up." His sunny grin could melt a glacier. "And boy, Keiko, do I have something that'll cheer him up! He'd have to be _dead_ to not love this!"

"Well, he was dead until recently, so…"

"Ha ha, very funny." He rolled his eyes at my poor joke before pulling something out from behind his back: a cardboard box with holes cut in the top and sides. He handled it with care normally reserved for infants and fine china, big hands gentle and careful around its corners.

"Um," I said (and while I looked doubtful on the outside, inside I had suspicions about what lay inside that box). "That's dubious."

"Trust me, it's amazing," he said. "So is Yusuke awake?"

"Yeah. He's awake. Come with me." I lead him inside and into the living room. "Yusuke, you have a visitor."

He looked over his shoulder with a scowl. "Who the hell would—Kuwabara?!"

Kuwabara lifted a hand as Yusuke's eyes bugged out of his skull. "Sup, Urameshi?"

Yusuke tried to leap off the couch, but he got halfway up and his legs failed. He opted for pointing dramatically in Kuwabara's direction, instead. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?" he yodeled.

"Shh, keep your voice down!" Kuwabara said. "You'll scare her!"

"Scare who?"

"Oh my god," I said. I pointed at the box, allowing excitement to creep into my voice. "Is that—?"

Kuwabara preened, pride glowing in every pore. "Shizuru decided I needed a present when my report card came back. All B's! Except for science. I got an A in science."

My excitement about the box faded, replaced by excitement for his grades—because oh my gosh, Kuwabara making As and Bs? That was huge! I clapped my hands and bounced on my heels. "Kuwabara, that's amazing!"

Yusuke, meanwhile, was less than impressed by Kuwabara's academic prowess. "Will somebody _please_ tell me what's in the damn box?" he hollered.

"Urameshi, stop yelling!" Kuwabara said. "Just gimme a minute, OK? She's shy!"

Well, that confirmed it, didn't it? I watched with my breath held, knuckles pressed to my mouth as Kuwabara put the box on the coffee table. He melted the minute the flaps on top opened, features softening into a sweet, sentimental mess as he reached inside and gently—oh so very gently—lifted a tiny, fuzzy kitten to his chest.

"Meet Eikichi," Kuwabara said in a voice like freshly dried laundry or bread rolls right out of the oven. "Isn't she beautiful?"

I clapped my hands tight over my mouth as the kitten (which fit in the palm of Kuwabara's dinner plate hand) heaved an adorable, tiny yawn and cuddled up to Kuwabara's thumb. Kuwabara beamed at my reaction, but then Yusuke spoke and ruined everything.

"Huh," he said, as unimpressed with the cat as he was Kuwabara's grades. "Didn't figure you for a cat guy."

"What's wrong with cats?!" Kuwabara snapped.

"Nothin', if you're an old spinster."

"Oh my god," I squeaked. "Can…can I hold her?"

Kuwabara turned to me with a gleaming smile. "Yeah, of course! I want to get her nice and socialized."

He handed me Eikichi with instructions on how best to support her body so she'd be comfortable—and truth be told, I needed the pointers. I'd been highly, deathly allergic to cats in my past life, and my current cat hated to be held. Silly, standoffish Sorei. I'd always thought cats and kittens were so adorable, but this was the first time in my forty years of consciousness that I'd gotten to hold a kitten without fear of losing my ability to breathe. Her fur felt like fuzzy velvet against my hands, and when I tucked her under my chin, she rewarded me with a purr like a toy car. I gave a little squeak of delight at that, thumb brushing over her silky ears as I cuddled her close.

"Oh my god," I whispered. "Oh my god."

"Right?" Kuwabara said. "I mean, _right_?"

"She's so fucking adorable, I want to scream."

"She's the prettiest cat there ever was," Kuwabara said.

"She's the best kitten to ever kitten," I said. My throat ached and my eyes stung, but not from dander allergy. "Ten out of ten, good kitty. I love her. I love her so much. Oh my _god_."

Kuwabara blinked at me. "…are you crying?"

"No, shut up, _you're_ crying," I said with an obvious sniffle. I turned away, holding the purring cat safe against my chest. "Oh, Eikichi, who's my sweet lovey-lump? Is it you, my precious baby? Is it you?"

She meowed as if responding to my question, and I damn near about keeled over and died from the sheer cuteness.

"Seriously, though," Yusuke said. "Kuwabara, you like _cats_?"

I turned around in time to see Kuwabara round on Yusuke, lower lip jutting. "What's wrong with cats?"

Yusuke spoke as though it were obvious. "Dogs are manlier, _duh_."

Kuwabara's face reddened—but then he grinned and gestured at Yusuke's legs. "Says the guy in _ducky_ pajamas!"

Yusuke did a double take at his clothes. He wore a t-shirt and pajama pants…pants that were indeed patterned in little yellow ducks. Boy hadn't been paying much attention to fashion while stuck at home, that's for sure.

"Hey!" he said, face turning a shade of red to rival Kuwabara. "They're comfortable! Ducks are better than kittens, anyway!"

Kuwabara's face turned purple, more or less. "What the—?! You take that back!"

Yusuke lurched to the edge of the couch, fist raised. "Make me!"

"Now, now," I said, still riding the high of my kitten-induced zen. "Settle down, you two."

Both of them ignored me.

"I swear to god, if you weren't such a charity case, I'd tan your hide for insulting cats!" Kuwabara said.

Yusuke rolled his eyes so hard I feared he'd pull a muscle. "Oh, please. Even with this handicap I'd still wipe the floor with you, you son of a—"

" _Boys_."

Even with a kitten in hand, I managed to sound authoritative. They 'eeped' in unison and leapt away from each other, shooting fearful glances in my direction.

"You're scaring the kitten," I said, and then I winked. "And don't worry, Kuwabara. Yusuke will be back in action soon. You can beat each other black and blue when he gets better."

There followed many promises (or threats; take your pick of terminology) to do just that—and Yusuke delivered. Every time Kuwabara visited, I noticed Yusuke would work a little harder at his lessons, grumbling all the while about needing to get back in action and take back his turf.

"Kuwabara got cocky while I was gone," he told me when I scolded him for overdoing it. "Somebody's gotta put that jackass in his place."

Kuwabara, too, told me he'd been training his hardest in Yusuke's absence. "Gotta be at the top of my game when he gets back, or else it's not a fair fight," he told me when I noticed a bruise on his meaty arm. "I'll beat him fair and square or not at all!"

That was their relationship in a nutshell, I supposed. Even when beating each other to a pulp, or threatening one another, or insulting the other's masculinity, they found ways to drive each other to new heights.

I was good for Yusuke in a lot of ways. I could comfort, and use the Socratic Method to help him draw his own conclusions—but Kuwabara was his bro. And during his recovery, Yusuke needed a brother in arms like Kuwabara at his side.

* * *

Kagome appeared completely charmed by Kuwabara and Yusuke's interaction. She giggled into her tea and scones as I told her about the boys' renewed rivalry, fondness etched into her young, open features.

"I bet you feel better about stepping back, knowing Kuwabara is there," she said.

"Well, Yusuke never outright told me to bug off," I said. "I've been giving him space and reading his moods as best I can, but yeah. Knowing he's got Kuwabara there took a load off my shoulders."

"Good to hear. You really do worry too much." Her grin warmed me despite the January cold outside the café. "So it sounds like Yusuke is doing OK?"

"Yeah. To be honest, I think he's almost better." I stirred my tea with a spoon, inhaling steam as it rose warmly from the cup. "Doctors say they've never seen anyone recover from a coma this fast before. They're honestly stumped." Couldn't exactly tell them Spirit World likely had a hand in his swift recovery. "But even so, it's not fast enough for Yusuke's liking."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course it's not."

I chuckled. "Even though he's not strong enough to fight, he'd rather be throwing punches than doing therapy. I caught him trying to climb out a window the other day. I swear, if it weren't for the nurses, he'd have flown the coop a long time ago."

"Do you think he's ready to fly?"

Her question—a serious inquiry at odds with her earlier joking tone—gave me pause. I covered my unease by dipping a biscotti in my tea and taking a bite of the soaked pastry.

"I think…he's just about ready," I eventually said.

"You know the minute he does fly the coop, Spirit World will strike, right?" Kagome said. "I bet you that Botan'll come calling the minute he's ready to become Spirit Detective."

"Yeah. That occurred to me." Much as I wanted to see him realize his destiny, I was still no closer to having any powers myself. Soon weak little Keiko would become a footnote in Yusuke's story. Sighing, I set my tea aside. "But at least this time around, Keiko is in-the-know about things regarding Spirit World."

Kagome nodded. "It's good you got him to tell you about being dead. In the anime he hid everything from Keiko, right?"

"Mm-hmm. Which always felt weird." I waved my spoon around, agitated gesticulation sending drops of tea across the table. "She had those dreams, she saw the fire turn blue, and Keiko isn't stupid—she already had hints about the supernatural existing. Why would Yusuke think she'd freak out if he told her the truth?"

"Wasn't it about secrecy?" Kagome said. "Like, keeping Spirit World secret and stuff?"

"Yeah, that was Botan's reasoning, I think. But even _that_ doesn't make sense. The cat was already out of the bag about the supernatural since Keiko kept having semi-prophetic dreams thanks to Yusuke."

"Yeah, yeah, I agree," Kagome said with an emphatic nod. "And besides. Keeping Keiko in the dark endangered her."

"For real," I said. My thoughts strayed to the pepper spray in my purse, which I planned to use during the Saint Beast arc just as much as my aikido training. "I'm glad Yusuke told this Keiko the truth so early. Saves her—I mean, saves _me_ the trouble of pretending to not know what's going on." I leaned toward Kagome and dramatically whispered, "Acting is _exhausting_."

Kagome giggled, but then her smile faded into solemn curiosity. "Say. Why do you think he told you the truth, and not the other Keiko?"

I didn't reply right away. I'd been wondering the same thing, but my theories were just that: theories.

"Maybe…maybe he can sense that I'm older, somehow," I said, speech slow as I put my feelings into words for the first time. "Maybe I feel more like a maternal figure to him that the other Keiko. He's always telling me I'm a little old lady on the inside, after all." My smile felt tight even to me. "I consider that a good thing, all things considered about our ages."

Kagome nodded. "That would make sense. I feel like you act older than your physical age, so even if he doesn't have a reason to think you're literally an old soul, maybe it's something he intuits subconsciously."

Relief flooded me. Kagome agreeing with me validated my uncertain emotions; I hadn't realized I needed that validation until she gave it to me.

"Right," I said. "And I counseled him through his doubts about his experience as a ghost, so…I dunno. Maybe he looks at me like a confidante more than he did the other Keiko: a guidance counselor rather than a peer. But that's just conjecture." I allowed a smile to curl my mouth. "Or maybe I'm just more persuasive than Keiko since I know which questions to ask to get answers about Spirit World. I just have an advantage on interrogation."

"Yeah, maybe," Kagome said. She started to speak, but then her eyes widened and she shut her mouth. One finger rose above her head, commanding my attention. "Oh—right. Questions. That reminds me. You've been so busy lately with Yusuke's return, we haven't had time to talk about the fairy tales!"

I winced. "Yeah, I'm so sorry about that. I've been swamped this past month."

"Nah, no worries. Your best friend coming back from the dead is pretty distracting," she said with a generous wink. "You're excused. I haven't had much time, either."

"Good to know," I said. "But really. Sorry I've been AWOL."

Kagome's merry smile faded a little. "Really. It's OK. I'm just glad we got together today, because I think I figured something out—and it's super weird, Eeyore. Like, super weird. And I brought it today to show you."

It wasn't like Kagome to wear a look of such severity. Smiles suited her face more than scowls, but as she reached for her backpack and put it on the table, a scowl is what she wore. A pulse of thin adrenaline zinged down my arms at her odd behavior. When she unzipped her bag and pulled out a slender book, I looked at her and asked: "What's that?"

She didn't reply. She just handed me the book and sat back, eyes intent on my face as I skimmed the gilt title on the book's green cover.

"Oh," I said. " _The Unabridged Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm_ , Japanese translation. Nice."

She swallowed. "Check the table of contents."

Shooting her a what-the-hell look, I flipped open the cover and thumbed past the title page. The table of contents availed itself in short order. I skimmed the page with a frown, opening my mouth to ask what I was supposed to be looking for—

But I didn't have to ask. Within two seconds, I noticed.

I noticed, and my blood ran like ice.

"Wait," I said. I flipped the page over to the back, where a few more stories were listed. All in all the table of contents was only a page in a half in length. "Wait just a fucking second. This _can't_ be right."

"That's what I said," Kagome said. "But I found a bunch of other editions, and they all look the same."

The oddity of that struck the breath from my lungs. I scanned the list—that list only a page and a half long—a dozen times. Eventually my eyes came to rest on the title at the top of the page.

_The Unabridged Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm_.

Unabridged.

And yet—

"It's missing at least _half_ of the Brothers' stories," I said.

Kagome grimaced. "Yeah. I thought maybe I just didn't remember how many there were in our old life, but now that you say it—"

"I took courses on fairy tales in college, Tigger. I know what I'm talking about." I flipped the page back and forth, back and forth, receptive motion as comforting as it was maddening. "You didn't imagine a damn thing. Half—no. About _seventy percent_ of the stories are just _gone_."

"Yeah," Kagome whispered. "And that's supposed to be the full, unabridged, completed works of the Brothers Grimm."

Puss and Boots. Sleeping Beauty. Rapunzel. Rumpelstiltskin. I saw those included amongst the titles on the page.

But Cinderella? The Frog Prince? Snow White? Hansel and Gretel? I didn't see any of them listed. I didn't see several of the Brothers' hallmark stories—the stories for which they were famous, and the stories for which I'd read them as a kid. And that's saying nothing of the many lesser-known stories absent from this table of missing contents. My pulse beat like a boxer at my throat as I dragged my finger down the list, looking in vain for titles that just weren't there.

What the bloody hell was going on, exactly? And what did this imply about the reality I now called my own?

"What does it mean?" Kagome said. Her wide eyes trained hopeful on my face, as though trying to read answers in the knit of my brow or the purse of my lips. "Mother Goose is the same way. So are the Aesop Fables. I can find them, but they're missing a lot. But for the Brothers Grimm to be missing material? These are where fairy tales came from. These are the originals. And they just aren't there?"

I put the book down, thinking back on all the college courses I took on the subject, turning over my memories like a river tossing a stone.

"Well, the Brothers Grimm aren't where the stories came from," I said.

Kagome's head tilted. "They're not?"

"No. They adapted most of their stories from oral tradition of peasants, or retold the stories of French author Charles Perrault, who in turn retold many stories by Italian author Giambattista Basile. Perrault and Basile predate the Brothers Grimm by centuries. The Brothers added big Christian messages to their stories, too, to please the rulers at the time." I smirked, recalling the older versions of the stories the Grimm's Brothers appropriated. "The Brothers Grimm have a reputation of being super dark, at least compared to Disney and whatnot, but they're sunshine and rainbows compared to Basile and Perrault. Basile and Perrault are _fucked up._ "

"Well, that's all news to me." She pointed at the book in my numb hands. "Even so. Why all the missing stories in this book? It's hella weird that it doesn't at least include Cinderella, right?"

"Could this be a translation error?" I asked. "I wonder if I can order an English volume from the library."

"Already did." She tossed her hair with a beam, proud she'd beat me to the punch. "Librarian said it would take a few weeks to come in, though." At that she dropped her smile and sighed. "Ugh. Waiting. I _hate_ waiting."

I looked at the book. "Me, too."

"And that librarian didn't know much about those stories, either." She huffed, kicking her foot like the impatient kid she was in some ways, and wasn't in others. "Fat load of help she was. You'd think a librarian would know literature, but…"

Thoughts connected and bounced off each other like they'd been caught in a pinball machine. I held up the book and asked, "Hey. Can I borrow this?"

"Uh, sure. But why?"

"You just gave me a great idea, that's why." It was my turn to beam. "If a librarian didn't have answers, then I might as well consult a certain literary genius for his opinion."

* * *

I didn't get to talk to Kaito that day, unluckily for me and my burning curiosity. It was Sunday, and I wouldn't see him until I went back to school. I left my meeting with Kagome with her book tucked under my arm and promises to use Kaito as my Literary Google Machine on my lips.

To be honest, it felt good to talk to Kagome about something other than Yusuke. Yusuke consumed the majority of my time and energy these days. Having something of my own to chew on—my own plot, so to speak—reminded me that even though Yusuke's story was on the verge of taking center stage, I still had something to do. I still had something to occupy my time, something personal and not dependent on the Yu Yu Hakusho storyline into which I'd been shoehorned.

Still, though: Much as I liked having my own independent plot, I was very much a part of Yusuke's. After I left Kagome I found myself walking to Atsuko's apartment with a take-out bag in hand. Figured Yusuke might like a lemon tart. Add a little spice to his cooped-up life, you know?

Seems I didn't need to try.

Yusuke had taken care of adding variety to his routine all on his own.

Minute I walked in the door to the apartment, one of the nurses popped up. Eyes wide, hands shaking, she looked at me and said, "Oh, Keiko, thank goodness! Have you seen Yusuke?"

I paused just inside the door, one finger hooked into the back of my shoe as I tried to take them off. I looked up at her and said, "Wait, what?"

"Have you seen Yusuke?" she repeated. Her voice cracked on the last syllable.

"He's not in his room?"

"No, I came in and—where are you going?"

I didn't bother taking off my other shoe. I dropped the lemon tart bag, leapt over the raised platform into the house, and sprinted down the hall to Yusuke's room. All but kicked the door down, his name bubbling on my lips like magma.

Too bad no one was there to hear me.

Yusuke's room was empty.

The baby bird had left the nest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter too long; couldn't squeeze in Kurama. Sorry, guys. Next week. Dissatisfied with this overall but oh well. At least there was a kitten!
> 
> The Grimms Brother created very few fairy tales as we know them. Often people credit them as the creators of the fairy tales we know and love today, but that's not the case at all. Check out "Sun, Moon, and Talia" by Basile for a look at one of the earliest renditions of Sleeping Beauty. It makes the Grimm's Brothers' version look like an episode of Barney & Friends.
> 
> So, about my arm…that first section is biographical. Hesitated to include it but it's a huge part of my life and felt wrong to leave out, I've come a long way since my PT days. I can drive again (one handed, with my left), and I can wash my own hair most of the time. On bad pain days I still need help with some tasks (buttons and hairbrushes are my enemy) but it's amazing how far I've come. Chronic pain isn't fun, but PT really did help. I need to go back. My nerve damage is spreading again.
> 
> It's been a rough week. Family dog (Speck) passed, and that…just hurt. Dogs are very special. Speck was my grandfather's companion and my grandmother died earlier this year, so Grandpa is not doing very well and feels very alone. Worried about him. Your support has meant the world this week.


	34. One Crisis at a Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko's best-laid plans go very much awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The first section deals with an oracle from Greek myth. I learned of her in a college course on moral philosophy and wrote the details of her fortune-telling method/the origin of 'horns of a dilemma' as I recalled them, but I'm having trouble finding a source to cite. Even if my details are inaccurate, the point gets across, and it sort of remains true to my character since those are the facts I would've recalled in a world without Google (AKA Keiko's world) or the ability to immediately fact-check myself. Thanks/sorry as needed! 
> 
> 2) Keiko uses the Japanese idiom "猿も木から落ちる" in this chapter, translated as "even monkeys fall from trees." AKA, everybody makes mistakes.

In ancient Greece, kings consulted oracles for guidance in times of trial. The methods of the oracles were as many and they were inscrutable. Some inhaled smoke from volcanic vents and felt the gods sing in their blood. Others drank broths of hallucinogenic herbs and heard spirits whispering in the dark. Others read the whim of fate in the entrails of slaughtered birds. Still more beheld destiny in cups of curdled blood, flights of high-flying vultures, or scatterings of polished stones.

The oracle of the temple of Minos consulted the gods with the help of a bull. With the dilemma of a king held tight in her head, she ran at a charging bull, animal and oracle barreling headlong at one another down the track of a narrow chute. At the last moment she would place her hands on the bull's head and vault—flying like a scrap of silk on the wind—between its razor horns.

In the exact moment she passed between the horns, the answer to the king's riddle would flash certain inside her mind, a god filling her hollow head when it emptied from terror and adrenaline.

Many young oracles died on the horns of the bull—on the horns of the dilemma they attempted to solve.

That day, staring at Yusuke's empty room, I found myself caught on the horns of a dilemma of my own. Unlike the kings of ancient Greece, I had no oracle to consult for guidance—no oracle but my own logic, leaping figuratively above the head of destiny's charging steer.

Was it happening today?

Was today the day Spirit World recruited Yusuke?

Eikichi had been in Kuwabara's life for two weeks. Yusuke's unprecedented recovery was near its end. I hadn't heard from Kuwabara; Eikichi could very well have been kidnapped. Yusuke could very well be on his unwitting way to them, where he'd spy a lawbreaking demon and catch it even before Botan informed him of the crime.

If today was that day, I shouldn't get in the way.

But if today  _wasn't_  that day—

I couldn't risk it.  _Yusuke_  couldn't risk his recovery being set back by some wild, reckless desire for a premature fight.

Running over every option in my head, every scrap of information, every last detail I recalled from Yu Yu Hakusho's pages and painted cells, I turned and sprinted out the door.

I have no way of knowing, but I suspect the oracles of Minos would envy my speed that day.

* * *

I'd run to four nearby cafes by the time I realized how stupid I was. There was a much easier way of determining Yusuke's fate, and it didn't involve frantic and fruitless searching through the local restaurant scene. Cursing, I located the nearest payphone and dialed Kuwabara. Shizuru answered on the second ring and didn't sound at all surprised to hear from me.

"Yeah, he's upstairs," she said when I asked for her brother. "Doing homework." A rustle as she put her hand over the receiver. "Bro, phone call!"

Kuwabara trundled down the stairs in short order and only sounded a little confused when I asked how Eikichi was doing. "Um, she's fine. Just put her down for a nap a few minutes ago. But why—"

"Oh, her cute little face popped into my head and I wanted to check in, is all," I said, masking my relief with humor. If Eikichi was fine, she hadn't been kidnapped, which meant today was not the day Yusuke got recruited by Spirit World. Good. I still had time.

But if not with Kuwabara, then where the fuck was Yusuke?

To be honest, this was much worse than discovering the Plot had started.

"Are you OK?" Kuwabara said.

Leave it to him to sense my mood even through a phone call. "No, Kuwabara, I'm not. Yusuke flew the coop. We have no idea where he went."

"What?! Why the heck didn't you start with that, Keiko!?" A thud and a curse as Kuwabara probably tried to run for the door. "Where are you? I'll be there in, like, two minutes or whatever! We gotta find 'im!"

More relief flooded me because oh my god, yes please: backup! I gave him directions; we agreed to search the neighborhood from opposite ends and meet up at Yusuke's house if we didn't find him in between. Divide and conquer, as it were. I hung up the phone with heart beating in my mouth, like I'd tried to eat a frog that hadn't yet left its mortal coil.

Part of me wished today was the day Yusuke got recruited. At least then I'd have an inkling as to where he'd gone. I left the phone booth without knowing anything, flying blind as I began my patrol through the neighborhood. No telling where Yusuke had run off to, but—

Wait. Actually, I  _did_  have an idea where he might've gone…and it wasn't anywhere inside the nice, picket-fence-and-flowerbeds neighborhood Atsuko had moved to after the fire destroyed her former house.

Steeling myself for graffiti and the leers of strangers, I turned my feet downtown.

* * *

I found Yusuke in an alley, in the most dangerous neighborhood he could access without a train pass. Stumbled upon him completely by chance, thank my lucky stars. After fifteen dark alleys and two narrow-misses with men who wanted to "show me a good time" (both of whom now sported black eyes and swollen testicles, thank you very much), I located him standing over the motionless forms of three unconscious dudes. He looked over his shoulder when I accidentally kicked a soda can. For a second I thought he might fly at me and attack, but his eyes widened when the sight of my face sank in.

"K-Keiko?" Yusuke said.

"What, you were expecting Bugs Bunny?" I deadpanned.

"Heh. No." He shrugged—and then he winced. He dropped to a knee with a grunt, hand cupping his ankle. "Shit. Those fuckers hit harder than I thought."

I eyed the men on the ground. "Really? They look pretty skinny to me." They certainly weren't any bigger than punks Yusuke had beat down in days of yore. "You sure you're just, y'know…not ready to actually be fighting again, dumbass?!"

He winced again, though not from pain. "Oh, shut, ya old nag." He stood and stepped toward me, but his leg buckled and he went sprawling. "Aw, hell!"

Couldn't help but roll my eyes. "My point exactly. You've gone and twisted something."

"Yeah, your  _panties_  into a  _bunch_ , maybe!"

"Charming." I walked to Yusuke, turned my back, and dropped to a knee right there in the dirty alley. "Here."

I didn't need to see his face to know he looked freaked because said, "What the  _fuck_?" and that was all I needed.

Hands by my ankles, I flapped my fingers. "Hop on."

Took a minute for my meaning to click, but when it did Yusuke said, "No. No! No way in  _hell_  am I letting you carry me." His utterly aghast tone made me laugh. "Not happening, Keiko!"

I shrugged. "It's either that or you sleep in this alley."

"Oh gee, whaddaya know, this place is looking cozier by the second," he whined. Comedy faded into censure. "You're not carrying me piggyback like some little kid!"

"Fine." I stood, turned, and brushed off the front of my pants. "Kuwabara will do it."

Yusuke—still sitting on the ground—stared up at me with wide eyes. I smirked.

"He's on his way," I said. "If you won't let me carry you, then I guess he'll have to do the honors."

"Like hell he will!" Yusuke snapped. He dragged a hand through his hair with a groan. "Aw man, he'd be even  _more_  embarrassing!"

"Is that right?" I inspected my fingernails as though painfully bored by the whole affair. I refused to let my burgeoning smile make an appearance. "So who's it gonna be? Me or Kuwabara?"

Yusuke debated his prospects (for a humorous length of time, I might add) before sighing and throwing up his hands.

"Ugh, fine! You can do it!" He pointed at me, glare sharp. "But if anyone sees this, you're letting me down so I can beat them into amnesia, all right?"

I snorted and sank into another crouch. "Fat chance. Now climb on."

Yusuke, grumbling all the while, wrapped his arms around my neck and climbed inch by inch onto my back. I hooked my arms under his knees and grit my teeth as his full weight settled against my spine. Grunting, I said, "Oof. I thought people  _lost_  weight in comas."

"Hey!" he squawked. "It's all muscle!"

"Well, it certainly isn't  _brain tissue_  that's weighing you down." I stood up and walked out of the alley, mindful of my steps because taking a tumble with Yusuke on my back would probably hurt. I glanced over my shoulder so he could see the full breadth of my scowl. "Seriously, what were you thinking, running off like that to pick a fight? You're not ready yet, dumbass."

"Those guys on the ground?" Yusuke asked with obvious pride. "Yeah. They'd disagree with your little assessment."

I stopped so I could hop in place, jouncing Yusuke. "Think they'd disagree if they were awake to see  _this_?"

Yusuke grumbled, forehead pressing into my shoulder with a crackle of hair gel. "Hey, don't be mean to an invalid."

"Invalid? Who,  _you_? The backstreet brawler?" I tilted my chin with a hearty 'harrumph'. "I don't feel sorry for you one bit. You brought this on yourself."

"Keiko, c'mon! Cut me some slack!"

"Make me!"

I thought that would be the end of it. I thought wrong. Yusuke didn't react for a second. Then he ripped one of his arms from around my neck and dug his fingers into my ribcage. I squealed and bucked and listed to one side, threatening to abandon Yusuke right there on the street for that indignity. The sound of our squabbles filled the air until the task of carrying Yusuke's heavy ass became too much. I stopped talking and concreated on my breath, on regulating the energy in my body so I didn't lose strength before we reached home.

Eventually, he broke the silence with a tone much softer than before. "Hey, Keiko?" he said.

I hummed in recognition.

"…thanks."

He sounded like he had when we were kids, petulant yet grudgingly grateful when I gave him a popsicle after we'd had a row. I shut my eyes and smiled, though only briefly. Didn't want to run into a pole. Yusuke would never let me live that down.

"Don't mention it," I returned.

He took my command to heart. We didn't speak until we reached the foot of Atsuko's apartment building, where he asked me to put him down. I helped him walk to the building, using a fireman's carry to keep him off his damaged ankle. Good thing, too, because as soon as we started hobbling up the steps toward home, Kuwabara appeared like a jack-in-the-box at the top of the stairs.

"You found him!" he said, eyes like dinner plates. "Keiko, you found him!"

"Yeah, yeah, she's got a nose like a bloodhound," Yusuke grumbled. "Now help me up the goddamn stairs before I—"

"Yusuke!?"

Atsuko appeared, then, wild-eyed and tangle-haired. Clearly she'd been tugging at it in her worry over Yusuke; nervous habit of hers. She shoved Kuwabara aside (he squawked, but didn't protest) and vaulted down the steps two at a time. At the last second she threw herself atop her son, arms tight around his neck as she rubbed her cheek against his crackling hair. Even though she wore a grin wide enough to split her cheeks, tears streamed unchecked down her red face.

"Yusuke, Yusuke, oh, my baby!" Atsuko blubbered. "I was so worried!"

"Jeez, Mom!" Yusuke struggled to break free, pushing her away to absolutely no avail. Woman had a hug like a boa constrictor. "I'm fine, OK? What's with the waterworks?"

She snuffled and let out an enormous wail. "I w-was worried you'd l-left me because I'm such a bad muh, muh,  _mo-the_ r! Or that you'd d-died" (she almost choked on the word) "and I'd be all alone, and—"

Yusuke looked thoroughly embarrassed by the situation. He awkwardly patted Atsuko on the back and allowed her to cry into his hair with expression most longsuffering.

"I'm not gonna get killed again, Mom. Jeez," he said. "I just wanted a bit of fresh air, that's all! Can't blame a guy for needing a change of pace, can ya?"

I winced. Wrong move, buddy.

As soon as Yusuke finished speaking, Atsuko's tears dried up. She stood up and glared at her son, face a looming stormcloud.

"Fresh air?" she demanded. "Fresh air? You left and nearly gave me a hearty attack so you could  _get some_   _fresh air_?!"

Yusuke shrank away from her, toward me, as if expecting me to shield him. "Um, Keiko? Save me?"

"Not on your life," I said.

Atsuko lunged and grabbed Yusuke in a headlock, proceeding to give him the single most painful-looking noogie I have ever witnessed. He yelped and screeched and cursed, but I could barely hear him under the sound of Atsuko's furious tirade.

"Don't you ever worry me like that again, you little shit!" she bellowed. "I didn't bring you into the world so you could run around and give people heart attacks and pick fights and get hit by goddamn  _cars_  and—!"

She lapsed back into crying eventually, then yelled some more, then cried even harder. Only when a few curious neighbors poked their heads from their apartment doorways did Atsuko drag Yusuke inside by the ear (he hopped on one foot the whole way behind her) to continue her polemic in private.

Eventually, however, Atsuko's maternal instinct overcame her anger. She cooked dinner (for once), insisting Yusuke eat a double portion to help regain his strength. Although she continued to needle at Yusuke throughout the night, in quiet moments I caught her gazing at him with a soft smile, eyes glimmering with affection she hadn't taken much time to express before his coma.

She knew better now than to underestimate the time they had together.

Even though that dinner came out a little burned, it tasted a whole lot like love.

* * *

I stayed at Yusuke's place late that night, then had to stay up even later to do the homework I'd neglected while looking for his sorry ass. I got to school just before they closed the gates, thank my lucky stars, and found Junko waiting by the shoe cubby in the school's foyer. She watched with pursed lips as I exchanged my outdoor shoes for my interior slippers.

"You OK?" I asked as we started for class.

"I'm good," she said. "But listen—I have a weird question."

"Um. OK? Name it."

She took a deep breath—but the bell rang, cutting her off. She cursed and passed a hand through her bangs.

"Ugh, never mind," she said. We'd reached a branch in the hallway; she took one way, and I took another. "I'll see you in class later, OK?"

"…OK," I muttered. How weird. She looked really bothered by something. I watched her disappear around the corner before heading for class—but it turns out I needed to watch where I was going, instead. I turned around and ran smack into Kaito, of all people. He bore my glare with stoic dispassion as I narrowly avoided falling over.

"Not yet awake, Yukimura?" he said. He adjusted his glasses. "You should be aware that I will be late to lunch today."

"Uh—OK?"

He nodded and walked away with no further explanation.

Well. This was a weird start to my day. Taking cues from my friends, I headed for class and tried not to think about Junko and Kaito's odd behaviors…although it was hard. It wasn't like Kaito to give me updates on his schedule (or even break his own routines, natch). Notoriously independent, that guy. And Junko had looked super bothered by something. I hadn't talked to her since the previous week, so what could possibly be up?

But neither of their behaviors bothered more than the realization I'd be eating lunch with Kurama alone. At least part of lunch, anyway. What I wouldn't give for Kuwabara to provide backup again, like he had the night before. I tried very hard not to think about any dire outcomes (of which my brain concocted many) that could result from alone-time with Kurama. Would only stress myself out, and that was not a headspace I wished to occupy when dealing with a certain fox. Instead I meditated on the walk over to lunch,  _bento_  in hand, cultivating a calm mind before joining Kurama on the stairwell.

Minamino, I reminded myself.

I was joining mild, polite Minamino on the stairwell, not a demon who could do me harm.

Yeah.

Nothing to fear here, Keiko. Pretty sure foxes could smell fear…

"Hey," I greeted. Minamino sat on the third step, as always, food resting atop his knees. I moved to the window ledge, as always, and began unpacking my meal (leftovers from Atsuko's dinner the night before). "Kaito said he'd be late."

Minamino's green eyes held nothing but gentle curiosity, which I found infinitely freaky. "Ah. Did he say why?"

"Not sure. He was unforthcoming." I sighed and leaned against the window, pane cool at my back. "Wish he'd hurry up and get here…"

When Minamino lifted one thin brow, I realized my complaint was just the littlest bit insulting. I'd basically implied lunch wasn't enjoyable with only Minamino's company. Argh. That already wasn't going well.

"Sorry. It's not you," I said. "I need Kaito's help with something and I don't like waiting."

"I see." He smiled, helpful and open. Suspicious. "Perhaps I can be of assistance."

"Well, it's something in Kaito's very specific wheelhouse," I hedged. "So I don't know if…y'know. You'd even be interested."

"Unless you possess the enviable ability to read minds," came Minamino's dry reply, "I'm afraid we can only determine if I'm interested if you tell me what's troubling you."

He was right, dammit—but maybe that wasn't a bad thing. Minamino had lived a singularly long life. Maybe he was an even better authority on antique literature than Kaito. Although this was Human World literature, so…but then again, maybe some fairy tales had demonic sources. That'd be neat, for sure. But was it smart to involved Kurama in this?

As I thought about it, I hoped my hesitation didn't look too out of place, too knowing or too serious. Minamino studied me, green eyes at brilliant odds with his red-black hair and alabaster skin. Eventually his eyes shut, lashes fluttering dark against his cheek. I cut him off just as his lips moved.

"Sorry. It's just…kind of embarrassing?" I said. He frowned; I shrugged, scratching the back of my neck. "But I guess you  _did_  tell me that story one time, so maybe…know anything about fairy tales?"

My line of inquiry surprised him, if the bemused smile was any indication. His eyes glittered with amusement when he said, "Some things. Why?"

"It's…hard to explain." Asking Kurama for information on fairy tales wouldn't reveal anything about my secrets. Not so long as I worded my questions with care. "Basically, I grew up hearing certain fairy tales, and I tried looking for them again but I can't find them. Like, at all." I traced the edge of my open  _bento_ , plastic cool and firm under my fingertip. "I'm wondering if I just made them up."

"Interesting," he said. "Which stories in particular, may I ask?"

"Well, there were a lot of them. Mostly European stories like the Brothers Grimm and Aesop's Fables."

"Aesop?" Minamino pronounced the word like it didn't quite fit in his mouth.

"Yeah—you haven't heard of him?"

"Can't say I have."

"Huh." I traced the  _bento_  a little harder. The plastic bit into the pad of my finger. "Weird."

Minamino offered me an apologetic smile, but the hollow ache in my throat didn't ease. Part of me sought to pin Minamino's ignorance on his identity as a demon, but while Minamino wasn't exactly human, neither was he completely lacking in curiosity or basic observational skills. Guy had a mind like a sharpened thorn. Perhaps on some level he disdained human culture, but he wasn't the type to forget something once he heard it. He'd had to learn and observe human culture to blend in, after all—so no. He wasn't a stranger to Aesop because he was a stranger to humanity.

If Kurama didn't know Aesop, I'd bet my hat not many other people would know Aesop, either.

Kurama had no way of knowing I'd already come to that conclusion, however. He looked unerringly helpful when he suggested, "Maybe I would recognize a story if you told me one. A title, perhaps?"

He had a point. Maybe further investigation was in order, after all. I told him, "Aesop fables all involve animals. They have a lesson or moral at the end, most of the time." I thought on it a minute. "Some of the more famous ones are the Lion and the Mouse, and the Tortoise and the Hare."

Surely he'd heard of those, right? Those were incredibly famous…so why had his helpful smile turned to a look of soft puzzlement? My mouth dried as I stared at him.

"What about the Boy Who Cried Wolf?" I said. "Or the Fox and the Grapes?"

Minamino's eyes flashed, at that. His back straightened. Kurama appeared in the space between breaths like a predator appearing from the underbrush. My breath caught in my throat—shit. Why had I picked that fable out of all of them? Bad move, bad move. Cover story, Keiko, quick!

"Oh, you  _have_  to know the Fox and the Grapes," I said with an exaggerated roll of my eyes. "It's the one where the hungry fox sees some tasty grapes on a vine, but he can't reach them, so he puts on a show saying they're probably sour, anyway. The moral is people often belittle the things they're jealous of, to make themselves feel better. That's where the expression…"

The expression 'sour grapes' fizzled on my tongue—because I'd almost said it in English.

Because the Japanese translation…I didn't know what it was.

And that was really fucking weird, lemme tell ya. I'd been speaking Japanese for fourteen years. I could translate the words 'grapes' and 'sour' no problem, but the literal translation didn't possess the same nuances the English expression held—because, well, as far as I knew, 'sour grapes' just wasn't an expression I'd heard used in this lifetime.

That realization, as sudden as it was striking, rendered me speechless.

'Sour grapes' had been an incredibly common idiom on my old life. Why hadn't that carried over to this new one? This idiom hadn't come up before, but now that I was thinking on it, I couldn't recall a single person ever using the phrase 'sour grapes' in Keiko's lifetime. Aesop, an ancient Greek slave and storyteller, surely existed in this world, right? Why hadn't his work entered common usage?

Was this just…Japan, maybe? Would the expression be used in other cultures, where ancient Greek stories were maybe more common?

What did this mean, if anything? Was I overthinking it?

Just what the fuck was happening here, anyway?

Kurama was frowning at me at that point. I tugged on my bangs, trying to hide my inner turmoil with an awkward smile.

"Sorry," I said. "Had to translate. We get the expression 'sour grapes' from that story."

Kurama nodded, absorbing this—but then his earlier smile, the one of calm apology and regret, reappeared. At least that look of suspicion had eased…

"I've never heard that expression," he said.

I blinked at him like a surprised owl, mouth working around empty air.

"You…you haven't heard that expression before?" I asked.

"Not that I recall," he said.

"How weird." Chin cupped in hand, I stared at the floor and leaned back against the window. The cold pane on my spine grounded me, chasing the cotton of muffling anxiety out of my churning thoughts. OK. So this confirmed, at the very least, that the expression hadn't carried over to Japan in this reality. "How  _weird_."

"Why is it weird, exactly?"

The edge in Kurama's voice skated across my skin, even colder than the wintry window at my back. He stared at me with eyes like carved jade. The edge in them glimmered, intense and penetrating and impossible to ignore. Uh oh. I'd spoken too soon. His suspicions hadn't been allayed at all.

"Um." I fidgeted in place, unable to look away from Kurama's sharp eyes. "Uh…"

My bumbling didn't please him, apparently. He scowled, an menacing look on his delicate features. With silken precision he asked, "Why is it so odd that I don't know the story the Fox and the Grapes?"

I truly hadn't meant to make a pun today, but…even monkeys fall form trees, I guess. You made a mistake, Keiko; now get up and move on. Make more cover. More coincidence to cover my mistake—not that that was hard to do just then. Mentioning that story hadn't been a calculated act.

"I thought that story was really common," I said, because it was the absolute truth and hopefully he could sense my sincerity. "Like,  _super_  common. But the expression from that story is mostly said in English, so…sorry." I shook my head and sighed, sagging in my seat, trying to look innocently disheartened. Kurama's sharp scrutiny did not waver; curse my terrible luck. "Really, sorry for dragging you into this. I think I'm just confused."

"You are? That's a change."

I flinched as a new voice echoed in the stairwell, but it merely belonged to Kaito. He stood on the upper landing and stared at us down the bridge of his long nose. I glowered, noting from the corner of my eye that Kurama had put away his dangerous expression—for the time being, anyway. He was back to being Minamino now that we had company.

"There you are," I said to Kaito. "And me being confused is a change from  _what,_ exactly?"

He trotted down the steps, sat, and pulled a customary book from his bag. "You've been awfully  _chipper_  lately," he said.

My head tilted to one side. "I have?"

"Yes. You have been ever since we came back from winter break," he said, sounding utterly disinterested in that fact. But I knew Kaito wouldn't have brought up that weird observation for no reason. What was he getting at?

Ah, well. Best give him something to chew on. I flipped my hair and smirked.

"Hm. Weird," I said. "Guess I must have had a  _really_  good break."

Kaito's lips pursed; he didn't like being baited.

"Well. Anyway." I looked between my two friends and decided it was high time I changed the subject away from Aesop. Best engage Kaito on the subject without an ornery fox present. "We haven't talked about it yet, but how were your winter breaks?"

"Fine." Kaito shrugged, opening his book and holding it so I couldn't read his expression. "I read. It was relaxing."

"Nerd," I said, but with affection. Typical Kaito. "And you, Minamino?"

"I spent the holiday with my mother," he said, tone neutral despite the subject matter. "Though at one point I took a small trip with friends."

I did my best to keep all traces of pity out of my smile (and I did my best not to ask questions about that trip, because maybe it was a scouting mission for to prepare for robbing Spirit World, but Keiko wouldn't know about that, now would she?). I said, "That sounds nice, Minamino."

"It was." He did not seem eager to expound upon his activities, for he turned to Kaito with obvious interest. "What did you read, Kaito?"

"A treatise on literary theory," Kaito said. He thumbed through his book without making eye contact. "But it matters little. I suppose you're wondering why I was late to lunch today."

Minamino and I exchanged a look. Kaito had a self-absorbed streak we'd mutually decided was sort of hilarious to mess with. We shrugged in unison, adopting expressions of mild boredom.

"I hadn't given it much thought," I said.

"Your business if your own, after all," Minamino added.

Minamino and I both ducked our heads, trying to hide our laughter. Kaito finally looked up from his book with a scowl. "Ha. Very funny. But I regret to inform you that it  _is_  your business—for Yukimura, at least."

My head jerked up. Kaito smirked.

"After overhearing a bit of gossip," he said, "I had to consult the rumor mill on a certain matter."

"And here I thought you despised teenage melodrama," I muttered, shaking my head. "What exactly did you consult the rumor mill about?"

"Why you've been so cheerful since we came back to school."

I could do little more than stare at him. This whole 'you've been cheerful' thing had come out of nowhere, and why he was so invested in my emotional state boggled the mind.

"And you couldn't just…I dunno,  _ask me_  why I was feeling cheerful?" I said.

He shrugged. "I wished to collect all pertinent evidence before hearing an anecdotal account."

"How very logical of you," Minamino interjected, tone arid, "but I agree with Yukimura. If you have a question, asking it would be the most expedient method of obtaining an answer."

"I suppose. But I like being informed." Kaito pinned me with a dead-fish stare. "So tell me, Yukimura. Is it true a certain friend of yours has come back from the dead?"

For a second his words refused to sink in.

When they did, my jaw sank near to the floor.

_How the ever-loving fuck had Kaito—?_

"I withhold his name for the sake of privacy, of course," Kaito said, with a sidelong glance at Minamino (who was looking utterly shocked at that moment, I must say). He lifted his book when I didn't immediately reply. "I see you need time to order your reaction. I will wait."

Minamino's head snapped in my direction. I met his eyes, still unable to speak. Dimly I knew it was good Kaito hadn't said Yusuke's name, and that because of this maybe Kurama wouldn't connect Yusuke to me when they finally did meet, but beyond that…

"Where the  _fuck_  did you hear that rumor?" I grated out.

"The rumor mill," Kaito said, as if it were obvious. "So is it true, then?"

Minamino, a person who loved being in control as he was, didn't enjoy being out of the loop. Brows raised like questions across his forehead, he asked, "Your friend…?"

I took a deep breath and chose my words with care. "Remember that friend of mine who died?"

Green eyes narrowed. "Yes."

"Well…he didn't exactly 'die.' Or rather, he  _did_  die, but he…got better?"

I trailed off and took another deep breath. Minamino and Kaito waited with twin expressions, impatience waging war with their desires to interrogate—Kaito to learn the truth behind a rumor, Minamino to hear of the extraordinary.

It occurred to me, in some deep recess of my semi-panicked brain, that perhaps the idea of resurrection would interest Kurama in a particularly noteworthy way. Too bad I was about to disappoint him.

"For a while there we really  _did_  think my friend was dead," I intoned, telling the usual cover-story, "but it turns out the paramedics missed his pulse. Right before we stuck him in a cremation oven, someone realized he was breathing. He was in a coma. And he was in that coma until just recently."

Minamino and Kaito stared as they worked through what I'd told them. Eventually Kaito closed his eyes.

"That's unbelievable," he said.

"Yeah." I nodded, looking at Minamino with a smile—a smile of genuine happiness at the memory of Yusuke's return. He responded with a smile of his own, automatic and perhaps a touch uncertain. "Yeah. It is."

"No. I mean I really don't believe it." Kaito's eyes opened, glaring as if he could wring from me some other form of truth. "What kind of incompetent medical personnel—?"

"The kind who are likely paying quite a lot of money to cover the family's emotional damages, I should think," Minamino cut in. His smooth voice held a breath of humor, but underneath I detected a diamond edge. "Yukimura has no reason to lie about this, Kaito."

Mollified, Kaito ducked his chin and grumbled. I shot a look of thanks in Minamino's direction; he nodded in return.

"Yup. Minamino's got it," I said. "My friend's mom bankrolled a new condo off the hospital, in fact." This was true; Atsuko had had no reservations about allowing the hospital to cut her a check for their apparent oversight. Obviously there was no way for her to tell them about Spirit World. "And to answer your question about my apparent good cheer—my friend woke up from his coma just before winter break."

Setting my  _bento_  aside, I pulled my knee to my chest, arranging my skirt so I wouldn't accidentally flash Minamino and Kaito my underpants. Although I hadn't noticed being in a better mood lately, it stood to reason that maybe I'd been just a bit more smiley, a bit less anxious now that Yusuke was back and gaining strength. Leave it to Kaito to notice, right? But then again, how was I supposed to be sad in the wake of a goddamn miracle?

"For a long time we weren't sure he ever would wake up again," I said. "It was months of…nothing. No hope, no idea if we'd get him back. We just cared for him and tried not to lose faith. It was agonizing." Chin on knee, eyes downcast, I replayed the moment Yusuke had opened his eyes. My lips couldn't help but curl. "But then he woke up. He's stuck in physical therapy and hating it, but still. He's alive. My best friend is  _alive_." With a cheesy grin I fought down the sudden ache in my throat, the out-of-nowhere pricking in my eyes. "So, yes. I do suppose I've been cheerful lately, Kaito, but I'd like to think I deserved that modicum of Christmas cheer."

Kaito's lips pursed. Minamino smiled—a larger smile than normal. Even a bit of teeth showed behind his otherwise demure lips. Pretty sure it was the biggest smile I'd seen from him yet. It did things to his eyes that made them sparkle. Light from the window struck the ruddy highlights in his hair, the contrast of red and green coaxing the color of his irises into brilliant, jewel-like relief.

"I'm very happy for you, Yukimura," he said. "That's wonderful news."

I ducked my chin, hiding pink cheeks behind my knee. "Thanks, Minamino."

"I am happy for you as well," said Kaito, not wanting to be outdone. "I imagine this comes as great relief to your friend's family."

"It does," I said with a glance at my  _bento_. The charred chicken and overcooked rice inside it bore the telltale signs of Atsuko's loving handiwork. "It's just him and his mom, and man, you should see her. I look like an emotionless robot next to her. She was shattered when he died, just  _shattered_ , but now…she's like a different person." Reaching into the  _bento_ , I plucked a morsel between my fingers and rested it on my tongue. Even beneath the layer of burn it tasted very much of a mother's love. "It's not just my friend who came back to life. It's like his mom's been reborn, too."

"A parent should never have to bury their child," Kaito said. He spoke low and soft, with gravity I wasn't used to hearing from the sarcastic genius. "No wonder you're cheerful."

"Yeah," I said. "No wonder."

I took another bite of Atsuko's cooking, beaming with cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk—only when I looked to Minamino, the food turned to ash in my mouth.

Today was a day of firsts, it seemed. If earlier I'd seen Kurama's most earnest smile, now I was seeing…I wasn't sure what, and that uncertainty sent a spike deep into my gut. His smile had gone, replaced by brittle silence, eyes like fragile malachite beneath a fringe of ruby bang. A frown ghosted the corners of his mouth; pain, masked only barely by carefully cultivated neutrality, haunted his hollow eyes like specters in the dark.

But why—?

Oh.

Oh, Keiko. You stupid,  _stupid_  asshole.

I'd just been talking about mothers, shattered by the deaths of their sons. And if he was planning what I thought he was planning, he was planning on leaving his mother very soon, and—

Sensing me, he lifted his eyes. Between one second and the next an expressionless veil settled over his face, hiding that horrible, broken look from me completely. Still, I knew what I'd seen. I knew that look—and the emotions that had inspired it—had to linger somewhere. I choked down my food and turned to Kaito, clawing desperately for the quickest subject change I was capable of concocting. Probably set some sort of record.

"Anyway," I said. Even though it was incredibly rude, I pointed my chopsticks at Kaito like they were torture implements. Maybe making a fool of myself would distract Kurama, or something, from the storm brewing behind his pretty face. "I repeat: How the fuck did you hear about my friend? I don't like being part of the rumor mill and the family hasn't released information about my friend publicly, so spill it, mister!"

"Easy," Kaito said, without a single trace of shame. "I heard via eavesdropping. I overheard your friend Junko telling a classmate—Amagi, I believe—that she had to speak to you about your friend. She sounded quite confused by the whole affair. But spontaneous resurrection will do that to a person, I imagine."

"OK. And how did  _she_  hear about my friend?"

"Apparently certain ne'er-do-wells at this school engaged in fisticuffs with his ghost." Kaito shrugged, smile smug. "Or his twin brother. But logical dictates both of those events are unlikely."

My brow lifted of its own accord. "Oh, and coming back to life is  _more_  likely?"

"It is when paired with your reluctance to speak of his death in the first place." Kaito adjusted his glasses, still wearing that smirk. "You were remarkably reluctant to discuss him when we first met. I deduced there must be more to the situation given your reticence to discuss it, although I confess I asked if he had come back to life mostly in jest."

I stared at him. Because if he was telling the truth, did that mean I could have denied that my friend had come back, and Kaito would have believed me? I could've hidden Yusuke's truth just a little longer, had I been more in control of my reactions?

"…you were joking?" I asked.

Kaito's lips pursed. He hefted his book a little higher. "Yes. I  _am_  capable of such things, you know."

Unable to process that I'd been played, and unwilling to admit just how badly I'd bungled this conversation, I used my chopsticks to fling a bit of rice at Kaito's smug face. The dollop of concealed starch splatted against his glasses; I raised my arms above my head and yelled, "Touchdown!" Kaito pretended not to notice my theatrics (nor the glob of rice on his spectacles), flipping through his book in a portrait of unflappable nonchalance. Minamino watched his composure with understated admiration.

"Best conserve your energy, Yukimura," Kaito said. "Junko plans a full interrogation when you see her in your final period."

Even though I'd planned on asking Kaito about Aesop, the mention of Junko (and what was sure to be a vexing conversation) chased away any desire I possessed to unravel the mysteries of the universe during that particular lunch period. The inquiries of curious teenage girls filled my plate enough, thank you.

One crisis at a time, Keiko. One crisis at a time.

* * *

Minamino followed me down the hall after the lunch bell rang. This in and of itself wasn't unusual. Kaito had class in a different wing than Minamino and I after lunch. Over the past few weeks Kaito had somewhat relaxed his unspoken policy to keep Minamino and I completely apart, and as a result we'd walked together alone on a few separate occasion. Nothing amiss there.

What did feel amiss was when Minamino murmured "thank you" as soon as the stairwell door shut behind Kaito on the landing above. He spoke so softly I barely heard him, voice obscured by the sound of our feet on the steps.

"Hmm?" I said, looking at Minamino askance.

"Thank you," he repeated. "For changing the subject, earlier."

I paused at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the door to the hallway beyond. Minamino stood with hands in his pockets a few feet away, gazing at me with that careful, cultivated detachment I'd come to know expect from him. It was a look he wore when he felt things, and when he did not want people knowing he felt them at all. His mask. His shield. The one I'd seen beyond only for a moment at a time, and only because he'd allowed for me to do so.

Aside from earlier, when I brought up mothers. That look he'd worn…I got the feeling he hadn't meant for me to witness it. It broke my heart to think my words might've caused that look to rear its hurtful head.

"I'm sorry," I said. I hope he knew I meant it. "Talk about insensitive. I brought up moms, and you—ugh, I'm  _sorry_." If I was smiling just then, it was the single most please-kill-me-before-embarrassment-does-the-job smile on record. "I'm kind of the worst, right?"

But Minamino, polite as he was, merely shook his head. "No apology necessary. You were merely expressing your happiness. I hold no grudge for that."

"Still, though. It was insensitive of me."

" _No_." His firm tone caught me off guard, as did the sudden squaring of his shoulders—Kurama coming out to play. Did he notice when he changed like that, or was it instinctual? Either way, he must have realized that  _I_  noticed because he shook his head, softening his expression and lowering his voice. "Please. I need no apology. Your happiness is…uplifting, in a way." I hoped very much that that smile of his was genuine. It warmed my heart like a nip of spiked cider on a cold day. "Do not hold back a smile on my account."

We just looked at each other for a minute. But I'm as awkward as a manatee on roller blades, so I was only able to trade that look with him for a moment. I flipped my hair and pasted on a grin that clowns would envy.

"I can walk around with a massive cheesy grin on my face if that'd help," I said, talking through my teeth to demonstrate my huge, deranged, twitching grin. "Eh? Eh? How's that?"

He chuckled, sound as delicate and delicious as a chocolate wafer—whoa, now, Keiko. Rein in the appreciation. Keep it professional, girlfriend.

"I wouldn't trouble you to go  _that_  far," he said, "but I admit, the gesture is appreciated."

"Sure." I let the horrible smile drop. "But, um. You doing OK, lately?" I shook my head and gave a wry laugh before he could reply. "Sorry. That's such a loaded question, I know. I bet that question is super annoying, right? Feel free to ignore it." I held up my hands. "Don't mind me!"

"My father is dead."

Kurama spoke with matter-of-fact dispassion, as though he'd merely revealed his eye color or where he'd been born. I stopped babbling at once. Beyond the stairwell door I heard students talking, unaware of the serious turn in our private conversation. When Kurama didn't say anything more, I swallowed.

"I'm sorry," I said, because there was little else to say.

"Many of the major decisions regarding my mother's treatment have fallen on my shoulders as a result of our current family dynamic," Kurama said, in that same fake blank voice that didn't match the void gathering in his eyes. "She worsened over winter break. I confess my mood, as of late, has not been the most pleasant."

"That's understandable," I said, because that was all I could say, and because it was true.

"Yes. I suppose it is." His chin lowered, eyes hooded as he looked…not at me. He looked Elsewhere. "She's on an overnight hospital stay this evening, in isolation."

"For treatment?"

"Yes. A recent medication compromised her immune system. This should help her recover."

His tone did not waver. No emotion leaked into the caverns of his eyes. Kurama's control over his emotions—it was both impressive and terrifying.

"Makes sense," I said, recalling the time Aunt Lana stayed in isolation after stem cell therapy. "I hope the clean-room helps."

"Me, too," he said.

Neither of us spoke for a time. Our peers beyond the doorway chattered and gossiped like birds on a line. Perhaps some of them discussed Yusuke's apparent ghost. Perhaps a fangirl worried for Shuichi. None of them knew we were there, staring at one another, trading looks on his part vacant, on my part sympathetic.

Shiori was in isolation, and Kurama was a duck: calm above the water, paddling furiously out of sight below the surface. Despite his exacting mask, he must be suffering to be so far away while she battled this new health crisis. He'd sit at home and worry for her, I was sure—

My chest opened up, a black chasm of dread.

The thought of Minamino going home to a dark, empty house, unable to see the mother he so desperately loved, and felt so guilty for breaking, and would feel so guilty for leaving behind…

"I'm sorry for putting this on you," Minamino was saying, apology covering his hollow eyes. "It isn't something I often express."

"Hey. It's OK," I said. "Whenever you want to talk, I'm with you."

"Thank you." He didn't smile, but a certain tension around his eyes eased. "We should get to class."

He reached for the door. I didn't mean to reach for  _him_ , but I did. My thumb and forefinger caught the fabric of his sleeve like thorns catching the hem of a coat. His lips parted, surprised, as he glanced toward my roving hand. He looked as surprised as I felt.

"Sorry." I pulled back my errant limb with a mental curse. "Sorry, but—wait a minute. I have an idea. Hear me out?"

His brow knit. "I'm listening."

"Well. Maybe, to get your mind off of things…do you want to go to karaoke with me and a friend of mine tonight?" When his eyes widened I held up my hands and said, "Not the one who was dead, though! The zombie is still on bedrest. This is a different friend. One who is very much a live and definitely not a zombie."

Kuwabara and I had a weekly tradition of eating dinner with my parents before renting a karaoke booth, where we chatted and did homework away from the watchful eyes of family. Since we didn't go to the same school anymore, the routine helped us stay in touch. Tonight was our usual karaoke night. Something told me Kuwabara, with his goofy disposition and friendly demeanor (so long as you weren't a rival punk), might stand a chance of providing Kurama with light, distracting entertainment. Watching Kuwabara belt Megallica songs was truly a sight to behold. And Kuwabara probably wouldn't mind meeting a friend from my new school, either, right? Plus, Kuwabara and Kurama weren't fated to meet till the Saint Beast arc, so what were the chances that their meeting would mess stuff up? In anything, Kurama would just make a new friend. Surely that wasn't a bad thing, right?

Or was I just so desperate to fill that void in Kurama's eyes that I wasn't thinking straight?

Minamino hesitated. "I wouldn't want to impose or inconvenience you," he said. How very Japanese of him. Funny how he'd absorbed that trait of this culture. Surely demons didn't normally worry about such things

"You wouldn't be imposing," I said. "We go all the time. We eat dinner at my parents' restaurant and hang out and do homework in the karaoke booth. But you'd be hearing a whole lot of Megallica, so if metal ain't your thing…"

The clouds in his expression did not scatter. He inhaled a sharp breath, eyes roving across my face. "Yukimura…"

It dawned on me, why he might be hesitating. I snapped my fingers, pointing at him. "Oh.  _Oh_. I totally forgot. I'm sorry! Riling up the fangirls would cause you trouble, and—"

"It's—it's not that." He shook his head, expression strained. "They're friends of yours, it seems. I'm sure they'd understand. I merely—"

He hesitated again. If not the fangirls, then what was he getting at? I waited, frowning as he searched for words, trying on my own to deduce what he might say. But I could no more predict Kurama than I could predict the weather, so of course he beat me to the punch.

"I merely haven't been to karaoke since middle school," he admitted, as though he found the confession embarrassing. "So, my singing voice…"

"Ah." I leaned toward him, nudging him in the ribs with a knowing grin. "You're worried you'll croak like a frog, is that it?"

"Perhaps." And at last he was smiling, for real this time, with a smile that filled his eyes and covered that awful, desperate desolation with cheer. "I haven't accepted a social invitation in a very long time. You surprised me, that's all."

I preened. "I've gotta keep you on your toes somehow, don't I?"

"Yes." The smile softened, warm and…well, maybe almost affectionate. Like perhaps I really had caught him off guard with this overture of friendship, and he liked that feeling just a little. "I suppose you do."

"Well, what do you say?" I swiped my hands through the air, clearing it of expectations. "I promise the karaoke booth will be a judgement free zone."

"If you're certain it wouldn't be an imposition," he said with ponderous, rising determination, "I supposed a distraction…might not go amiss." He bowed, so polite it almost hurt. "Thank you, Yukimura."

I couldn't help but grin. "Awesome. We meet at my house at—"

I wrote the address and time on a scrap of paper from my schoolbag, adding my phone number as an afterthought in case of emergency. He accepted the paper with a chuckle. I practically bounced on my heels as I described directions.

"Oh, and we tend to go in plainclothes, not our uniforms," I said once I finished sketching a rudimentary map on the paper, "but if you're  _really_  feeling the magenta vibe today…"

"Thank you." Green eyes glittered with teasing humor. "I'd hate to show up underdressed."

Pretty sure that's not possible, bro. If Kurama could make that magenta uniform look good—which he most certainly did, figure dashing and trim no matter how boxy that stupid coat made everyone else appear—Kurama could look good in  _anything_.

Unless he wore that stupid shoulder strap covered in pockets from the last episodes of the anime. That's where I drew the fashion line. Hopefully he just wore jeans or something, and not one of those anime fashion disasters I used to laugh at on Tumblr…

"Ah, the bell." I pointed up at the ceiling when it rang. "We're late! See you later?"

"Yes." He pushed open the door and waved me through it. "I'll see you soon."

From him, it sounded like a promise—one I admit pleased me a great deal.

* * *

"Hey mom—do you mind if I have another plus-one for dinner?"

"Of course not, honey!" she said. She was on break, sitting on a crate in the stockroom with a cold towel around her neck. Dad yelled on the other side of the curtain, running the kitchen with his cheerful, booming voice. "Is Yusuke going to karaoke with you and Kuwabara?"

"Not yet." I leaned against the doorframe, kicking my toe at the ground. "Still on bedrest, especially after this weekend." He's strained some tendons in his calf, badly enough to need crutches for at least a week. "It's a friend from my new school."

"Wonderful! One of the girls?"

"Actually…I need to talk to you about it." I took a deep breath, knowing what I was about to say would dampen my mother's beaming smile. "It's the boy those girls wanted to cook for."

"Oh." Her face fell, as predicted. "The boy whose mother…?"

"Yeah." Neither of us wanted to complete that particular sentence. I soldiered on in spite of the subtext. "His mom has to stay at the hospital for the time being. I wanted to tell you ahead of time so we could steer clear of awkward topics."

She tapped her temple. "Good thinking. I'd hate to step on any rakes!" Mom looked around at the shelves of food and spices; her gusto returned in increments. "Now, let's see…I'll make him a lovely, home cooked meal. Make him feel right at home!"

"Thanks, Mom." I caught her eye and smiled, but I knew the look didn't sit right on my mouth. "Just…I don't think we should overdo it with the Welcome Wagon. He's used to people handling him with kid gloves. Maybe a bit of normalcy…"

"Ah, you're right," she said, nodding. "Normalcy must be in short supply in his household these days."

I sagged with relief. Mom was amazing, but her enthusiasm wasn't always totally apropos. "Yeah. I figured I'd offer him a casual distraction from the whole mom-in-hospital thing. He's always been a loner, at least according to my classmates, but…it just seemed like the right thing to do, you know?"

"I  _do_  know." She reached for me, holding my small fingers with her larger, rougher ones. "Don't you worry, Keiko. We'll keep it very casual."

"Great." I squeezed her fingers and gave her a loving peck on the cheek. "I'm going to go take a quick shower."

"Sure thing, sweetheart. See you at dinner!"

The shower felt like heaven. I shampooed my hair, conditioned, and scrubbed until my skin felt raw. Picking an outfit to wear took longer than usual, but this was a special occasion. I wanted to look nice, right? But not like I was trying too hard, either. Kurama shouldn't feel awkward. I wasn't a fangirl, after all, and dressing up to impress people wasn't in my nature, anyhow, but...

He hadn't been out with friends in a long time, he'd said.

He'd been supporting his mother all alone, he'd said.

Clear though it was he needed support during this stage of his life, I was honestly a bit surprised he had accepted my offer. Maybe what I'd said about accepting help sometimes had actually gotten through to him. Or maybe he was still curious about me from all the puns, and this was a chance for him to analyze me outside of school. Whatever the case may be, I was going to treat this the same way: like an outing between friends, to show support as one navigated a difficult time in his life.

No matter what Kurama currently thought about me, he'd come away from this knowing I was first and foremost his friend. That's what mattered.

Plus, it's not like I would be alone in this. I'd have Kuwabara with me. Kurama was getting two friends for the price of one. And since Kuwabara was the best friend a person could ask for, Kurama was getting a damn good deal, if I do say so myself.

Yeah. This was the right thing to do, letting them meet. The reward far outweighed the risk, so far as I was concerned.

I was debating the merits of jeans over dresses when my phone rang atop my desk. I stumbled over the clothes I'd strewn about and nearly fell on my face, but somehow I got the receiver to my ear. Kuwabara's rough voice greeted me a second later.

"Hey, Keiko? It's me."

"Oh, hey man." I wedged the phone between my jaw and my shoulder, holding up a dress in the full length mirror by my closet. "Sup?"

"Um. Nothing good." Worry colored his voice like tacky tar. "Sorry to do this but I gotta bail—it's Eikichi. She's sick and I gotta go take her to the vet."

"Oh my gosh." I dropped the dress, hand covering my mouth. "How sick is she? That's awful! Can I help? I can—"

"No, no, it's fine," he assured me, but his voice cracked, so I knew it really wasn't. "I think she just has a cold or somethin' but I don't want to be too careful, y'know?"

"Of course. She's your baby." In that moment all I felt was worry for the cat, not to mention compassion for my clearly distraught friend. "Tell her I said to get well soon, OK? And give her a nice scratch behind the ears for me?"

"Yeah, sure—thanks." He sounded relieved for some reason. "I'll call you when I know what's up, OK?"

"Good, do that. Best of luck."

"Thanks, Keiko. Bye."

"Yeah, bye."

I hung up, eyes drifting to my window. I unlatched the lock and opened the pane, chirping between my teeth until Sorei swaggered up across the roof tiles. He allowed me to run a thumb across his forehead before deeming that that was quite enough physical contact for one day, thank you. He curled into a ball on my desk and closed his eyes.

"I'm glad you're OK," I told him. "Say a little kitty prayer for Eikichi, would ya?"

Sorei yawned, thoroughly uncaring that my best friend wouldn't be coming tonight on account of his sick cat—

I froze.

Kuwabara…wouldn't be coming to karaoke tonight. Which meant—

"Oh," I said to my empty room. "Oh. Oh. Hoo-boy." I swallowed. "This ain't good."

Sorei didn't care about my plight, obviously. He rolled onto his back and wriggled, crinkling my history homework without a care in the world.

It wasn't like  _he_  had to go to karaoke with Kurama  _alone_ , or anything like that.

No. Nope. Not Sorei.

Just me.

That enviable task fell squarely on my shoulders—the shoulders of the lucky child who suddenly got the feeling her luck had just run out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! Let's rip this band aid off: I am going to take one month's hiatus from this story. I'm trying to finish an original novel and I'm going to use the July run of Camp NaNoWriMo to do it. I can't handle weekly updates of this size while writing a book of my own, but I'm already eager to get back to Lucky Child and won't leave you hanging for long, I promise!
> 
> I'll be back with a proper update on August 5th or 6th; see you then!
> 
> (Also, I only started this story series about six months ago, but I've already clocked about 200,000 words on this account. A chapter a week for six months is quite a lot, so I think at this point my fingers deserve a break. Lol!)


	35. Dance With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NQK takes Kurama out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note #1: The latest Children of Misfortune omake was so fun that it worked its way into this chapter. Totally didn't intend it, but it fit, and I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Note #2: Christmas Eve in Japan is usually thought of as a lover's holiday.
> 
> Note #3: The first section is another flashback scene and it's incredibly self-indulgent and honestly you can probably just skip to the first line break. It's no big deal and very skippable.

Margaret walked in the door and smirked. With a sidelong glance at Kelsie, she said, "Saving the world again, are we?"

I shut my laptop's lid at once. Both girls laughed, pulling up seats at the little table by the window where I worked. I'd kept my back to the glass like always. Knowing someone could walk up behind me and read my work over my shoulder gave me the heebie-jeebies. No thanks! I'd write in secret or not at all.

So far as they knew, I never shared my work with anyone until it was done.

"So far as they knew" being the operative portion of that phrase.

"Seriously—you look so intense when you write," Margaret said as she flopped into a chair. "Like a secret agent hacking a satellite or something. And you never stop, either. You're either writing or in class." Her eyes narrowed with comical suspicion. "Is saving the world a full-time job?"

"Yes. Our world is in constant peril, and it can only be saved through the power of story," I said with mock gravity. They'd been teasing me about my Serious Writing Face and ceaseless, obsessive productivity since we moved into the same dorm our freshman year of college. I probably spent more time writing than sleeping each day, and often gave up the latter for the former.

Writing was my outlet, my obsession, and my passion. If that made me a bit…odd, so be it.

"Whatcha working on tonight?" Kelsie asked. She straddled a chair and leaned her chin on the backrest. "Another essay?"

"Sure," I said, but that was a lie.

"What's it about?" Margaret asked.

"Um—not sure. But I'll tell you when I figure it out?"

"Or we'll hear that it got published from our professors, _again_ ," Kelsie said. I ducked my head, mumbling that I'd just hadn't wanted to jinx anything and hadn't meant to keep secrets when I submitted my first essay for publication. She reached for my laptop, pretending to grab it. "I wanna see what you're working on!"

My fingers splayed across the laptop in a protective web. Kelsie laughed, but thanks to whatever writing god happened to be watching over me, she and Margaret had a party to get to. No more interrogation, thank my lucky stars. They left me to go get dressed, and to continue my work in peace. Only once they left the townhome we shared did I finally crack the laptop and resume work.

Resume work on my fanfiction, that is.

Nobody on campus knew I wrote fanfiction, and I very much wanted to keep it that way.

Not that I was ashamed that I'd penned just shy of a million words of fanfiction for Yu Yu Hakusho. "Shame" was not the word. It's just that the academic literary community looked at fanfiction as a lesser form of literature. Actually, that's an understatement: they looked at it as a black mark on the face of the written word itself. Writing a million words of fanfic wasn't a badge of honor in the circles I traveled. It was a badge of embarrassment, sure sign that you were an incompetent, child-minded hack who relied on another author's world-building to craft a story. If my professors knew I spent time writing fanfics instead of the nonfiction and personal essay they insisted I focus on (it was my specialty, they said), they'd never look at me favorably again.

And honestly?

I was of the not-so-humble opinion that my professors were full of _shit_.

My ire knew no limits, so far as this subject was concerned. Fanfiction was far from a useless art form. It was far from a worthless waste of words—and it was far from restricted to the pages of FFnet and Tumblr, as my professors sometimes claimed.

Every episode of TV not written by the series' creators was basically a fanfic made canon by a boardroom of executives. _The_ _Iliad_ , _The_ _Odyssey_? Those were remixes of oral works—fanfics of _legends_ , made acceptable through time and tradition. Some best-selling books were retellings of older stories, like fairy tales. An entire industry of glorified fanfic centered on expanding the Star Wars universe. Some novels—critical darlings and bestsellers alike—expanded on classic stories that had entered common domain (here's lookin' at you, _Grendel_ and a host of other novels my professors loved).

So, fanfiction, useless? Nah, bro. And that's saying nothing of the void fanfic filled when it came to diversity. You want an LGBT protagonist, or a protagonist of color, or a healthy polyamorous relationship? Good luck finding it in 'real' fiction outside of small niches of often self-published works (big publishers still weren't on board with certain facets of diversity). Most of my LGBT friends—myself included—turned to fanfiction because it was just _easier_ to find ourselves represented in its archives. Hell, I'd been able to find badass protagonists of every diverse stripe online, from characters of color to LGBT characters to characters with disabilities. And should you find yourself without representation, you ask? I'd bet money you could request just about _anything_ on sites like Tumblr and see your need fulfilled in a matter of hours.

Point is, fanfic shouldn't be seen as a red-headed stepchild of greater literature. It serves its purposes, and has existed since the dawn of storytelling.

Try telling that to my professors and peers, however, and you'd get nothing but mockery (and only grudging acknowledgement that I had a point) in return.

I wouldn't even tell my close friends about my illicit little hobby. Better to let them think I was working on (yet another) original novel when I indulged in my fics. Loved them, but my friends were _blabbermouths_. No way was I letting them in on my little secret. Margaret and Kelsie would never let me live the fanfic down.

Both of them were in the college's creative writing program with me. They'd seen the administration make a big deal of my first big-girl publication in a literary journal. My professors were already putting out feelers to place my other works, which made me all kinds of horrifyingly nervous and distinctly vomitus—like they must be playing a joke on me, because my work didn't feel good enough to publish, and _shut up, Anxiety, nobody asked you_.

If word got out that I was a more-than-a-little-prolific author of fanfiction…I didn't want to think about it.

Sighing, I got up from my laptop and wandered to the living room window. Below sprawled the Quad, large patch of grass vaguely lit by three stuttering streetlamps. A circle of kids sat on blankets smoking a bowl. I could almost smell the smoke wafting through the mail slot on the front door. The kids on the blanket represented college life at its finest—a place I didn't seem to fit.

I wasn't one for parties, drinking, or drugs. Too much of a homebody. Give me my writing or a good book any day of the week. My roommates had stopped inviting me places months before, instead coming home to regale me with stories of their exploits (in hopes, they often said, I'd use said exploits in an essay). They knew I preferred being at home, alone, plugging away at my keyboard like a spy hacking a satellite.

Or so I told them.

Sometimes a party invite would be nice. Maybe get some of those exploits under my own belt, instead of living them vicariously through my roommates. But I didn't want to cause trouble, so I didn't say anything. My own fault, really. I should've made my wants known, but I was too scared of making social waves.

But maybe that's why I wrote so much fanfiction in the first place. People _liked_ _me_ in the Yu Yu Hakusho fandom, and I didn't have to hide my interests to stay in their good graces. I wrote exactly what I wanted to write, no holds barred. Write a chapter, post it, BOOM, feedback and warm-fuzzy-feelings galore. I'd made friends online who appreciated me, and whom I appreciated in return. My stories were modestly popular, with a growing readership. When anxiety hooked its claws into my creativity, the YYH fandom was there to reassure me that I wasn't a talentless hack, after all. The fandom was there to remind me I was valued, and appreciated, and that my words actually meant something to real, living people. Cool though it was to have an essay published in a literary magazine, I found myself more touched, more honored, more humbled by the feedback given to my fanfiction. Or maybe I was just a junkie for instant gratification.

Either way, just don't tell my professors. They'd call me ungrateful. And perhaps they're right. I can't say for certain.

Putting my back to the potheads, I returned to my laptop. Kurama waited for an OC of mine in my open Word document. The OC was nothing like me, but she was about to go on a date with Kurama, and I was excited to see the pair of them interact after chapters of anticipation.

Given what would happen to me when I went to the world of Yu Yu Hakusho, it seemed my days of writing fanfic had been quite useful indeed—preparing me for a situation no one, least of all my professors, ever saw coming.

A solo outing with Kurama. An outing not lived in a Word document, but in the trappings of real, flesh-and-blood life.

See, professors?

Fanfiction is valuable, after all.

* * *

Minamino showed up right on time, because of course he did. I spotted his dark red hair the minute it glimmered in the restaurant doorway. I was on my feet and at his side in seconds.

"My friend cancelled, and I would've called, but then I realized I gave you my number, but I didn't get yours. Are you still comfortable hanging out? You can cancel if you need to."

He lifted a brow, but did not comment on my blunt greeting. "I see no reason to cancel, thank you. And yes, the numbers represent a planning oversight on our part. Is your friend all right?"

"Apparently his cat is sick. And that would sound like an excuse from anyone but him, because he _loves_ that cat." I rolled my eyes, though with affection. "Like seriously. You have never seen a man get that mushy over a cat." I beamed when Minamino chuckled, pleased (though indescribably nervous) that Kuwabara's ditching hadn't deterred our plans. "Anyway. You hungry?"

"Yes, actually. Lead the way."

We ate at the counter overlooking the kitchen, where my parents worked over hot stoves and boiling pots. Conversation—a revolving door of my parents coming to the window, then returning to work, then coming back to us again—was choppy, but Minamino didn't appear at all perturbed by this unusual dinner theater. He introduced himself and thanked both of my parents for their hospitality whenever the chance availed itself. My mother was terribly impressed with Minamino, of course. He greeted her and my father with the politest over-the-counter bow in history, and he immediately paid them compliments on the restaurant—though nothing excessive or overly flattering. Smooth operator, this guy.

Keep your guard up, girl. It'd be so easy to trip up around this wily fox…

My parents acted with similar smoothness, much to my relief. They asked questions about Minamino's grades and his hobbies (which he answered with short, thorough descriptions I swear he prepped ahead of time). Never once did either Mom or Dad ask about his home life. Mom had clearly communicated the whole don't-bring-up-mothers thing to Dad, bless her.

"Your parents are very kind," Minamino murmured when both of them were occupied at work. He lifted a glass of water to his lips. "I see where you get it, now."

I was midway through slurping down a spoonful of noodles when he spoke. He didn't look at me, and I barely heard him over the clatter of the kitchen. Only when I hummed (wide eyed, a cascade of noodles streaming from my mouth like a walrus with a bad orthodontist) did he look my way. At the sight of my expression he nearly spat out his drink, laughing behind a hand after he desperately choked down his water. I slurped up the noodles and dabbed my mouth with a napkin, acting like I hadn't been acting a total goof at all.

"So you think I'm kind?" I asked. I nudged him with my elbow. "And here I thought for sure I came across as the school delinquent."

"Can you not be both?" he asked with Bambi-like innocence.

"Not to my knowledge." I put a hand to my chin. "Though perhaps that old adage 'kill them with kindness' could be taken literally? I could slay someone with a razor-edged greeting card, perhaps?"

Somehow he managed to take a bite of noodle-filled ramen without sacrificing his dignity. "Weaponized pleasantness. If anyone can find a way, it's you."

"Or you," I countered, grinning. "You wield politeness like a sword."

"Like a shield, I should think," he dryly remarked—but our banter cut short when Mom neared. Minamino adopted a winning smile. "I was just saying how kind Keiko-san is, for taking me under her wing."

Mom beamed. "Yes, she's got quite the wingspan at this point."

"My daughter, the albatross!" Dad called from the broiler. He flapped his hands like he was trying to fly. "Collecting ducklings wherever she goes!"

"Dad, that's mildly insulting," I deadpanned. "Does Minamino look like a duckling to you?"

Dad paused, then just honked like a goose. Mom laughed. Minamino chuckled. I got the sense I shouldn't leave the three of them alone, for fear of even more jokes at my expense.

Once Minamino had successfully charmed the pants off my parents, and once we'd eaten all the food my mother insisted on shoving down our throats, we left the restaurant and stood on the sidewalk outside. A breeze, warmest we'd had all year, coasted down the street and ruffled my hair with cool fingers. Rain earlier in the day had cleared the sky of smog, stars and half-full moon burning bright against dark expanse. The sidewalk sported more passersby than usual. People still wore coats, but we'd finally ditched winter hats and scarves for the most part. About time. I hated the cold.

"So usually my friend and I go to karaoke after dinner," I told Minamino, "but since it's not really your thing, we can totally do something else." He looked modestly grateful for this suggestion. I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. "Maybe walk around uptown, see if there's anything going on?"

He inclined his head, eyes skyward. "It _is_ a nice night."

Minamino spoke the truth, and others had had the same revelation. The way uptown drew us through shopping and upscale residential districts, streets lined with cafes and eateries galore. Walking in easy, companionable silence, we witnessed myriad sets of people holding hands. Old couples and young lovers cuddled together over cups of cocoa and steamed buns as they took advantage of the weather. It was a cute sight, and when we reached the uptown square with the (currently inactive) fountain and clock tower, we found it festooned with string lights. Remnants of Christmas decoration, no doubt, though they'd removed the large evergreen that had once stood in the bowl of the defunct fountain. Perhaps all the couples nearby still felt the Christmas spirit, themselves. Jaunty music, replete with tinkling piano and velvety bass, drifted on the air from a source unseen.

It occurred to me that this was the place Yusuke would have told Keiko to save his body, had I not made the need to possess Kuwabara a moot point.

Obviously, I didn't mention this aloud.

Eventually we sat down on a bench beneath the clock tower, people-watching and listening to the music. I hummed along to a familiar tune, a spirited cover of a famous 1940s big-band song quite out of place in small-town Japan. Had I ever heard it before in this life? I couldn't quite recall. Minamino glanced at me and smiled, expression soft and subtle.

"You know it?" he asked.

""In the Mood,"" I said. "Glen Miller, 1940. Spent weeks at the top of the American charts." I tapped my foot in time with the drum, unable to keep my head from bobbing along. It was just so peppy and fun! "Infectious, right?"

He nodded, eyes on my tapping foot. "Perhaps we should have gone to karaoke, after all. You seem to enjoy music."

"I have a weakness for live music," I confessed. "Even if it's not a style I normally like, I'll listen to it live. But I really love this style." Something about the nearby tunes sounded live, not recorded. It had that rich quality you only ever heard coming from a live band. "How about you?"

"I don't listen to many albums," Minamino said, "but I do like live music, like you." He stood up, lithe and fluid and more graceful than I'd been in any lifetime. His eyes glittered, mischievous and verdant. "Want to find the source?"

"Who, me? Never. Twist my arm, why dontcha?" I joked, popping to my feet. I cupped my hands around my ears, listening, then flung out an arm. "That-a-way!"

I trotted off, Minamino following at a more sedate (not to mention dignified) pace. We didn't have far to go, though. An open-air café on the opposite edge of the square, blocked earlier from sight by the fountain's centerpiece, housed the musicians we'd sought. They stood on a stage way at the back of the café, a thick throng of dancing patrons on the patio and restaurant floor blocking the band's name on the bass drum from view. Tables had been pushed to the sides to create a dancefloor. I grinned, walking up to the iron railing and flower pots separating the patio from the street. Sweetness off the flowers, sweat from dancing bodies, and the scent of garlicky Italian food perfumed the evening.

"Found 'em," I remarked as Minamino appeared at my side. I braced my hands on the fence and rested my chin on them with a smile. "In the Mood" ended, giving way to "Are You All Reet" by Cab Calloway—another 1940s hopper. I perked up as a band member approached the mic to croon the lyrics. "Cool. I love this song, too. It's called—"

I paused. My eyes got big. Minamino leaned forward, frowning at me.

"Are you all right?" he asked (ironically, considering the song title).

"Is that—?" I shoved away from the fence, jaw dropping as I recognized what I was seeing. "Oh my gosh—that's Lindy hop!"

Minamino's frown deepened. He followed my gaze to the dancers. "Lindy hop?"

"It's American swing dancing. A style of it, anyway." I knew what a Lindy swing-out looked like, and as I zeroed in on the dancers, I realized they were all dressed in period clothes—a hodgepodge of American attire ranging from the 1920s to the 1950s. I saw victory rolls, beaded flapper dresses, housewife shirtdresses, and ties and suspenders and shoes with spats all mixed together like an anachronistic kaleidoscope. I hadn't seen any of these styles in person in what felt like forever. The people wearing them danced in a fervor, flinging each other about, doing the Charleston with abandon, performing a Texas Twist with aplomb. My hand smacked against the café's railing as I said, "Oh my gosh, is this a local group or what? I had no idea there was a Lindy meet-up in this town! This is awesome!"

Minamino's brow lifted at my excitement; I coughed and tried to rein it in, but I couldn't keep the smile off my face when he asked, "You like this?"

"Oh, yeah!" I gestured at the dancers. "It's a super fun way to socialize and it's great exercise, too, and do you see those _dresses_? Oh, man. Great excuse to dress up." Minamino looked amused when I hopped from foot to foot in an excited jig. I fired off the names of dance moves on the floor as I spotted them, unable to keep the grin at bay. "This is great. I haven't seen this dance in years. Not since coll—"

I stopped talking. Minamino's smile faded.

"Not since when, did you say?" he asked.

He spoke with odd delicacy, surgical yet hesitant. I curled my hair behind my ear and gripped the railing in both hands. I'd almost said 'college'. He did not need to know that I'd been part of a Lindy group shortly after graduating college, and that swing and blues dancing had been my main source of exercise (not to mention social hour) in my previous adulthood.

Nope.

He most certainly did not need to know any of those things.

"Oh, doesn't matter," I said, trying to sound breezy and unconcerned. I rocked back and forth on my heels, eyes locked on the dancers. "Wow. Look at 'em go. There are some real old hats in there, I can tell." A couple performed a 'round-the-world lift in the corner. The lead kept careful eye on the other dancers, I noticed. "That lead over there has a great sense of special awareness. Thought it's weird they don't outlaw aerials in this group. Injury hazard and all that—um. Anyway."

I bit my lip to keep from babbling. Nervous habit, and Minamino did not need to know I was nervous. I sat unmoving under his gaze, trying my best to wear a Keiko Mask—a feat that didn't come easily outside of school.

Minamino didn't speak for a moment that felt like a year. Eventually he turned his eyes away.

"Do you know how to Lindy hop?" he said, looking at the dancers.

"Yeah." I'd already used enough dance-lingo to give that much away; Minamino would notice if I tried to deny my own interest. "Used to love it. Could never do any crazy aerials like that, but I've been told I'm a decent follow." I leaned my chin on my hands again, wistfulness rising like morning mist at the sight of the joyous dancers. "Always wish I practiced more."

"Where did you learn to dance?" Minamino asked—but I got the sense I was speaking to Kurama, not Minamino, when his green eyes fastened tight on mine. They glittered like sun filtering through trees.

"A club," was my careful answer.

"Through school?" he pressed.

I hummed, hoping he'd take the sound as an affirmative. While I didn't trust myself to lie convincingly, I trusted my voice enough to change the subject. I asked, "What about you? Got any interesting hobbies I should know about?"

Seems my ploy worked, at least as a distraction. Kurama looked away—Minamino one more, hard edges replaced by brittle evasiveness.

"Just the greenhouse, I'm afraid," he said. "I don't have time for much more."

No doubt too busy taking care of his mother to cultivate hobbies, I figured.

But I wasn't stupid enough to say that out loud.

We stood there for a bit, once more lapsing into silence that wasn't as awkward as you might assume. Funny, how silence with Minamino didn't send me back into panicked babbling. It wasn't a heavy enough silence to trigger that. Seemed I'd distracted him enough that he wasn't going to use silence as a pressure-tactic for getting me to talk, as I suspected he might. I looked at him askance and found him staring at the dancers with unseeing eyes, hands gripping the railing, knuckles almost white—

Uh oh.

I'd distracted him with talk of his mom. Judging by the look on his face, he'd gotten lost deep in thoughts of her. That's the opposite of what I'd wanted tonight to be about! _Fuck_! Say something stupid and goofy, Keiko, and—

He beat me to the punch, though Minamino was never 'goofy.' Just as my panicked thoughts reached a fever pitch, his eyes refocused. He looked down, and something he saw inspired him to break the musical silence.

"Either the proprietor of this café got very lucky with their landscaping," he said, "or they share my interest in gardening."

He nodded at the pots lining the fence. They dripped with five-petaled flowers in shades of pink, purple, and white, with pointed petals and throats dark like they held precious secrets. They looked familiar, like I'd seen them somewhere long ago, but their name escaped me.

The name did not escape Minamino. "Viscaria," he said, gesturing. "Fitting, all things considered."

"Fitting how?"

Minamino's smile—patient, warm, and trained on the flowers at our feet—lost some of its early brittle edge. Ah. Maybe this was the distraction I needed.

"Flowers have meanings," he said, "and Viscaria flowers mean 'May I have this dance'."

My smile came as reflexively as breathing. "Wow, for real? No shit!"

"Indeed." His lips twitched. "'No shit.'"

"Language of flowers, huh." I leaned onto the railing, one hand drifting over it and down to the flowers below. They felt like velvet against my hand. "My grandmother taught me a little of that when I was a kid. Not much, but…"

Though Minamino excelled at hiding his emotions, he didn't bother hiding the look of pleasure in his eyes. "Did she?" he asked, light but eager. "Interesting. I remember you told me she enjoyed flower arranging."

"Yeah. That's right." I picked my words with as much care as my grandmother placed flowers in a vase. "She used to arrange flowers and submit photos to magazines. Had a few featured here and there." Without help of the internet, it was unlikely Minamino could easily fact-check that, so I felt safe enough making references to my other life (though perhaps indulging in nostalgia was foolish of me). "She'd name the arrangements based on the meanings of the flowers in them. We used to play guessing-games about arrangement themes, and she'd quiz me about what all the flowers meant."

Minamino listened to me talk with rapt attention, smiling and nodding and even chuckling as I described some of Grandmother's more noteworthy arrangements and their (at times) mystifying names. Every year for Christmas she'd always give me a Natural Beauty calendar (though I didn't tell Minamino the name of the calendar), which featured photos of flower arrangements that fit the month or season. Her work had appeared in a few of these. We'd always flip through and find hers with her on Christmas morning. She said she looked forward to that every year. We'd even done it the last Christmas she'd been with us, five days before the cancer—

I stopped talking.

Minamino watched me, brow furrowing, as I passed a hand over my face and sighed. I suspected he was far too polite to interrogate my parents about my dead grandmother (especially now that I'd blurted something about her illness), but even so, I felt I'd handed out enough information for one night regardless. Best stop before I got emotional.

"She sounds like a wonderful person," Minamino murmured when the silence dragged on too long.

"She was," I said. I put my forehead on my arms, taking a second to compose myself before standing back up. I scanned the café in front of us and forced a sunny smile. Minamino's brow lifted. "Now, let's see. Think I can make Grandmother proud?"

He looked at the café, question written into the lines of his mouth. A few women wore flowers in their hair, but typical flowers like roses. Nothing interesting. A few men wore flowers on their lapels. More flowers sat in cups on the tables that had been pushed aside to make a dance floor, but they were just—

"Him," I said, jutting my chin at the café's bar. A man sat on one of the bar stools, sipping a coffee in his tailored grey suit—but every few seconds he'd glance at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He adjusted his tie and patted his hair, smirking with pleasure at his own appearance. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that man is wearing quite the fitting flower on his lapel."

Minamino's chin dipped toward his chest, eyes closing as he chuckled. The white narcissus blossoms, indicating ego and vanity, trembled against the man's chest as he puffed it out and posed in the mirror.

"Indeed," Minamino said. He inclined his head toward the left-hand side of the patio. "And that couple ought to mind the flowers decorating their table."

I looked and found two young people, eyes locked as they discussed something in low, heated voices. As if on cue, one of them stood up and stomped off, leaving behind both their date and the cup of purple blooms sitting on their table.

"Hyacinths, but I don't remember what they mean," I admitted.

"Ah." He looked oddly disappointed, which hurt more than I wanted to admit. So much for making Grandma proud. "They're the flower of apology."

"The irony abounds," I said. I turned my back on the café, elbows on the iron fence so I could gaze at Minamino. "So, clearly I have my grandmother to blame, but what got _you_ into flowers?"

He shrugged. "It's an old interest."

"You don't say," I said.

He wore no expression whatsoever. "Lifelong, I'm afraid."

I quirked a brow at his vague reply. "No interesting origin story I should know about? No plant-life epiphany?"

"Afraid not. I'm really quite dull." Minamino smiled with apology I didn't believe, but he changed the subject before I could express my skepticism. "And you? You never did elucidate."

"About what?"

"Where you learned Lindy hop." He leaned toward me, hair backlit by the string lights above our heads. The strands shone like illuminated blood; his eyes cut like tossed seaglass, and I realized Kurama had returned to me. "A club, you said?"

I swallowed down my nerves. "Yup."

He moved almost imperceptibly closer. "What kind?"

My reply was little more than a hollow whisper. "A dance club."

He took another step closer. I could smell him, suddenly, that scent of loamy earth and mint and flowers as intimidating as his proximity.

"You," he breathed, "are being evasive."

It took every last ounce of my nerve to take enough breath to say, "Am I?"

"Yes."

I pushed off the fence, putting my back to him so I could take a deep breath and try to quell the rapid beating of my heart. When I turned I found him staring, shrewd like the fox he'd once been—and still was.

Remember that, Keiko.

Always remember what Minamino _is_.

Past tense does not apply here.

"I learned to Lindy hop at a dance club at school," I said, every word as deliberate as a hammer on a nail. I met his eyes with bold assurance, grin cocky as I dipped a little curtsy. "There. Ta-da! How's _that_ for evasive?"

But my show of insouciance didn't dent his scrutiny. He strode toward me, hand outstretched; I stepped back on reflex, cocky grin fading into alarm. Kurama stopped. He looked briefly at his hand before shoving it into the pocket of his slacks.

"What have you to hide, Yukimura?" he muttered. The intensity of his expression sent a shiver up my back.

"Right now?" I said. I put my grin back on, scrambling for something to say to divert the situation. "Right now I'm hiding amusement, mostly." When he frowned, I spread my hands. "My mom is always telling me I'm too serious for my own good. And Zombie-kun always says I've got the soul of a grandma. However…" I leveled an accusatory finger at his face. " _You_ make me look like a spring chicken."

He blinked at the finger. I sighed and rolled my eyes.

"Y'know what?" I said. I darted close, spun, and looped my arm through his so I could tug him down the sidewalk (he gasped when I did it, clearly not expecting this from me). "C'mon, Minamino."

He fell into step beside me. "Where are we going?"

"To _live_ a little, duh!" He dug in his heels when he realized I was dragging him inside the café. I let go of his arm and planted my hands on my hips. "Oh, c'mon. Don't be a spoilsport."

Minamino eyed the café with expression most dubious. "What sport am I spoiling, exactly?"

"The sport of _dance_ , obviously."

Feeling daring for reasons I could not articulate, I plucked a bunch of Viscaria from the nearest pot, presenting it to Kurama with a dramatic, flourishing bow.

I let the flower speak my intentions for me.

There was absolutely no way he hadn't seen this coming—or so I thought—and that made the surprise on his face all the more hilarious. With another eye-roll I tucked the Viscaria into his front pocket, grabbed his hand, and tugged him indoors. He allowed this ignominy until we neared the bar, at which point he dragged me back with firm expression.

"I don't know how to—" he said.

"Excuses!" I said, raising my voice to combat the music. I pointed over his shoulder. "And the flowers here aren't abiding excuses. See that?"

He looked. Above the bar hung copper pots and pans, rustic and charming, interspersed with the occasional bunch of dried herbs. Minamino scowled when he saw to which one I referred.

"That's garlic," he said.

"And you know what that means in the langue of flowers, right?" I said.

He paused. His mouth worked, fighting back both denial and a startled smile. Eventually he admitted, "It means strength and courage."

"Damn _right_ it means strength and courage!" I declared. "The strength to live a little and the courage to dance your amateur ass off in a room full of professionals."

Amused, he countered my logic. "But only the _blossoms_ mean strength, not the bulbs currently hanging from—"

I cut him off. "'Only the blossoms, not the bulbs,'" I said, voice pitched low in obvious mockery. I flapped my hand like a mouth next to my face. "Blah blah blah, grandpa! Move your ass!"

There was no denying my enthusiasm at this point. Looking a perilous combination of stunned, amused, self-conscious, and apprehensive, he followed me to the edge of the dance floor, only to once again stop cold in my wake.

"I'm afraid I don't know what I'm supposed—" he said.

"You're _supposed_ to have fun! Just do whatever and stop thinking so much!" I launched into an exaggerated version of the chicken dance mixed with an exuberant, bouncing Charleston. "See? I'm an albatross!"

He stared at me.

He stared at me, and then Minamino Shuichi—Kurama, the legendary bandit _kitsune_ —threw back his head and laughed.

He had a lovely laugh. Silky and smooth and velvety and lush, like it came from deep inside and had been waiting for a reason to express itself for a good, long while. It curled my toes inside my shoes and set off my smile like a bomb. I'd never heard him laugh like this, but—it was _wonderful_.

It was wonderful, and I wanted to hear it again. The realization was as striking as the laugh and just as pleasant. I reached for Kurama and took his hand, noting with delight that he let me pull him onto the dance floor without complaint.

He didn't know the steps to Lindy hop. I barely remembered them, myself. But for the next half hour, we danced, and danced, and _danced_ until my feet burned sore and my throat hurt from laughing.

The pain was a small price to pay, to share a moment like this with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 1 of their outing. Part 2 next week.
> 
> And, we're back a week early! Missed y'all. Couldn't stay away. Working on novel went more slowly than expected, but it's ongoing, and I'll be chipping away at it daily until it's done. You regularly-scheduled updates will now resume.
> 
> Sorry for the first chunk of this chapter. I have FEELINGS about fanfiction and academia I needed to establish, for reasons, and stuff about my compulsion to write stories, for other reasons. The YYH fandom means a lot to me. 
> 
> Lindy hop is a great dance style that I love very much, but I tried not to weigh y'all down with too much terminology while still explaining what it is. Hope it makes sense!
> 
> There will be more Kurama next chapter. It'll be more serious, less fun. I wanted to end my hiatus with something…fun and fluffy, I guess? Because we're going to be leaving "fun and fluffy" behind soon, for the most part.
> 
> Related: The Artifacts of Darkness Arc is looming.


	36. Implications Left Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NQK has a very bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: "Shoganai" is a very common phrase in Japan, meaning "it can't be helped." You say it when something goes wrong that's outside of your control. Basically it means "best to move on quickly from this, because there's nothing you can do about it."

 

I had to tap out before he did, even Keiko's hearty stamina no match for my enthusiasm. We bought drinks and sat on a bench by the fountain in the square. The moon above was half empty, like my cup once I cooled my throat. Neither of us spoke even after catching our breaths. Silence companionable, content in the wake of exhaustion, we sat beside each other and watched the Lindy hoppers.

Kurama didn't have a hair out of place, I noticed. What a jerk. I was sure I looked an awful fright, sweaty and rumpled from the night's activities. He wore his slacks and button-up shirt like they'd been plucked off a catwalk. My high-wasted pants and sweater seemed juvenile in comparison. Sighing, I huddled into the depths of my coat, hiding view of him behind my collar. Keiko was prettier than I'd been in my past life, but even so, I felt oddly insecure next to Minamino.

When he spoke, it startled me. I sat up straighter to cover my reaction.

"Thank you for tonight," he said.

His voice wafted like the scent of the Viscaria. I ducked my chin, smiling.

"You're welcome," I said.

"It was…nice." He appeared to have trouble finding the right word. "I've never done anything quite like that."

Shrugging, I leaned back against the bench and said, "We get by with a little help from our friends."

He looked thoughtful. "Yes. I suppose we do."

The tone of his voice gave me pause. He looked away, toward the café, but I only had eyes for him. He leaned his elbows against his knees, fingers woven loosely together as if to catch any errant words.

"Keiko," he said, and it didn't escape my notice that he used my given name. "What did you mean when you said I make you look like a spring chicken?"

Hadn't been expecting that question, let me tell ya. I'd said that on a whim. Had he thought I was being mean, or something? That's the last thing I wanted!

"Nothing insulting, I swear," I said.

He shook his head. Red-black hair fell over his shoulder, curling against his cheek like a caressing hand.

"I didn't feel insulted," he said. He met my eyes with solemn intensity. "Just curious. You spoke as if…"

He trailed off. I frowned.

"As if what?" I said.

Minamino paused. I waited.

"As if you're older than your age," he eventually said, "and you think me even older than that."

It wasn't the words that started my heart like an engine. No, my heart raced because of his tone. That light inquiry, delicate yet pointed, a scalpel slicing through our dance of innuendo and implications to cut to the meat of what lay between us. I swallowed as his eyes met mine, his gaze unflinching and guarded with a type of apprehension I couldn't put a name to.

I couldn't be sure if he'd meant to ask me for the truth so baldly, or if he'd merely stumbled onto it by chance. He knew something was 'off' about me. Was this a direct question, then, or yet another fishing line tossed into the sea of my mystery?

I started to tell him I hadn't meant anything by it—but I didn't do that. I couldn't. I let my head loll back, scalp resting on the bench's backrest. The moon above burned blue-white, like the spirit energy a certain friend of mine would develop (once he got off bedrest). Lying to Kurama didn't feel right, but telling him I was a soul transplanted into a new body…it just didn't feel like the moment for that. Best take Emily Dickinson's advice and tell all truth—but tell it slant.

Success in circuit lies, she'd say.

"Remember that guy I talked about, who came out of a coma?" I said. Best not to use Yusuke's real name. "Zombie-kun?"

"Yes," Kurama said.

"Well, I've known Zombie-kun since I was 6. And I'm always the one making sure we don't, you know…fall down into a ditch and crack our heads open and die."

Kurama laughed at my phrasing. I turned my head so I could smile at him.

"He was the type to shimmy up drainpipes and make me skip school when I got too stressed. He was always dragging me out to do fun things, and making sure I didn't get too caught up in my grandma ways." I knotted my hands behind my neck and rested an ankle on my opposite knee. "Literally, his nickname for me is 'grandma'. So I guess I do think of myself as older than my age. My parents and my best friend think so, too."

Kurama watched me, still and silent and perceptive. I attempted a casual smile.

"That's what I meant by that comment," I said. "Usually I'm a grandmothering albatross, and he's a canary chirping about sunshine, getting people to have fun." I smirked. "Annoyingly chirpy, sometimes, but I can take it."

Words tangled in my throat, then. I swallowed them down. Kurama waited in silence as I sorted through my thoughts. Yusuke had made me  _live_ , in this life. So devoted to the task of making my stolen parents happy, I'd often neglected to be a kid in this new life. Yusuke—with all his posturing, hijinks, and goofs—reminded me to take myself less seriously, and to enjoy the second childhood I'd been given.

Without him, I was relatively certain I'd be too serious for my own good. I wouldn't have had the heart to enjoy this life at all—although before he came around, I'd had no idea that was the case.

Yusuke was the foil that made me aware of my own neuroses, in a way. He was everything I was not, and I was better for the gift of his presence.

But how could I express that to Kurama, and tie it to my explanation, without giving away my past?

"I went through much of my life thinking I was fine alone," I eventually said, recalling how disdainful I used to be of the immature kids I'd suddenly found for my peers in this life. "I was OK without people. I was happy by myself. People were overrated. Connections were overrated. And I think I would've felt that way my whole life had he not come into it and dragged me kicking and screaming on his adventures."

Kurama hummed. He looked at me with furrowed brow and uncertain eyes. I smiled back at him, which only made his uncertainty deepen.

"Zombie-kun woke me up, in a way." I smiled more broadly when I realized I was quoting Yu Yu Hakusho's theme song. How fitting. "He brought into the light, just like you said. So I guess that's what I meant, saying you make me look like a spring chicken. I'm more used to being the big, grandma albatross with wide wings, not the…not that little chattering canary telling people to have fun. I got to play Zombie-kun's role tonight, and I guess I saw a little of myself in you. Got to play a little bit at role reversal, and feel like the young one for once." I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly bashful. "Is that weird?"

For a moment I worried he would say yes, and that my words—all of which were true, even if they neglected to mention certain, secret truths—rang false. But Kurama did not immediately react. He searched my face for answers I couldn't give before looking away, down at his laced fingers. Back to being a grandpa, then. I'd noted his old soul the first time we hung out solo, and here it was again. Kurama, the fox unaccustomed to relying on others, who resisted friendship, who resisted help of any kind. Yeah. He needed a canary lie Yusuke…or like me, if I could put aside my grandma-ness long enough to keep him dancing.

The moment dragged into two, then three. Eventually I leaned forward, catching Kurama's eye with a small, regretful smile.

"I hope I'm not pushing boundaries," I said, trying to be delicate, "but I get the feeling you don't have many people like that in your life. Canaries, I mean."

He looked down at his hands again. I could read nothing concrete in his expression.

"You're not wrong," he murmured. "I have one person like that."

I winced. Contemplated asking, then decided against it…but his lips twitched, pulling into a pained grimace for no longer than a moment. Still. It was enough.

"Do you mean your mom?" I asked, but gently.

Another pause.

Then: "No. I was not taking about her."

Our eyes met.

"Thank you, Keiko," he said.

A beat passed, and then my eyes widened.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

So. He meant me.

 _I_  was his canary.

This…this, I had not been expecting.

I blinked. My heart stuttered. I curled a lock of hair behind my ear, looking at my shoes as though they'd become the most interesting objects in the world.

"Oh. Well. My pleasure," I managed to mumble. Because I was no good at being mushy, I flexed an arm and covered my embarrassment with goofy gusto. "If you ever feel the misanthropy rising and the call of nihilism in your ear, just gimme a call. I'll chase it off with a stick. Or a Lindy hop. Whichever best fights off the doldrums."

Bravado earned me a warm chuckle, and the tension in the air went slack. Did this mean he'd given up asking pointed questions for the evening? I could only hope. I wasn't ready to tell him who I was—not yet. Not when we could have more fun moments like these, free of demigods and alternate realities and the violation of his privacy.

I liked it simple, like this. Getting to know my favorite characters as friends and peers, no threat of doom or intrigue to muddy the water.

It wasn't meant to last, so I had to cherish it while I could.

"Keiko. May I ask you something?"

I jolted from my reverie, forcing a smile. "Um. Sure. Fire away."

Kurama started to speak. Stopped. Searched my face for a moment, uncertain.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Sorry. I'm…not accustomed to speaking so frankly. But I have this feeling—" Another pause, searching and silent. "I can't explain it. I simply feel you might have perspective on a certain matter."

He put too much faith in me. Folding my hands in my lap, I said, "I mean, I can certainly try."

Minamino nodded. He leaned forward again, hands once more interlocked between his knees. Although his voice came no louder than a murmur, I heard his words with crystalline clarity.

"If you could give up something precious to save the life someone you love," he asked, "would you do it?"

He didn't look at me. I did not speak right away.

Kurama…he meant the mirror, of course. He was talking about giving up his life to save his mother. He'd already hinted at his plan a few times in my hearing. That story about the forget-me-nots he'd recited, the one where the son died but the mother moved on...I knew more about his inner turmoil than he knew. Though of course he had no reason to think I was in-the-know about it.

I needed to act very, very casually if I wanted to tread these waters without making waves.

"What?" I asked, affecting wry—but kind—humor. "Does your mom need a kidney?"

His lips pulled at the corners. I figured it was an easy and not-suspicious guess, one anyone would make if they knew about his mom and heard him ask that question. He ran a hand through his hair and sat up straighter, hands mirroring mine as they knotted in his lap.

"No. This is merely hypothetical," he sad (but I knew that was a lie, one told with grace and convincing faux sincerity). His eyes slid to mine, questioning. "What would you do if you could save someone you love from a horrible fate, but it would cost you everything?"

Yup. He was talking about his choice to trade his life for his mom's, for sure. I just wondered why he was asking  _me_  about it. We'd only just become friends. The idea that he'd ask me about it was preposterous and—

The memory of his vice cut through my internal monologue.

_I have one person like that._

One person.

Just one.

Maybe he wasn't asking because he thought I was a good person to give advice. Maybe he was asking because I was the only person in his life who could.

The thought of it—that this lonely, nigh-suicidal, self-loathing demon had nobody to talk to but me—damn near broke my heart.

The thing was…could I risk being honest with Kurama about this?

He watched me as I thought, cool green eyes tight with emotions I couldn't nail down. I smiled at him. Murmured something about needing a minute to get my thoughts in order. He nodded and looked away, waiting patiently for advice I wasn't convinced I could give him.

Only, what was it Kagome had said?

Weeks earlier, eating frozen yogurt at a café table, I'd told her about my reservations in getting to know Kurama. About accidentally knocking his life astray because I might say the wrong thing. She'd merely rolled her eyes at my worries.

"Kurama is super smart, right?" she'd told me. "I doubt he'd let you throw him off course no matter how much you interfere in his life. He's just too sharp and focused to be led off course."

At the memory of her words, tension in my shoulders unspooled. Kagome's logical assessment of the situation had brought me relief in that moment, and it brought me similar relief now. The power was in Kurama's hands, not mine. No way could a mere human being like me throw off the game of a thousand-year-old fox demon.

This was Kurama, after all. I could afford to speak frankly.

"I'm a feminist," I said at last. Kurama lifted a brow, uncertain of where the heck I was going with that statement. "As a feminist, I believe in choice and consent. I can't impose my will on anyone else without their consent. So, I guess…"

I dug a nail into the skin around my thumbnail, unable to escape anxious picking in this new life.

"I guess I'd probably ask them what they want. But I wonder, would the person I love  _want_  me to give up that precious thing to save them?" I asked. "I can't imagine someone who loves me asking me to make sacrifices for them. I'm not convinced they'd ever give me that choice in the first place."

"What if the person you were saving didn't know you were going to make that sacrifice?" came Kurama's immediate reply. "What if you kept it from them?"

I pointed at my face, deadpan. "Have you  _seen_  me? I'm a terrible liar. Face like an open book. I couldn't keep something like that from them if I tried." Dropping the hand, I resumed my anxious picking. My voice came low and slow as realization formed. "I think…I think I'd have to ask myself if my actions could cause them pain, before making a decision." I met his eyes, smile as helpless as it was an attempt at comfort. "I wouldn't want to hurt someone I love, even in the act of saving them. Does that make sense?"

Kurama nodded, though slowly, but he didn't say anything. I tried smiling again.

"Something's on your mind," I said. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Not yet." His eyes closed, lashes staining pale cheeks. "I'm still thinking."

When I nudged him in the ribs with an elbow, he jumped. I grinned, tipping a wink when his eyes widened.

"You know you can talk about problems with people  _before_  you figure out a solution on your own, right?" I teased. "Remember that whole 'asking for support and help' chestnut we talked about with the fangirls?"

"I know," he said, chuckling under his breath. "But not yet. Eventually—" The smile faded, replaced by a grimace that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Sincerity radiated from him when he said, "Thank you for listening."

"You have a funny definition of that word. I did more  _talking_  than listening," I joked, but Kurama did not laugh. He only ducked his head, eyes as distant as the moon overhead.

"Perhaps," he murmured, "but I appreciate your efforts nonetheless." He stood. "It's late. We should head back. Let me walk you home."

"If it's quicker for you to leave from here—"

"No. I insist."

He offered a hand, eyes firm. I took the hand, his skin cool and dry and smooth against my own, and let him pull me off the bench.

We walked home in silence, but it was a nice kind of silence. The unusually clear sky overhead brimmed with pale stars to guide our way through quiet city streets. Only once we made it back to my parents' restaurant did we speak.

"You let me know if you need anything, OK?" I said, stopping on the sidewalk to look at Minamino. His lips parted in mild surprise. "You have my number. Use it. I don't care about the hour."

Once again his eyes fluttered shut, chin ducking as he smiled to himself. When his eyes opened, they fastened on something over my shoulder. At that his smile deepened.

"A fitting choice to decorate your door," he said.

I turned. Next to the guardian Ebisu statue to the right of the doorway sat a pot brimming with pale pink flowers. Sweet pea. My mother in my past life had loved them, and had planted them in the beds out front every spring. Alas, I wasn't sure what they meant, or what observation of Kurama's they must fit.

When I looked to Minamino for an answer, I found that he'd already walked away, footsteps silent as a thief's against the pavement.

"See you in school," he called.

"Take care," I replied.

Green flashed over his shoulder—and then he walked around a corner and out of sight.

I went to bed wondering at the implications of those flowers, and what Kurama read in the fall of their petals in the moonlight.

* * *

That night, under the light of the half-empty moon, I had a dream—only it was more of a memory, but I wouldn't realize that until I woke up.

Ten years old and grumpy as heck, Yusuke followed along behind me as I trotted up the street toward the movie store. Only because I'd promised him ice cream (which he coveted even on chilly October days like these) did he come willingly on my errand. Joke was on him, though. This was an errand he should want to run.

"I can't believe you're this worked up over a stupid move," he grumbled.

Hadn't I explained this a hundred times already? Eyes rolling, I said, "It's the best movie in the  _world_ , Yusuke."

"How do you know if you've never seen it?"

He had a point and looked totally smug about it, dang it. So far as he knew, this movie had just come out. There was no way I could've seen it before. Little did he know it had been my favorite in my past life. He wouldn't look nearly so smug if he knew the truth.

"Whatever." I turned up my nose and stuck out my tongue. "It's going to be great, you'll see."

His turn to roll his eyes. "What's it called again?

" _The Princess Bride_."

Yusuke made a very impressive stink-face. "Keiko! That sounds girly and gross!" He rounded on his heel and marched back the way we'd come. "I'm going home."

Despite the insult, I was unable to take offense. He sounded just like the kid from the movie, who hated the title of the book and didn't want to give it a chance. And just like that kid, I was confident he'd come around if he could just sit still long enough to watch the damn thing. I was clearly the Grandpa in this scenario; the parallels were too hilarious.

" _Pirates_  are girly and gross?" I called after him.

Yusuke stopped walking. I could practically see his ears perk up. He'd been on a pirate kick recently. If only  _One Piece_  had debuted in 1987…

"Sword fights on top of cliffs are girly and gross?" I went on. "Duels to the death with wits are girly and gross? Death by poison is girly and gross? Gigantic, man-eating rats stalking prey through a fire swamp are girly and gross? Battling giants with your bare hands is girly and gross?" With every sentence he turned toward me a little more, and a little more, until he faced me. I crossed my arms and tossed up my chin. "Hmph! If those things are girly and gross, then I want to be the girliest, grossest girl who ever lived!"

He scowled, skepticism undisguised. "Is all that stuff really in the movie?"

"All of that and  _more_ ," I promised. "And you know I mean what I say."

Because I'd never broken a promise to Yusuke in his life, that was all it took to convince him. He darted forward, grabbed my hand, and pulled me down the sidewalk.

"Why'd they pick such a stupid title, then?!" he said, desire to see the movie on par with my own, now. "C'mon, Keiko, let's go!"

Too bad fate (or maybe Father Time) had conspired against us that day. The man at the video store (which rented and sold cassettes to the discerning customer) looked at us with brow hefted high, staring over the top of his magazine as if two goblins had suddenly appeared before him. I wanted to make a joke about David Bowie ("We're here for  _The Princess Bride_ , not  _Labyrinth_!") but decided against it. No sense antagonizing the guy who held my happiness in his hands.

"Sorry, kids," he told us. "But I haven't heard of that movie."

"B-but—I know it's out in America," I said.

The man's brow rose higher. "America?"

"Wait, it's a  _gaijin_  movie?" Yusuke rounded on me, aghast. "Keiko, why didn't you tell me? I  _hate_  subtitles! I can't read the  _kanji_!"

"Shut up, Yusuke," I snapped. Pasting on my very best small-child-in-need-of-assistance face, I implored the shopkeeper. "Look, its release date was September 25, 1987. I  _know_  it's out." I'd been obsessed enough with the movie that I remembered its release date down to the day. I'd been looking forward to showing Yusuke my favorite movie since I had been born (literally). There's no way I'd forget!

The shopkeeper's expression cleared. "Oh, well, that explains it. If it's still in theaters, we won't have a video copy in stock for a few months yet."

"But it's already a month after the release," I said. I'd delayed my inquiry by one month exactly for a reason. "Is that not enough time?"

"Sorry, kid. Video release takes time, especially for foreign films." I suppose I looked completely devastated (both at the prospect of the movie being delayed, and at the idea I'd made such a horrible miscalculation), because he grabbed a pen and paper and handed them down to me with a conciliatory smile. "But I can put your name down and call you when I get it, if you want."

The pen almost pierced the paper, I wrote my name and number down with such dedicated ferocity—but the call never came.

Over the course of the next six months I must have gone back to that shop two dozen times, and they never had it. They never  _heard_  of it. I made friends with the shopkeepers, always buying videos when I came around, but even they couldn't come through for me. My repeated visits played through the fabric of my dream in an unending montage of disappointment and frustration. The man behind the counter—kind and helpful to this lost little child—always promised to look, but he never managed to find the movie I sought. And I didn't have the internet to do my own research into why distribution was taking so damn long.

Eventually Yusuke tired of me dragging him to the video store. He stopped coming as I hunted my White Whale, and told me to get back to him once I found it.

I never did, though. Eventually I grew too busy with school, and searching became a chore. Eventually I forgot to keep up my search.

Eventually I just stopped looking.

It seemed my lucky second life was fated to go without  _The Princess Bride_.

* * *

"Hey, Yukimura. Can we have that chat I wanted?"

Junko tapped her foot, standing in front of my desk with arms tightly crossed. I set aside the textbook I'd been reading and smiled at her. Her eyebrow shot up, impressive in its dexterity. I'd run out of the classroom the day before without giving her a chance to talk to me—had been eager to get home and get ready for my outing with Kurama, forgetting that she'd approached me at the shoe lockers earlier that morning. To her it must've looked like I was avoiding the conversation she'd tried to have with me about Yusuke. Time to mend some fences.

"Kaito told me what you wanted to ask yesterday," I said, and before Junko could cut in, I launched into an explanation. Yes, my friend had died. No, he hadn't stayed dead. He was out of a coma and not a ghost, or a twin brother, and yes, those guys had indeed fought Sarayashiki's #1 Punk, Urameshi Yusuke. Junko listened with wide-eyed amazement, too stunned to ask questions as I gave her Yusuke's cover story about incompetent EMTs, comas, and recent recoveries.

"That's crazy," she said when I finished, but only after taking a moment to collect her speechless self. "I mean, it's  _crazy_! I was sure he was dead!"

"To be fair, we all were," I assured her.

But she was not comforted. She ran her hands over her ponytail and swore. "I even started pestering you about it—oh, man, I'm the  _worst_." She stared at me as if trying to detect a lie. "But he's  _alive_?"

"Yup. That's why I got defensive when you asked me about him the first time we met," I said. She lowered her head, embarrassed. "We weren't going public with the coma-thing at the time, and I'm a horrible liar, so…I just sort of snapped at you. Sorry about that."

"You had every right to snap," she said. "I'm the one who should be sorry. You were right. Prying into the death of someone's friend is…"

She trailed off, cheeks reddening. I waved a hand in dismissal.

"It's in the past.  _Shoganai_." Folding my arms on the tabletop, I grinned at her and kicked her shin gently with my toe. "I'm glad you're asking now, though. He's about to come back to school. If you can spread the word that he's not actually dead, it'll save me from having to tell the story ad nauseam later on."

Junko blinked, then matched my grin with one of her own—and the addition of a smart, heel-clicking salute.

"Roger that!" she said with a toss of her bleached ponytail. "I'm on the case!"

"Use your rumor mill powers for good," I solemnly intoned.

"Gossip Girl, to the rescue!" she declared, and she struck a superhero pose.

We laughed—her from the absurdity of it, me from the accidental reference to a TV series that didn't yet exist in this lifetime. Something told me she'd approve of the series, though.

I just hoped she did what she said she would, and cushioned the blow of Yusuke's return so I wouldn't have to do damage control myself.

* * *

Kaito didn't spare any time for greeting. He looked up from his book when I joined him at lunch and demanded, "Have you see Minamino today?"

"No. I typically don't run into him until lunchtime, anyway," I said as I settled onto the stairwell windowsill. Below stretched the winter-brown lawn, patches of green beginning to emerge as spring sprung. The greenhouse perched at the edge of the lawn like a palace of jade.

"He wasn't in class," Kaito informed me.

"Oh, really?" I peered at the greenhouse, trying to catch a flash of telltale red through its tinted walls. "I wonder if he'll come to lunch."

"Perhaps it's best if he refrains," Kaito said. His book snapped shut between his hands. "I have something to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Are you comfortable around him?"

He spoke without any drama, as though asking a question no more interesting than the daily weather report. My lips pursed.

"Who, Minamino?" I asked.

Kaito scowled. " _Obviously_."

"Oh. Well, yeah. We're fine. Why?"

"You weren't fine when he first began sitting with us," he said. "That was also obvious."

For a moment I didn't understand, but then I remembered: I once had been afraid of Minamino. I mean, I still was in many important ways, but our relationship had definitely warmed past those first few weeks of chill suspicion. Kaito looked alarmed when I smiled at him, warm and with affection.

"I noticed that you never leave the two of us alone," I said. "Thanks, Kaito. I didn't have to ask or explain. You just saw that I was uncomfortable and took steps to make things better." When he looked away, cheeks coloring, I couldn't help but chuckle. For all the praise of his intellect, I got the feeling he'd never been complimented like this before. "You're a good friend, Kaito. I'm lucky to have you."

"You're welcome." He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a finger. "It's the least I can do to repay you for our lunchtime banter. But I have to ask: why were you uncomfortable around him?"

"He tried prying into my personal life. My dead friend, you know?" I said with a breezy wave of my hand. Kaito nodded at my explanation, a lie though it mostly was...but a lie that made sense. I certainly couldn't tell him the truth. "And then his fangirls saw us hanging out and started picking on me, and we got tangled up over stupid drama. Misunderstandings and stuff. It's better now, though."

He appeared to agree with that statement, saying, "You  _have_  seemed more at ease as of late." Another shove of glasses-up-nose, this time with a sharp jerk of his wrist. "Although I can't say I approve."

I rolled my eyes. "Minamino's not  _that_   _bad_ , Kaito."

"I disagree," my bespectacled friend insisted. "He is a thorn in my side."

"Hey." I reached out a foot and shoved at his knee, teasing with a wicked grin. "Don't think I don't see how much you  _revel_  in the moments you and Minamino go toe to toe! Having him this close means you can look for weaknesses."

Kaito's lower lip jutted. I laughed.

"Admit it," I said. "Lunch got a lot more interesting when he started sitting with us."

Kaito's irked stared had teeth, but soon he shook his head. "As you know, I hate to concede a point…but you have one."

I beamed. He scowled.

"A  _small_  one," he said. With that he resumed reading. "Don't tell Minamino, or I will be forced to enact revenge."

"Heaven forbid," I said—but at the sight of his book, I set aside my joking tone. Squaring my shoulders and resettling myself on the windowsill, I said, "Hey, Kaito. I've been meaning to ask you something."

He looked at me sidelong, not bothering to lower his book.

"I need your literary expertise," I said.

That got his attention. Shutting his book with a snap, he turned to me and said, "I am happy to provide."

"You're happy to show off, you mean." I held up a hand before he could return my snark. "I was at the library looking at myth, folktales, fairy tales—you know. Um." Would he think I was juvenile for reading about such things? Crap! I scrambled to add, "They created archetypes for so many modern stories. It's interesting, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said.

My shoulders sagged, relieved. "OK, good. Do you know a lot about the subject?"

"I wrote two papers for a literary magazine on the subject, both of which were published to acclaim of my academic peers," he stated.

Of course he'd written papers on the subject. I stuck out my tongue. "Show-off! But that's really cool." He preened at my compliment. "I take it you know the Brothers Grimm?"

Kaito scoffed at my (admittedly stupid) question. "Obviously."

"Awesome." I reached for my bag and dug out the book Kagome had lent me:  _The Unabridged Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm_. Passing it to Kaito, I told him the lie I'd prepared ahead of time. "A librarian gave me this book and said it was actually missing a lot of stories, even though it says it's complete."

Kaito, in the middle of opening the book to the table of contents, looked up at me with a frown. I fidgeted in my seat. Kaito's frowns—while not as scary as Kurama's—were still a sight to behold.

"She named a few stories called 'Cinderella', 'The Frog Prince', and 'Snow White'," I said. "I was curious and tried to look them up, but I didn't have any luck. Do you know where I could find them?"

For a moment he did not reply. He opened the book to the first few pages and smoothed a hand down its title page. A smile broke through his thunderous expression, but only for a moment. Kaito went back to frowning soon enough.

"I used this compilation while writing my papers," he said, "and I can assure you, it's missing  _nothing_."

He spoke with the matter-of-fact authority with which he described all literary matters—the tone of someone who knows exactly what they're talking about. I blinked at him, mute, until he closed the book and placed it on his knees.

"What?" I managed to blurt.

"It isn't missing any stories," he repeated, tapping the book's green cover with his knuckles. "This is the complete and collected works of the Brothers Grimm. If there are more, then my paper was based on incomplete source material, and my paper was reviewed by top experts in the field. If  _they_  didn't ask about missing stories, it stands to reason it's because there  _are none missing_  to begin with."

The logic was valid. This was Kaito we were talking about. Of course his logic was valid.

But valid though it was, it still did not make the logic sound. It still did not make it make  _sense_.

There was no way stories as famous as 'Cinderella' didn't exist in this world…right?

"I'm…the librarian said—" I said, clinging desperately to my fabricated story. I felt capable of little else in that moment. "She said there were more—"

Kaito's dark eyes flashed almost amber when the light caught them. Voice like a winter wind, he said, "That librarian doesn't deserve her title, or her job, if she told you that lie."

I stared at him. He stared at me. Eventually he dropped our gaze and sighed.

"Yukimura," he said. "I value your company because you are well-versed in literature. I'm surprised at you, believing a lie like that one. I should think you did your research long before now on this subject." His lips thinned into a white line of irritated displeasure—displeasure aimed solely at me. "It is infinitely rare to find someone interested in literature, the most underappreciated of all the arts. I have never met anyone my age with an interest in discussing the finer points of literary theory like you do. Do not disappoint me by revealing you're more uneducated than I've been led to believe."

I frowned at that. Was Kaito—proud and protective of his status as a unique genius—puffing up his interest in literature as something…counter-culture, almost? But English and literature degrees were super common. I'd been to college with hundreds of kids pursuing them. I would know.

"It's not  _that_  rare to find someone who likes Lit," I said. I leaned forward and grabbed the book off his lap, feeling oddly defensive in spite of myself. "Sorry. I guess I should've done my own research rather than ask you for help."

If he heard the barbs in my tone, he didn't indicate as such. He simply stared as I idly flipped through the book's yellowed pages.

"Yukimura," he said. "Just how interested in literature are you?"

I looked at him and frowned.

"Is it a passing interest?" he asked. "From your passionate style of debate, I assumed you were invested."

I didn't appreciate the judgmental tone in his voice. "I  _am_  invested," I said. I didn't get a creative writing degree for nothing. "Literature is my favorite subject."

"Then you should know just how underappreciated a study literature is in this era," Kaito said, voice creeping up in his register. "You should be  _painfully_  aware of that."

I gaped. "What do you—?"

He cut me off. "How many literary PHD programs exist in this country?" he asked, tone climbing ever higher. "How many MFAs? How many  _undergrad_  courses?"

"I—I don't know."

"Then  _perhaps_ ," he said, "you should  _find out_."

I'd never heard him talk like that before—with so much emotion, barely-restrained and thrumming, held in check by the last vestiges of his willpower. He looked surprised, himself. Kaito slumped in his spot on the stairs, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat as he calmed down.

But why the hell had he just gotten so angry?

"OK. Sorry, Kaito." I held up my hands in an I-give-up gesture. "I guess I just haven't been looking at colleges yet. I don't know what I want to major in yet, so…"

He just shook his head. "No. The apologies are mine." A rueful smile curled his mouth. "I forget not everyone is as single-minded in their passions as myself."

I nodded, accepting his apology. He stood up and wandered to the other half of the window, leaving against it to stare onto the lawn below. I shifted to face him, thigh resting on the sill.

"Story. Plot. The written word." He closed his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. "It speaks to me, as it seems to speak to so few these days. The decline of cinema. The decreasing output of novels. The decreasing quality,  _originality_  of novels." A sigh, deep and defeated, passed his lips. "If only we had the Greats back. What a pity, that they wrote so little in their time."

I stared at him, processing, reading the subtext. What was he even talking about?

Maybe if I asked…

"Who is your favorite among the Greats?" I said.

"James Joyce." An immediate reply, followed by a wry smile and a shrug. "If only he'd written more than  _Ulysses,_ the literary world would doubtless be a richer place."

His wording stopped me cold.

'If only he'd written more than Ulysses.'

"That's…his only work?" I grated out.

"Of course." He cracked one narrow eye, glowering. "You should know that, Yukimura."

"Yeah." I swallowed, thoughts running amok inside my. "Yeah, I probably should." When the thoughts ran too fast and too rampant, I hopped off the windowsill and shoved my bento into my backpack. "Sorry, Kaito. I need to go. Thanks for talking to me."

"If I ask where you're going, I assume you will not answer," he called after me.

"Obviously," I threw over my shoulder. I hopped down a few steps before turning back, pausing so I could say, "Oh. But, Kaito?"

He hadn't moved from the window. "Yes?"

"Have you ever heard of  _The Princess Bride_? Either the movie or the book?"

"No," he said, brow knitting. "I haven't."

I turned from him.

I muttered, "That's what I thought."

That's what I thought—but I had no fucking idea what it meant to be  _right_.

* * *

In the library that day, I learned more than I wanted to know. Much more.

In this world, James Joyce wrote  _Ulysses_. He did not write the  _Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man_. So far as I could tell, that book simply did not exist. His collection  _Dubliners_  also did not exist, and neither did  _Finnegans Wake_ —acclaimed books I'd studied in my old life, but ones I had not sought out in this world.

Why would I need to seek them out here when I'd already read them in my old life?

That day during lunch, I didn't just research James Joyce.

"Too bad the Greats wrote so little," Kaito had said.

Greats.

Plural.

Jules Verne wrote  _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_. Nothing Else. No  _Journey to the Center of the Earth_. No  _Around the World in Eighty Days_. No  _From the Earth to the Moon_.

H.G. Wells wrote  _The Invisible Man_. No  _War of the Worlds_ , though. No  _The Time Machine_ , either.

As for Dostoyevsky, the Russian-pain-in-my-ass I'd had to study in three separate classes in college? I couldn't find him at all.  _War and Peace_ ,  _Notes From the Underground_ …stories never written.

Jane Austen wrote  _Pride and Prejudice_.

That was it.

I looked for every author I could think of, all the literary giants who had written novels worth writing about. I saw the same trend repeated over and over again: they wrote one book, maybe two, but the vast body of their work did not exist. Myriad writers wrote one work, and never anything else—stories absent from the world like teeth fallen from gaping gums.

The question of why this was the case was disturbing, to say the least.

But even more disturbing was the question of how the hell I hadn't  _noticed_.

How had I not seen this before?

I sat in one of the library study rooms with my head in my hands that day, surrounded by the complete works—the incomplete works—of authors I had once idolized. Their untold stories galloped through my head like racing horses, pounding against the inside of my skull as if to break free of its bone cage.

As a kid in this life, I hadn't sought out the books I'd read in my old life. They were old news. I'd already read them. I hadn't felt the need to read them again. What was the point of rehashing any more than my absolutely favorite works (most of which existed, oddly enough)? In this new life of mine, I'd been much more intent on applying myself to  _new_  experiences. I was hungry for  _new_  information,  _new_  stimulation,  _new_ skills. I focused on Japanese literature because it was so new, and I was too unfamiliar with it to recognize if anything was missing from its catalogue—and besides.

I was  _living_  a story in this life. I was  _living_  an epic adventure, replete with magic and mystery.

What need did I have for novels when I was living a novel-worthy story of my own?

And I'd only been able to hang out with kids, in this new life. When they didn't recognize my literary references, I wrote it off as a product of their youth. My parents weren't big readers, either. It made sense that they didn't understand many of my references. And it wasn't like I talked much to my teachers. With them, I stuck to the syllabus. I stuck to the works they taught us—the works, few as they seemed to be, that existed in this world.

And I hadn't thought to broaden my horizons, because I assumed I knew what lay beyond them.

I assumed—and I'd been fucking  _wrong_.

I'd taken for granted my knowledge of this new world, and put so much stock in knowledge of my previous world that I hadn't noted key differences in this one.

And that meant I hadn't seen the signs, even when they were right in front of me.

When the bell rang and I had to leave the library, I went to class preoccupied. I didn't pay any attention to the lecture. I stared out the window as the teacher droned on and on about something not nearly as important as this world's missing literature. Honestly, I felt sick to my stomach.

How had I been so stupid?

How had I been so oblivious?

How had I been so  _blind_?

Apparently I wasn't good at covering my internal turmoil. Eventually my teacher called my name. I hadn't heard what he'd asked. Still, I rose to my feet, as was customary, and asked him to repeat the question.

My teacher narrowed his eyes. "Are you OK, Yukimura?"

No. No, I wasn't. But there was no way to explain that. I said, "Sorry. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You look pale."

I swallowed down bile, eyes sliding away from him and toward the window. "I'm fine. Could you please repeat—?"

I stopped talking.

A floor below, a flash of garnet caught the wintry sun as it moved across the courtyard. Familiarity struck through me like lightning. Without thinking I snatched my bookbag off the desk and started for the door.

Thinking about  _him_  felt much better than thinking about the cadre of missing stories.

"Yukimura-san?!" my teacher said.

"Sorry." My voice was a strangled grunt. "I need the bathroom."

Apparently my pale face and uncertain emotions were convincing, because my teacher let me go without further questioning. Must have assumed I was headed for the nurse. Instead I ran downstairs at a full sprint, into the courtyard in front of the school, wondering why the hell Minamino had decided to come to school so late in the day.

Too bad I never got to ask him.

By the time I made it to the school gates, Minamino—my one distraction from today's horrible revelation—had already disappeared.

* * *

"Keiko, honey, you're home early," Mom said as I walked into the restaurant dining room. For a second her face in the kitchen window looked happy at this prospect, but then her eyes alit on my feet. She frowned. "Are those your indoor shoes?"

I looked down. She was correct: I was wearing my indoor shoes from school. In my mad dash to see Minamino, I'd forgotten to exchange them for my outdoor shoes. Whoops. Stress had gotten to me. The walk home had passed in a numb blur—and I knew what that meant. I was on the verge of a panic attack, when I got numb like this. But I hadn't had one of those in this life, yet, so hopefully…

"You goose," Mom scolded.

"Albatross," came Dad's correction from the kitchen.

"Right, right, albatross," Mom said. At this hour, we occupied the brief lull between lunch and dinner rushes. She came out of the kitchen and walked toward me, concern etched into her features. "What's gotten into you, forgetting your shoes like that?"

"Sorry, Mom." My voice came out in a stressed rasp. "I wasn't feeling well and just came home."

Alarmed, she put her wrist to my head. She hummed. "No fever, but you look pale. Go rest." She squeezed my shoulder and smiled. "I'll call the school. Don't worry, honey."

"Thanks."

Grateful she didn't pry, I went to my room, curled up in my comforter, and threw myself across my bed. I didn't sleep, though. I watched the hands of the clock on my desk tick around the object's face, second by second, millimeter by millimeter. With every click I felt the knot in my chest coil tighter and tighter.

How had I been so stupid?

How had I not noticed?

And what did missing stories imply about the world in which I lived?

I lay in the same spot for two hours, sixteen minutes, and forty four seconds. I watched every second of that time elapse, haze of numbing anxiety rendering me incapable of movement. The questions ran through my head like a stuck record. Only when my phone rang did I flinch from my self-loathing stupor and sit up. Probably Kuwabara or Kagome, if I had to bet. Oh. Right. Kagome. Hopefully it was her. She should know about this. Maybe we could talk this through, and she could help me figure this out.

"Hello?" I said, wishing with all my might to hear her chipper voice on the tinny phone line.

"Yukimura?" said an altogether different voice. "It's Minamino."

I hesitated, doing my best to banish my disappointment. "Oh, hey. What's up?"

"…were you asleep?"

"No." My voice was just hoarse from anxiety-induced catatonia, that's all. I injected as much chipper sunshine into my tone as I could. "Just doing homework. Speaking of which, I missed you in school today. Do you need me to bring you any homework, or—?"

"Did you find them?"

I stopped. He'd spoken with the tightness of new braces, pained and stinging and deliberate—and I had no idea why.

"Find what?" I asked.

Minamino didn't answer. He stayed quiet. I could practically see him staring blankly at the floor through the phone.

"Brooding silence," I observed. "That bodes."

"Sorry." A sigh rattled through the phone. "Thank you very much for the invitation last night. I had a good evening."

"Me, too." A sense of warm happiness cut through my numb core. "Do you want to go out again, soon, maybe see if karaoke—?"

"I appreciate your generosity, but I won't be able to accept any such invitations in future."

For a second I thought I hadn't heard him right.

"Beg pardon?" I said.

"My schedule will be busy in the coming weeks, so I will have no time for a social life." Tone brusque, impersonal, and polite, he spoke to me as though we weren't friends—just classmates organizing our schedules, full on Minamino-at-school levels of impersonal civility. "I will not be able to attend lunch with you anymore, either. I apologize for this. Please understand."

"Wait." Numbness crept back in, drop by agonizing drop. "What are you—?"

"I'll leave you to your evening. Thank you again, and goodb—"

_"Wait, dammit!"_

He shut up when I snapped at him. I took two deep breaths, feeling my pulse take flight in my wrists like fluttering birds.

"Are you OK?" I asked, because surely something had to be very, very wrong to make him say such horrible things. "Did something happen?"

"Everything is fine," Minamino said, voice still tight.

My throat thickened. "Did—did I do something wrong?"

A pause. Then, softly: "You did nothing of the sort."

He sounded like a teacher placating a student—not like my friend at all. I couldn't keep the hurt from my voice. "I don't believe you." Surely I must have done something wrong, if he was saying we couldn't hang out anymore. "I don't believe—"

Another sigh. "Everything is  _fine_ , Yukimura-san."

"Well, you're not  _acting_  fine." Hurt gave way to frustration; I waved my free hand in the air, agitated. "And what the hell was I supposed to find, exactly? And why—?"

"I'm sorry, Yukimura-san," he cut in. It sounded like he meant it, too, velvet voice rasping with apology and the first display of real emotion I'd heard from him all night. "Thank you. Goodnight."

"Minamino!" I cried, desperate. "Minamino, wait—!"

But he had already hung up.

* * *

I went to school the next morning intent on interrogating Minamino about that phone call.

Before I got the chance, however, I found the gift he'd left for me.

Junko was with me when I found it. She whistled, low and slow through her teeth, as I opened up my shoe locker and beheld what lay inside.

"Looks like you've got an admirer," she said as I removed the bouquet. I didn't react to her teasing tone. Newsprint crackled against my palms as I held the object in my hands. "What kinds of flowers are those?"

I recognized two of the three flowers in the bundle: the crepe-like flowers with red-edged petals fading into white centers, and pale pink roses on long stems, soft petals hooding their yellow hearts.

"These are striped carnations and tea roses," I said, touching the relevant flowers. The final blossoms—twisting petals sitting upright and pointed atop their stems like curious rabbit ears—I didn't recognize. "Not sure about the last."

"Well, they sure are pretty," Junko said. "Who do you think they're from?"

"No idea," I said.

But that was a lie.

It was obvious these had been left for me by Kurama—and knowing him, they meant far more than a mere token of affection.

I had to wait until lunch—every second an axe of anxiety in my back—to head to the library and find a book detailing the language of flowers. Although it took a few moments to puzzle out their Japanese names, soon I found the meanings of the flowers he'd given me, and I learned their implications left unspoken.

The flowers tumbled from my hands when I realized the truth of this bouquet. My fingers pressed painfully tight into my lips, a cry of dread escaping in spite of my efforts to keep silent. I nearly dropped the book, too, but somehow held fast with trembling fingers.

Striped carnations meant, "I am sorry I can't be with you."

The tea roses meant, "I will always remember."

And the last flower—the flower I had not recognized at first—spoke the most damning word of all.

The cyclamens, with petals the color of crimson luck…the cyclamens meant "goodbye."

The numbness building in my chest—that horrible, pain-crackling  _nothing_  I'd been staving off since the night before—imploded when I beheld that word, typed in start black lettering on the page of an unfeeling book.

The panic attack hit me like a cresting wave.

I just couldn't outrun it any longer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, the language of flowers has turned from a source of humor to a source of hurt. He was always going to make that phone call, but I saw the opportunity to salt the wound with those flowers and ran with it. Forgive me!
> 
> Kurama is a tough guy to write. On the one hand, I want him to open up. On the other, he's a very guarded person. Toyed with removing that conversation about saving a loved one, but he doesn't know that Keiko knows his plan about the Mirror. He thinks she's in the dark, and is therefore safe to talk to so long as he does so in a roundabout, 'metaphorical' way.
> 
> It seems those moments of vulnerability were just not meant to last, though. But why the sudden heel-face-turn? More on that soon.
> 
> And what the heck is up with all those missing stories? More on that soon, too.
> 
> Also: In a new world, I really don't think I'd spend time re-reading books I'd read in my past life (aside from my very favorites, which NQK notes all exist for some reason). I would definitely prioritize new experiences, and thus not realize what's missing. Hopefully that make sense! Could be super relative to my perspective, though.
> 
> BTW, I am terrible about replying to reviews, and I know some of you don't even WANT replies at all (this based on anonymous comments via Tumblr) so I hesitate to send one to everyone. If you want a reply, put an asterisk somewhere in your review and I'll be sure to reply. Figure that might be the best way to gauge if I should reply, aside from when people ask super specific questions that obviously require a response! Maybe I'm just overthinking, though…
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BEING A PART OF THIS STORY!


	37. On the Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NQKeiko waits, and gets to witness her favorite fashion disaster firsthand.

Yusuke wore his ducky pajamas, apparently unconcerned about his image (despite, or maybe in pointed spite of, the fact Kuwabara had mocked those pajamas a few weeks prior). He lay in bed surrounded by empty chip packets and empty bowls of soup, the very portrait of indolent laziness. I walked in without a word and began collecting the garbage in a trash bag. Sound effects from the TV—the distorted clatter of a sword, the blip of flaring magic—grated on the inside of my skull, but I tried not to let my discomfort show. My brain still hurt, twitchy and jumpy after the adrenaline of my earlier panic attack.

Yusuke glanced up when I walked in, but only long enough to say in the wheedling tone he reserved for teasing, "Nice _uniform_ , Keiko."

He'd hoped I'd turn the same crimson shade as my skirt, no doubt. No such luck. I glared at him, but I said nothing. That wasn't like me. Normally I snarked right back when he made pervy comments regarding my uniform.

Apparently my uncharacteristic silence did not escape his notice. He pressed the pause button on his game; thankfully the noises ceased. "What's eating you?" he griped.

"Nothing." I shoved an empty soda can into the bag with a jerk of my elbow. "Does your physical therapist approve of junk food?"

"Did something happen at school?" Yusuke countered. He crossed his arms, staring pointedly at the trash bag. "You're nagging. _And_ you're angry-cleaning."

More like anxiety cleaning. Nothing like the illusion of productivity to ease the nerves. I didn't tell Yusuke that, though. I picked at the room without looking at him, without saying a word in my defense. There just wasn't anything I could say. Eventually he sighed and picked up the game controller again.

"Fine," he said. "Whatever. Not like it matters to me."

I cleaned in silence while he played the latest edition of Dragon Quest. Eventually I picked up all of the remaining trash. I folded laundry after that, then put dirty clothes into the wash. Suddenly there was nothing else for me to do. After wandering aimlessly in search of busy work, I sat on the floor below Yusuke's perch on his bed, knees to my chest, forehead pressed against their bony bulk.

The panic attack had hit like a freight train, weight of Kurama's rejection mixing in an antagonizing swirl with my uncertainty regarding the missing fiction. Too many straws, and this camel's back had bent under the strain. I'd run to the nearest study room in the library and locked myself inside so I could breathe through the worst of the anxiety. Picturing a fractal snowflake folding and unfolding in time with my breath, it took most of lunch to calm my galloping heart and screaming worry. The folding fractal was an old coping technique, taught to me by my former therapist. I was just grateful I hadn't forgotten its geometric lines, and that its soothing bloom had soothed me again in this life. Too bad there hadn't been an icebox around so I could trigger the mammalian diving reflex, or a handy paper bag to aid my breathing. Those things had always helped me before I was Keiko. Instead I walked through school on eggshells, numb and fragile in the wake of emotions too intense to house in Keiko's small, unprepared body.

"Why'd you come over?"

I started when Yusuke spoke, but settled after a moment of careful breathing. "No reason," I said.

Yusuke snorted. "Bullshit."

He shifted atop the bed, and then he was sitting next to me on the floor with elbows on his bent knees. The fluid motion (and lack of wincing as he moved) caught my eye.

"How's therapy?" I asked, uncurling my legs.

"Fine," he grunted. His eyes remained fixed on the TV as he battled a squad of high-experience metal slimes. "Doc says I'm almost done."

"That's good news."

"Yeah. I'll be back to kicking ass in no time."

"Though that means you'll have to go back to _school_ in no time, too."

Yusuke blinked, looked at me, and jabbed the pause button. I offered him a sympathetic smile. He flopped onto his side and yanked a blanket off the bed, rolling himself into it like a bean in a pale blue burrito.

"Ugh." His voice, muffled by the blanket, was little more than an annoyed whimper. "Can I just stay home and play Dragon Quest, instead?"

"Not unless you want to repeat middle school until you're 35," I reasoned. "Best get it over with and graduate on time."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he mumbled. He pulled the blanket around himself even tighter. "Stupid school. Stupid teachers. Stupid therapist!"

Although the impulse to tease him rose strong, shrugging off my anxious feelings proved impossible. I curled my knees tight to my chest again. If Yusuke was going back to school soon, he'd become the Spirit Detective soon. That meant the Artifacts case was coming.

And that very neatly explained Kurama's behavior today, of course. But how long until Yusuke went back? How long until the case really took off?

I could think of only one way to tell for sure. I'd double, triple check when I got home tonight. Hopefully my hunch bore out. Hopefully—

"Hey, Keiko?"

I looked up with a grunt. Yusuke peered out of the blanket, cloth haloing his face like he'd become a Russian grandmother. His eyes and the set of his jaw held stubborn challenge.

"So…what the hell is wrong, exactly?" he asked.

Yusuke wasn't much of a thinker. Not one for strategy or philosophy, this guy. Still, he could tell when I was upset. He had a natural way of reading people that I admired. I wasn't half as perceptive half the time when it came to people. After eight years of friendship, there was no hiding my anxiety from him. The cleaning alone had been a dead giveaway.

"Just some stuff at school," I said, hedging. "Nothing you can do."

Reluctantly (super reluctantly, looking like a boy tasked with poking a sleeping bear), he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Because he hated discussing emotions, and because I had secrets to keep, I spared us both the agony of a heart-to-heart and shook my head. Yusuke scowled.

"So, you came over to angry-clean and… _not_ talk about it?" he said.

I glared at him. "You'll just make fun of me if I do. No, thanks!"

"Oh, c'mon. Maybe I won't."

"Fat chance."

"Hey. I might surprise you." When I didn't react, he gestured at the TV with obvious impatience. "Just spill it already. I've got slimes to slay!"

I didn't reply. He sighed.

"Look," Yusuke said. "You wouldn't have come over here if you _didn't_ want to talk, right?"

I hated to admit he had a point, but he did have one. A small one, as Kaito would say. I'd run straight here after school—as soon as I could after my anxiety attack—because being with Yusuke…well, it was comforting. I'd come here for the comfort of a familiar face that wouldn't ask too many questions—but now that he'd started asked them, there went my grand plan to seek comfort without repercussions.

But what had my therapist always said? That bottling up emotions would only make the anxiety worse? Maybe I should talk it out (in veiled terms), after all.

Only one way to find out if that was a good idea.

"Look, it's just…a friend of mine sort of dumped me today," I admitted.

Yusuke frowned, sitting up with the blanket still clutched around his face. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Like, he told me we can't hang out anymore, ever." I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Just came out of the blue, that's all. And it sucks."

Yusuke didn't respond. He eyed me sidelong, lips pursed, before cracking a devious smile.

He very casually asked, " _He_ , huh?"

I grabbed a pillow off the bed and whacked him with it; Yusuke chortled, stealing the pillow and pretending to cuddle with it, eyebrows waggling suggestively.

"It's not like that," I protested, grabbing at the pillow so I could hit him again. "It's nothing!"

"Sure it is," he said, throwing the pillow back at me. "You don't angry-clean over _nothings_."

"See?" Another good whack with the pillow, right in his smug face. "You're making fun of me!"

Spitting pillowcase, he said, "Got you to smile, didn't it?"

I bit down my reaction. He grinned when I looked taken aback at his unexpectedly kind words, pleased he'd managed to surprise me, after all. Tossing his head (his _head_ , not his hair; even at home where no one would see him, the vain jerk gelled his hair into a helmet), he said, "Look, I'm sure he'll come around. And if he doesn't, he's an idiot. You're the best friend a guy could have. It's his loss, and you'd be better off without him, and _you'd better not chase after him_ , you hear me?"

Yusuke looked utterly serious at that last statement. Not like him at all. His sudden turn in demeanor rendered me quiet. The boy searched my face for a moment, then spoke in softer, gentler tones at odds with his earlier ferocity.

"For real, though," he said. "What kind of friend would make you chase after them?" He reached for his game controller with a derisive snort. "Friends are supposed to be _there_ for you. Leave the games for Dragon Quest."

Dragon Quest's peppy music resumed. His character's sword clinked harmlessly off the hide of a tough metal slime, but his eyes drifted askance, toward me. Gauging my reaction, no doubt.

"Yeah," I said. "You're right."

With a triumphant grin, Yusuke began battling the metal slimes in earnest. "Damn right, I'm right!" A brief hesitation, and then he held the controller toward me. "Wanna have a turn?"

I took it, aware that this gesture of generosity was a rare as it was generous. "Yeah. Sure."

Yusuke, despite his moment of surprising wisdom and unexpected kindness, did as expected and back-seat-gamed the entire night. My anxiety abated bit by bit as we squabbled over the game's strategy, and by the time I went home, the knots in my shoulders had eased somewhat.

When I called Kagome to report my findings regarding the missing stories, however, the knots returned.

I got the feeling they were there to stay, at least until the Artifacts case came to a close.

* * *

Ezakiya went down with a horrible, retching grunt when I drove my knee into his stomach. Before I could pin him, Hideki- _sensei_ jumped into the fray. With a twist and flick of his wrist my teacher sent me sprawling to the mat. Probably a good thing. I'd been about to send and elbow into Eza's jaw—a strike not part of real _aikido_ , but rather one born of aggression, pure and simple. Instead I lay there on the practice mat, panting, eyes closed as sweat rolled off my forehead and over my temples and my heart slowed its frantic pace.

"That's enough, Yukimura," Hideki growled.

The mat dipped at my side. Kagome knelt next to me, large eyes even larger with worry.

"What's gotten into you?" she said. "You're firing on all cylinders!"

"Sorry." The word came out a sullen grunt. While it had felt good to spar with the larger Ezakiya—whose tree-trunk body could take hits for days—my limbs felt like jelly when I sat up. "Bad week."

"A bad week is no excuse for illegal strikes on your comrades," Hideki observed from across the room. He kept a hand on Eza's shoulder; the large boy stood bent from the waist, trying to regain his lost breath. "Class dismissed. We'll resume next week, when you're ready to act like less of an _animal_."

I winced under Hideki's glare, but I did not argue. I just apologized to Ezakiya for the flurries of furious strikes I'd levied against him all night, bowed to Hideki- _sensei_ (who ignored me), and followed Kagome out of the warehouse toward Uptown.

Uptown. The place Kurama and I had gone right before he left that bouquet in my locker the week before.

Kagome saw something in my expression when we walked into the square and I spotted the café where we'd watched the Lindy hoppers. "You OK?" she asked, slipping her small hand into mine. "Something's up, I can tell."

I shook my head and squeezed her hand. "Not here." Because apparently I'm a masochist, I nodded toward the Lindy café. "Let's eat there."

No Lindy hoppers occupied the café that night, thankfully. I couldn't stand a waking flashback just then. Once we settled in with food and drinks, I told Kagome everything I hadn't been willing to talk about on the phone: my night with Kurama, the bouquet, the phone call. She whistled through her teeth when I fell silent.

"Man, I knew you seemed more aggressive than usual tonight," she said. Tonight we'd had our first lesson with Hideki since Kurama's phone call; our previous session, ill-timed, had come the day before the fiasco went down. "At last week's lesson you were pretty normal, but tonight…"

"I took out some frustration on Eza," I admitted.

"I'll say you did. You were a machine tonight. I've never seen you fight like that." She paused. "Truth be told, I'm not sure I liked it."

I didn't reply right away and took a bite of my food (spaghetti; turns out this café was Italian, which explained the garlic hanging above the bar). My ferocity had surprised even me, but the minute Eza and I started sparring after Hideki's lesson on throwing opponents, I'd launched at him like a harpy diving in for the kill. Adrenaline on high, punches and kicks rained down on him in a heated volley. Eza was strong, but slow, and hadn't been able to dodge much. He'd been a sitting duck. Thank my lucky stars he could take a hit…

"So why do you think Kurama gave you that bouquet?" Kagome said.

My words came clipped and precise. "He's putting distance between himself and others before he kills himself to save his mom, I suspect."

And wasn't that just like him? Such a _martyr_. Such a patronizing jackass, making decisions for others without asking them first. What kind of self-sacrificing, self-aggrandizing—?

I stabbed my fork (this place used Western utensils) into my spaghetti and gave it a vicious twirl.

"It won't be long before that happens, after all," I grumbled. "The whole killing himself bit, I mean."

She frowned. "But Yusuke isn't back in school yet, right?"

"Right."

"And the Artifacts case won't start until he goes back. Doesn't it happen on his very first day? Iwamoto accuses him of stealing, and Koenma teaches him the Spirit Gun, and that's when the big case starts." Her head tilted to one side, curious. "How do you know when that'll happen?"

Mouth full of noodles, I replied by lifting a hand and pointing at the sky. Kagome looked up, lips coming together in a pout.

"What's that mean?" she said.

I swallowed and patted my lips with a napkin. "The moon. It's my guide."

The Mirror of Darkness only worked on the full moon. Right now it was about half full and waxing—giving me one week until it reached its full phase. One week before Kurama would use the Mirror.

One week before Kurama planned to die.

Not that he'd _actually_ die, of course. Yusuke would intervene, and Kurama would be fine.

Even knowing that, though, it was still really depressing to think Kurama was planning on killing himself to save his mom, and that he was intentionally pushing friends away in the process…but I tried not to think about that. Focus on the fate schedule, instead, Keiko.

Here's how the timeline broke down, so far as I could tell: Today was Wednesday. If Yusuke went back to school this coming Monday, the moon would be full _next_ Wednesday, a week from today. That gave Yusuke time to go back to school and get accused of stealing on Monday, get beaten up by Gouki that night, defeat Gouki on Tuesday, and bungle Kurama's attempt at martyrdom on Wednesday.

Provided everything went according to plan, of course.

Provided Kurama stole the treasures sometime in the next four days.

And provided Yusuke got recruited by Botan sometime in the next four days.

Oi. I'd basically made a schedule for destiny. Talk about anal retentive…

"Wow," Kagome said, staring at the celestial body above with her mouth open. "Wow. Smart, Eeyore! It's like you have a cheat code, or a road map, or something!"

"Maybe." Another stab into my food. Another bite of spaghetti, sauce rich and acidic. "From here on out, I'll be glued to the moon. I bought a lunar calendar just for this." It sat on my desk at home, mocking me with fate unfolded.

"Smart again!" Kagome chirped. She cupped her chin, eyes narrowing. "But what makes you think Kurama will strike in the next week, instead of waiting for next month?"

Good question. Truth be told, I didn't have concrete proof this month was _the_ month. I was reading signs and signals like an auger reading prophecy in the flights of birds. Whether or not I read true signs and signals only time would tell.

"I don't feel like Kurama would've distanced himself from me too far in advance," I said. Kurama and I had gone out (and he'd dumped me as a friend) only one week prior, when the moon was dark and new. "We were just getting to be friends. I think maybe he got news, learned something that will help him break in—maybe even the same night we went out dancing. I think that was the catalyst for this change in behavior."

I _hoped_ that was the catalyst, at least. What else could it be? His goodbye was so specific, it felt like he knew the end was nigh. Surely he had his eye on the moon, too.

"I think they're about to act, to break into the vault and steal the treasures," I continued. "He'll use the Mirror the first chance he gets. His mom is deteriorating, from what I hear, so he knows he has to act fast. I really doubt he'd wait another month in light of that."

The fangirls had been a wonderful resource this past week. Junko and Amagi (and even Hotaru) noticed that he wasn't sitting with me at lunch, and of course they'd asked why. They hadn't seemed surprised at all when I describe Kurama's curt phone call. Hotaru's cousin was a nurse at the hospital where Shiori was staying, and—in complete, but handy, violation of nurse-patient confidentiality—kept Hotaru informed of Shiori's status. Her time in isolation hadn't gone well, it seemed, and the doctors were getting desperate.

Which explained Minamino's sunken cheeks and hooded eyes whenever I glimpsed him in the hallways during this week apart. It explained his dulled hair, sallow skin, and glassy eyes as he avoided looking my way during class.

It explained why every day I saw him sitting alone in the greenhouse, a red-haired shadow on the wall, biding his time in grieving, desperate solitude.

All I wanted was to yell at him. Tell him to stop being an ass and just let someone in, let someone talk to him, let someone _care for him_ as he walked willingly into the arms of death.

Instead I hung back. I gave him space. I ducked into classrooms when I saw him coming, and let him walk alone.

I hated myself for it. But I knew he'd resent it if I did anything more.

When he lived through this, I didn't want him resenting me.

"We stand on the precipice of the plot," I told Kagome. "It's the cliché calm before the storm. I think Kurama tried to evacuate me from the strike zone before this hurricane of his makes landfall."

She considered this, nodding and slurping up a strand of fettucine. "Yeah, that seems like something he'd do."

"Totally. Now all I can do is wait for the puzzle pieces to fall in line." I couldn't help but groan. "Too bad I fucking _hate_ waiting."

She nodded, sympathetic. "I know. I'm sorry you're having to deal with it on top of everything. You're stressed enough as it is."

" _We're_ stressed enough as it is," I amended.

Kagome's shoulders slumped. She dropped her fork and leaned her forehead on her tiny hand.

"True," she muttered. "This whole missing-story-thing is the _worst_."

The missing stories I'd managed to convey to her on the phone (apparently I was only at a loss for words when it came to Kurama). We sat in silence for a time, trying in our heads to explain the unexplainable. Neither of us could make head or tail of what it all meant. In the past week we'd both done more research into authors we'd loved in our past lives. Both of us reached the same conclusions. Stories were simply missing in this world—and it didn't end with books.

_The Princess Bride_ had been the first clue. Once I suspected that that movie had gone the way of those missing stories, I began searching for other missing films. Although I wasn't familiar enough with Japanese cinema to see any differences in it, Disney's archives had been gutted. Many films I'd loved in the past I just couldn't find, from classics to pulp fiction to major movies of the 1980s. Kagome led the charge on that research since she was more of a movie buff than I was, and she confirmed it. Cinema had been just as gutted as literature.

No wonder Kaito said cinema was declining. He'd told me that months ago, and I just hadn't been aware enough to hear him. I hadn't _wanted_ to hear him.

"What do you think it means?" Kagome asked.

"I wish I knew." I set down my fork, head cupped in my cold hands. "I feel like an idiot."

"Don't. Don't do that to yourself." She shook her head, chiding me. "I didn't see this coming, either."

Kagome felt the same way I did in this new life, prioritizing new adventure over old routine. She further reasoned that we'd both been raised in very Japanese households, neither of our families importing much by way of foreign media into our homes—and we weren't familiar enough with Japanese history to see the signs more immediate to our lives.

Still. I couldn't help but blame myself for my obliviousness.

"Yeah, but…looking back, there were signs," I said. "Yusuke used to drag me to the movies as a kid all the time, and I always _hated_ it. I always thought the movies were dumb 80s movies with bad special effects."

"Same here," Kagome said. "I thought I'd been spoiled by special effects from our time."

"Yeah. But maybe it's more than that."

She frowned. I took a deep breath. I hadn't yet articulated this suspicion to her (hadn't wanted to get too deep into it over the phone) and it unsettled my stomach as though I'd eaten bad spaghetti.

"Maybe it's just that there aren't as many _good_ _movies_ being made," I said. "Stories build on top of each other over time, influencing and affecting others in a gigantic web. But with so many classics missing from literature, maybe storytelling as an art just…didn't develop right. And what if that affects music, movies, _and_ books, as well as people's desire to write them?"

I'd done as Kaito said and researched college programs.

There were four undergrad literature programs in the whole of Japan. I could find just two masters programs.

I could find just one that offered a PhD.

No wonder Kaito bristled when I called literature a common interest.

Kagome's face fell more and more as I spoke, until she looked pale and uncomfortable and altogether stricken. I attempted to smile. The attempt failed.

"Some songs I loved in my past life I can't find here," I said, thinking of my incomplete Johnny Cash collection in my room at home. "I always thought they were just rare tracks, hard to track down in Japan, but...what if not as many good stories are being told, and those songs suffered for it?" I put my head back in my hands, rubbing at the ache gathering in my temples. "I don't know. Maybe I've overthinking it."

"No. I think you're right." Kagome regarded me with a tense, guarded expression, but one of dawning understanding. "I feel the same. I always thought I was just used to modern American movies and better special effects, and that's why I didn't like movies here, but…what if those missing stories hurt the way we tell stories in this world?" She leaned forward. "What if movies now _just aren't as good?"_

"Stories are part of humanity, though." My throat felt thick, gummy, like I'd swallowed a rotten peach. "Part of the human condition. We relate through story. All nations and peoples have storytelling traditions—so why are stories so much less important here? Why are they so much less developed?"

Kagome blinked at me. Then, with an enormous sigh, she pushed aside her plate and flopped dramatically onto the table, black hair falling in a silky tumble across the glass surface.

"My brain hurts," she moaned. The girl peered over her arms at me, hopeful. "Think you could talk to Hiruko about all this? He might have some answers."

Mention of the scheming demigod intensified the roiling in my stomach. That little shit. Kagome was right, of course. Doubtless he knew something. But there was just one problem.

"I've never been able to summon him." I shrugged, resigned. "It's a very one-way relationship. But I'll try, because you're right. If anyone knows anything, it's that little bastard."

"Good." She nodded, determined on my behalf. "Maybe he'll talk to you."

"Yeah." I picked my fork back up, even though my stomach rebelled at the thought of taking another bite. "Maybe he will."

But I had my doubts.

* * *

The following Friday, Kuwabara sat on my bed with his legs crisscrossed, hands placed firmly on his knees. I straddled my chair and rested my chin on my hands. He didn't look at me. He glanced at my record player, then at my feet, and then at my desk in an unending loop, awkward like an ice-skating bumblebee.

"So, what's up?" I said when the silence thickened. "You sounded upset on the phone."

His eyes met mind for half a second before darting away again. "Yeah, I'm—" He sighed, hand cupping face. "Look, I need your advice on something, but you can't freak out, OK?"

"OK." It helped that I had a very good idea of what this was about. Hand over heart, I solemnly swore, "I promise to not freak out, on my honor as Yukimura Keiko."

That mollified him. He took a deep breath, and—words slow with care and worry—told me everything.

It was as I suspected. He'd let Eikichi out into the yard behind his house for a bit of sunshine, and had run inside for a camera when she began attacking a dandelion ("Way too cute; I'd be crazy not to take a photo!" he said). He knew it was irresponsible to leave her by herself, but it was only for a moment, and she was too tiny to hop the fence.

Still: When he came back, Eikichi was gone.

He looked all day and all night for his darling kitten. Of course he did. This was _Kuwabara_ we were talking about. He looked high, he looked low, and with defeat he went home to mourn her—and that's when he found the note.

"We have your cat," the note told him. "We have her, and unless you want her pelt nailed to your door, you'll do what we tell you to do."

Just as I suspected.

He'd been doing favors for the kidnapping thugs all week, and while he would not divulge the nature of those failures, he performed each and every one of them hoping and praying that they were feeding his poor cat and not mistreating her. He was meeting them on Saturday, he told me. One final favor, they said, and he'd have his cat returned to him.

I closed my eyes when he mentioned Saturday. That was tomorrow. Which meant Yusuke would sneak out tomorrow, and that he'd meet Botan, and rescue the cat from the thugs.

I'd been right about the full moon, and about standing on the precipice of the plot.

One day more, Keiko. You only had to wait one day more before fate morphed from conjecture to reality.

Kuwabara lapsed into silence. I put aside my musings. This problem was very real to him right now. It wouldn't do for me to act dismissive. He had no idea that it would turn out OK in the end. He needed comfort, and the support of a friend—not a distracted Keiko who minimized his feelings.

"You're being blackmailed," I said.

"Yeah." His grim nod spoke volumes. "That's about the gist of it."

"Did you tell your dad, your sister?"

"No. They think Eikichi's at the vet." Kuwabara looked vaguely ill, suddenly. "But Shizuru's _gotta_ know somethin's up; I can't hide jack from her."

"Yeah. Probably." That was Shizuru, all right. I leaned toward him, making sure to look sufficiently concerned. "Kuwabara, I'm so sorry this is happening. What are you going to do?"

He shifted atop my bed, sheets stretching beneath his great weight. With a helpless little shrug of his broad shoulders, he said, "I dunno."

The words were out of my mouth on reflex. "I can help you if—"

He was shaking his head before I could even finish. "No, Keiko. Absolutely not. These guys are bad news, movin' in on Urameshi's turf while he's out sick. No _way_ am I risking you in all this."

"Then why come to me for help?" I said.

Kuwabara started, blinking like a shocked owl. It occurred to me that I'd almost quoted Yusuke, sort of, when I went to him for comfort but refused his offer of counsel. Talk about a role reversal. I was doing those a lot these days.

He didn't respond right away, not that I blame him. My friend picked at the cuff of his jeans without looking at me. Then, eventually, his eyes met mine. In them I read frustration, desperation—and fear. I wasn't accustomed to that look from my brave Kuwabara.

"I guess I just wanted advice. Someone to talk to. Y'know?" he said.

And I did know. I knew exactly what he meant, and honestly, it was better to just give him advice rather than rush into the fray. Although every part of me wanted to help Kuwabara, I had to balance that desire with practicality. This moment in the plot was crucial. Kuwabara's kidnapped cat would lead Yusuke to becoming Spirit Detective. I mean, Botan would probably recruit Yusuke no matter what, but still. Best not get involved and perhaps screw up something this vitally important.

Best just sit on the sidelines like the good like side character I was…and wait.

Ugh.

I _hated_ waiting!

"You know that I'm always here for you," I said, covering my displeasure with a helpful smile. "I'll try my best to help in whatever way I can."

He smiled back, but that same look of desperate frustration chased the good cheer away.

"Does it make me a bad person, if I do something bad to do something good?" he asked.

I worked out what he meant at once. "You mean if you follow their orders to save Eikichi, and they ask you to do something bad to do it?" When he nodded, I shook my head and spoke with firm assurance. "No. It does _not_ make you a bad person. Sometimes people have to make hard choices, that's all."

But Kuwabara remained unconvinced. "But what if they want me to do something _really_ bad?" His voice dropped to a hesitant whisper. "Like, what if they ask me to hurt someone?"

Seeing Kuwabara—the bold, confident, brave Kuwabara—doubt himself set my teeth to gritting. This was not the Kuwabara I preferred. Damn those punks, making him question himself! He was a good, wonderful person, no matter how much of a punk he might be. But what could I say to make him stop doubting that fundamental truth of his sterling character? I hated how dull his eyes had gotten, how defeated his posture. I needed _my_ Kuwabara back, stat.

"Do you know what consequentialism is?" I asked.

Kuwabara shook his head.

"It's a type of moral philosophy," I said, concocting a hasty (and probably flawed) summary on the fly. "Basically, it states that the outcome of your actions matters most—that the consequences of your actions matter more than the actions themselves." I held out my hands, lifting them up and down as though weighing produce at the grocery store. "If you do something a little wrong, but you save your cat in the process, you can justify those actions. The good consequence outweighs the bad action. You've balanced the scales of right and wrong, sort of."

"Oh." He perked up, eyes regaining a touch of their usual spark. "I think I get it."

"But it's not a perfect moral philosophy," I cautioned. "It has its problems. Not all consequences can justify all actions." When he looked confused, I clarified. "Maybe you could justify stealing something small to save Eikichi. But you can't justify _killing a person_ to save her. The scales wouldn't balance."

I'd picked the wrong metaphor, apparently, because Kuwabara looked utterly alarmed, eyes now bugging from his skull. "You don't think they'll ask me to _kill somebody_ , do you?!" he yelped.

"Oh, no! No way!" I flapped my hands to ward off pesky philosophical flies. "It was just an example, promise! Philosophy is all about the hypotheticals!"

"I'll say. Hypotheticals and _heart attacks_." Kuwabara crossed his arms over his chest with a hearty harrumph. "One of which you _nearly_ just gave me, I might add!"

"Sorry, sorry! It's just, morality isn't black and white. It's grey." I looked at my feet, where they kicked at the air below my chair. I murmured, "It's a thousand different degrees of grey, dark or light relative to where you cast a shadow. There are as many approaches to morality as there are routes to get to school in the morning." But because that line of thinking wasn't helpful to Kuwabara, I lifted my eyes and met his with a supportive smile. He smiled back, uncertain, but his expression cleared when I said, "You're a good person, Kuwabara. You're an ethical person. You're a kind person. Just do what you think is right. If there's a line you can't cross, don't cross it. I'm sure you'll be amazing."

Although his cheeks colored and he began rubbing the back of his wide neck, flushed with pleased embarrassment, he still looked uncertain. "But what if I—?"

"But _nothing_." I would not allow Kuwabara to doubt how amazing he was. I sat up straight and glared at him; he 'eeped', scooting back on my bed until his shoulders hit the wall. "And don't you _dare_ be afraid to ask for help. The minute you need me, I'm here. I trust you to handle this. But I trust you'll know when you're out of your depth, and that you'll call me when you need to. "I softened my voice and smiled. "I'm serious. Just call me, OK?"

Kuwabara—expression less worried now, eyes less tight, jaw less clenched—nodded. Relief flooded me when he smiled, kind and warm and grateful and the Kuwabara I adored so much.

"Yeah. OK. Thanks, Keiko." He looked like he meant it. "For having my back, I mean."

I grinned and said, "Always." And I meant that, too.

I walked him out of my home shortly afterward, waving as I watched him walk down the street to prepare for the day to come. When he disappeared around the end of the street, I dropped my hand and stared after him in silence.

He was leaving me to meet destiny. I was sure of it.

Kuwabara remained blissfully unaware of the larger stakes, the larger fates at play. He thought only of his cat and pacifying the bullies who had kidnapped her. I smiled, wistful and regretful, at that thought. Soon his world would turn from kidnapped kittens to life-and-death Dark Tournaments, demons and devils snapping at his heels as the wheels of destiny turned.

Like I'd told Kagome: this was indeed the calm before the storm. Kuwabara had just confirmed it.

All I had to do now…was wait.

But like I'd said before: _Ugh._

* * *

The phone only rang once before I answered—not that I gave it a chance to ring more. I'd been pacing around my room all Saturday afternoon, eyeing the handset (and occasionally screaming into a pillow when the pain of waiting grew too intense). Now I mashed the handset to my jaw so hard I felt it clack against my teeth through my cheek. I winced, eyes watering, and gasped out a desperate hello.

"Keiko—Yusuke showed up!"

Kuwabara sounded utterly bamboozled, and that was _exactly_ what I'd wanted to hear. Right on fucking time, thank my lucky stars! It took quite a bit of acting skill to smother my triumphant reaction and sound confused, saying, "He _what_?"

Excited and freaked and enthusiastic, Kuwabara told the story with babbling abandon. "I was with that asshole who took my cat, and he was about to hurt Eikichi because I didn't want to punch my friends—you were right, I found the line I couldn't cross—and then Urameshi was there! He swooped in and punched 'em out and then he ran off!" At that his voice lowered with suspicion. "You didn't send him, did you?"

"Nope." And that was the honest truth, so long as I didn't mention the machinations of providence. "I kept my promise. I didn't tell anybody." And I nearly chewed my own arm off with anticipation in the process, but Kuwabara didn't need to know that.

He believed me, not that there were any lies to find. Sounding more than a little impressed, he said, "Well then I really got lucky today, because any later and Eikichi would've been a shish kabob!"

"Fate intervened, I'd guess."

"I'll say," he said, unaware of my wry irony. His voice dropped, hushed with uncertainty. "But Keiko—something weird happened."

"Like what?" I asked.

He hesitated. "Um…remember how I told you about the Tickle Feeling? Those weird dreams I get? And the ghosts?"

"Of course I do."

"Oh, OK. Good!" Why he thought I'd forget was beyond me, but he sounded relieved nonetheless. "The guy who took Eikichi. Well—he looked _weird_."

I frowned into the phone, sitting on my bed with the handset's curling cord stretched between my desk and my mattress. I absently began winding its length around my palm. "Weird, how?"

"He had these weird things sticking out of his—oh, never mind. It sounds stupid." Kuwabara cursed under his breath. "I was probably just seeing things. I was stressed, and—"

"Kuwabara." He stopped babbling at my firm tone. "Tell me."

There followed a long pause.

"He…he had _horns_ ," Kuwabara whispered, as though admitting a dark secret. "But after Urameshi got to him, he didn't have them anymore."

Oh. So Kuwabara had been able to see the demon possessing the guy who'd stolen his cat, huh? The anime certainly hadn't hinted at that—but this made sense. He was far more spiritually aware than Yusuke according to canon. It would be odder for him to _not_ see the horns.

"Oh, gosh, that's _super_ weird," I said, trying to sound concerned. "Why do you think he had horns?"

"To be honest, I feel like my powers…they're getting strange." I heard him swallow down palpable, painful nerves even through the phone. "I've been having more and more bad dreams, more and more Tickle Feelings. It's like my powers are in overdrives and it's driving me _nuts_."

Sitting up a little straighter, I wrapped the phone's spiral chord around my hand a little tighter. The plastic bit into my skin, narrowing my focus on Kuwabara's words. So his psychic powers were growing? Another thing I didn't remember from the anime—oh, wait. That had been why he'd visited Genkai, right? Because he needed help with his abilities. I'd forgotten for a moment. Perhaps spotting the horns was another prophetic moment, hinting at what lay ahead.

So. Hinting at even more waiting I'd have to do.

Double ugh.

"I'm so sorry, Kuwabara," I said. "That really sounds like it sucks. I'm here if you want to talk it out." My feelings weren't as important as his just then, I reminded myself. I pulled the phone cord tighter around my knuckles. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Not really. But when you see Urameshi, can you tell him to call me? He ran off before I could talk to 'im. I wanted to ask about that guy, see if he saw the horns, too. 'Cuz Okubo and the guys didn't see 'em at all and I'd _kind of_ like to know if I'm, you know…crazy." He chortled like boulders rolling down a hill. "Though Urameshi is about as observant as a rock, so maybe he's not the person to ask!"

I cackled, too. "Yeah, probably not! But I'll go look for him, anyway." My lips twisted, humor as painful as the cord around my hand. "Should probably check and see if he got hurt playing the hero, anyway."

"Good idea." I heard a faint meow, and then the telltale sounds of Kuwabara cooing at his baby girl. "Well, I gotta take Eikichi to the vet. Make sure those jerks didn't do anything _weird_ to her."

"I'm so glad you got her back, Kuwabara."

"Me, too. But I'm never letting her outside again, that's for sure! Talk later?"

"Of course."

We hung up. My hand relaxed, cord around it going slack. My skin had pebbled and purpled with loss of circulation, spiral leaving imprints in Keiko's delicate hand.

Finally.

Finally, we were getting somewhere…soon, anyway.

I grabbed my coat and went to find Yusuke—because at least like this, I could do something besides sit on my ass like the secondary character I was.

* * *

Cool night air lapped at my cheeks as I sat on the steps leading up to Atsuko's apartment. Yusuke hadn't been in any of his usual haunts. Maybe Botan had dragged him somewhere. Unsure, I waited, idly reading a comic book by the light of the staircase's fitful light until Yusuke rounded the corner down the street. I stood up, shoved my book into my jacket pocket, and planted my hands on my hips.

"And where, exactly, have _you_ been?" I said.

Yusuke—who had been walking with hands in the pockets of his ridiculous green windbreaker—backpedaled, nearly falling on his ass with shock.

"Jesus Christ, Keiko!" he snapped. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"I've been doing that a lot lately," I remarked.

Yusuke muttered, kicking a toe at the ground. I tried to keep a smile at bay when I saw Yusuke's outfit: mom jeans, lime windbreaker, white kicks, a yellow sweater vest, and a red plaid shirt. His most terrible outfit from the anime, and my unabashed favorite of all his dubious fashion choices. Ah, the joys of seeing your favorite fashion disaster firsthand...

"Where have you been?" I demanded, smothering my glee with a glower. "You snuck out again."

He only shrugged, but his feet shuffled against the pavement—dead giveaway he was hiding something. He said, "Just couldn't stand being cooped up, that's all."

"Yeah, well, Atsuko's wearing a hole through the floor upstairs. She _freaked_ when she realized you'd run off."

Green-clad shoulders slumped, arms dangling limp from their sockets. Expression longsuffering, Yusuke moaned, "Aw, man. Can't believe she noticed. Last night she was on a bender; I thought for sure she'd be too hungover to care!"

"You know how quickly she can overcome a hangover." I hopped off the steps and walked past him down the sidewalk; Yusuke turned and followed on reflex, rendering my command a moot point. "Come with me, Yusuke."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Judging by the suspicious glint in his eye, he expected a different destination than the corner store a few streets over, and he most definitely didn't expect me to buy us packaged ice cream from the freeze in the corner. We sat on the curb to eat like we had when we were kids, but unlike when we were kids, Yusuke eyed his frozen treat with skepticism.

"…what's this about?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Just wanted to relive old times."

He didn't appear to understand, not that I blamed him. He didn't know how drastically our lives would change in the coming months—his life in particular. But he wasn't the type to question my motives, so he began to devour his ice cream cone with gusto. After all, I'd paid for it. He had little to complain about so far as he was concerned. We ate in silence, Yusuke blissfully unware that I was savoring more than just the ice cream in my hand. I committed the moment to memory, carving his clothes, the taste of the food, the smell of the wind and the sputtering street light above into the fabric of my recollections.

I doubted we'd get such a moment again.

Yusuke finished his ice cream before I did. He crumpled the wrapper and tossed it at a nearby trash can, throwing up his arms and crowing when it bounced off the rim and into the basket. He settled back onto the curb, legs stretched into the street in front of him, and soon the smile faded.

My moment had come, it seemed.

"What happened today?" I asked.

He flinched, turning his face away (but not fast enough; I saw the dark look cross his features). He said, "What makes you think anything happened?"

"I talked to Kuwabara." That got his attention in short order; he looked my way in shock, jaw dropped and eyes wide. "About what you did, and about what you saw."

Yusuke wouldn't give up his secrets so easily, however. He pasted on an aloof, casual expression, playing it cool even though I could see right through him.

"Oh?" he said with hilariously artificial nonchalance. "And what would that be?"

I was in no mood for fucking around. I deadpanned, "The boy with the horns, of course."

Yusuke's charade dropped, along with his jaw. "He—he saw that?" he stammered. "Kuwabara, he saw—?"

I shrugged. "Looks like Kuwabara is more observant than you think."

For a second I thought Yusuke might agree. He started to talk, but stopped, and the next thing I knew he'd donned that unconvincing blasé expression again, this time with disdain and denial all rolled into one.

"Or just more _delusional_ ," he said, turning up his nose. "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't see _nothin'_."

I leaned toward him. Yusuke flinched, practically sweating as we came nose to nose and I glared right into his eyes. The boy fidgeted beneath my look, unable to keep his poker face intact under the weight of my scrutiny.

"You look constipated," I observed. "You wouldn't look constipated over _nothing_."

He scowled, realizing I'd quoted back at him what he'd said the week before. "Ha ha, very funny. You got me, Keiko." He scooted back an inch, running his hand through his hair with a sigh. "Look. I just don't want you getting involved, that's all."

Kuwabara had told me the same thing. What was with all of us repeating and quoting each other? I tossed my hair and scowled. "I don't need protection, Yusuke. I'm a big girl, and I can handle the truth."

"I dunno about that," he grumbled. "I had a weird day."

"You promised you'd never lie to me, Yusuke."

My words—soft and intense—cut right through his bravado. He looked up and met my eyes, swallowing what was certain to be a rather large lump of apprehension.

"I guess I did," he agreed.

"And you already told me about Spirit World, the grim reaper, coming back to life," I reminded him. "Does this boy with the horns have something to do with all of that?"

"It's—aw, hell." He swore, colorful and loud, before hopping to his feet and rounding on me. "Remember that chick I told you about, Botan? Well, to recap, she's the grim reaper, and—"

He paced while he talked, a caged tiger without an outlet for his boundless, lashing energy. Hands waving, volume flying up and down, he acted out the day's events down to the dialogue (his impressions of Botan, Kuwabara, and Koenma, by the way, were as accurate as they were hilarious, though I tried my best not to laugh). According to Yusuke, he'd stumbled upon Kuwabara by chance, noticed the guy with the horns, and had followed Kuwabara to an empty lot because he'd been so curious. Then he'd helped save the cat, had punched out the thug, and watched a tiny little horned man with blue skin climb out of the kid's unconscious mouth.

I made sure to look thoroughly shocked at that part.

"And suddenly Botan was there, wearing that stupid fortune teller outfit from earlier!" Yusuke said. "The next thing I know, Koenma's big dumb toddler face was floating in the sky and calling me a Spirit Detective—whatever _that's_ supposed to mean." At that he stomped a foot and faced me, squatting down to eye level. "Am I crazy, Keiko?" he asked, eyes as wild as they were desperate. "Demons, reapers, detectives—this is nuts, right?"

"You're not crazy," I assured him, patting his arm. I kept my voice measured and soothing, trying to assuage his high-alert nerves. "You defied death and came back to life, Yusuke. In light of that, demons and reapers seem par for the course."

He deflated, head hanging between his knees.

"OK," he said, breathing deep and long. "OK. OK, good. So I'm not nuts." He tossed his head back and glared at the sky. "Hear that, toddler bitch? I'm not nuts!"

His brazen attitude reduced me to giggles. Digging my elbow into his ribs, I teased, "You're destined for a different kind of life, Yusuke, that's for damn sure."

Yusuke looked less than pleased by this. One fist lifted aggressively toward the sky. "Figures! All I want is to skip class, beat up jerks, and stick it to the man. So why'd the man have to pick me to be his errand boy, huh?!"

"Don't you mean why'd the _baby_ pick you to be his errand boy?"

He blinked, then gnashed his teeth as the joke struck home. "Oh, shut up, Keiko! That just makes it worse!"

"Well, just look at it this way: If Spirit World keeps giving you cases like the one they did today, it seems you'll be fighting a _lot_ in the days to come." I winked at him. "That's one part of your grand life plan that can commence on schedule, right?"

"Hey, yeah. That is a perk!" he said, sitting up a little straighter. His pleased expression turned quite sly, eyes gleaming with untold mischief. "And with them at my back I can't get in trouble for fighting, now can I?"

"Oh, god," I intoned with overstated horror. "I've created a _monster_."

Yusuke's eyes narrowed. "Is that a pun? Like monster, demon…"

Took me a minute to catch on, but when I did, I slapped my knee and chortled in Yusuke's face.

"Oh, ha!" I said. "Pun not intended, but wow! I'm brilliant!"

"No, you're _annoying_." He popped off the curb like a jack atop a spring and extended a hand. "C'mon. Let's go see my mom. I gotta face the music."

Pleased at his apparent show of responsibility and helpfulness, I reached for him. I should've know better, though. Yusuke retracted the hand just as I tried to grab it, cackling maniacally when I nearly fell on my face. There commenced a game of chase, in which I herded him back to his mother's apartment through the empty nighttime streets. Atsuko waited at the top of the stairs; when she saw us, she let out a hideous shriek. Yusuke muttered an expletive, skidding to a halt as Atsuko bounded down the stairs in our direction. Between one second and the next she caught Yusuke in an impressive frog-choke.

"Yusuke, you little shit!" she yelled in his ear. "You had me worried _sick_!" While he squirmed and hollered in protest, Atsuko smiled at me over his head. "Thanks for bringing him back, Keiko. You're a gem." She glared down at her son, eyes like daggers. "Unlike the child I _birthed_! What were you thinking, Yusuke, running off like that?"

Face a comical shade of puce, Yusuke managed to choke out the words, "I'm fine, Mom! Jeez! But I won't be if you _strangle me to death!"_

Atsuko ignored the last part of his statement. "Fine?" she repeated. "You're _fine_? Well, your physical therapist agrees with you! Clearly if you're fine enough to be sneaking out, you're fine enough to go back to _school_!"

Yusuke went outright violet, then, yelping a smothered "What?!" into his mother's armpit.

"That's right," Atsuko declared. "I talked to the principal and she's willing to take you back on Monday." When Yusuke protested, her arm tightened around his neck. Even I feared Atsuko's glare just then. "And don't you _dare_ complain, mister, because I had to call in a favor to get you your spot back. You should be thanking me for wasting a favor on you!"

I giggled, remembering the big black vans from the manga, and the subsequent implication Atsuko had called in a favor from the Yakuza to get Yusuke back into school—but as Atsuko dragged Yusuke up the stairs, my smile faded.

I'd been right, I realized.

The moon tonight was three quarters full. Yusuke would return to school on Monday. Kurama would use the Mirror on Wednesday, when the moon reached its bright peak.

We stood on the precipice of the Artifacts of Darkness case—Yusuke's first foray into the supernatural that would soon claim his life for its own.

We were _there_ , or just about.

The wait was almost over.

* * *

Before the wait could end, however, I got an unexpected call.

For all the waiting I'd done that weekend, and for all the waiting I'd done for phone calls in particular, this call I did not expect. Amagi had never called me before. I almost didn't recognize her voice over the phone when I answered it early Sunday morning, still groggy. I hadn't quite made it out of bed after my late night with Yusuke on Saturday.

"Keiko, I'm so sorry," she said, "but it's an emergency."

Any and all traces of sleep vanished at the sound of her worried voice. I sat up in a tumble of sheets and shook my head, hair flying about like a mad genius's. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I was just up cooking—you know, for Minamino?—and—"

I suppressed a sigh, passing a hand down my face. Ugh. Not _him_.

"—and our stove caught fire!" she said. I gasped in spite of myself. "My parents are out of town and I'm here with my brother, so—"

"Are you OK?" I asked. Keiko's helpful, responsible brain was already thinking of a place Amagi could sleep, and who to call for repairs. "Do you need help? I can get my parents—"

"Oh, no, it's fine. I called my aunt. She's going to handle things, but now I have to watch my brother." Her voice nearly broke. "I'm so sorry, Keiko, but I don't think I can cook Minamino dinner! Could you take over today and bring it to him? I can give you his address."

For a second I couldn't move. I couldn't talk. I'd forgotten the more dedicated fangirls took Minamino dinner on the weekend—and that Amagi was one of those girls.

And now she expected me to be one, too?

And so soon after Kurama had told me to buzz off?

I had no idea what to say, what to feel. Clearly I couldn't take him food. Clearly I _shouldn't_ take him food. Clearly I should stay away from him, not go near him, just fucking _wait_ until after the Mirror incident—

Amagi took a deep breath.

"Please," she croaked, voice trembling. "Please, Keiko. _Help_."

I opened my mouth to say no. Instead, an image of her dark hair, her long neck, her liquid eyes played through my head—only in this image, her eyes filled with shimmering tears. My heart softened, and to my horror, so did my resolve.

Damn my weakness for crying women. Damn it all to _hell_ and back!

I took a deep breath of my own, and—knowing this was a bad idea, but knowing I didn't have the power to say no—spoke.

"OK," I heard myself say. "Give me the address."

So much for waiting, I guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My ex-girlfriend used to fake tears sometimes, and even when she was obviously playing, I became a useless pushover. Had to work that in somehow! XD
> 
> Nearly there, folks. Yusuke is Spirit Detective. The Artifacts case is upon us. Figured Keiko's painful wait for destiny to sort itself out mirrors the readers' likely impatience, as well, hence the theme of waiting in this chapter.
> 
> But now she has to take Kurama dinner. Yikes. I considered skipping this scene, but it's basically the last opportunity to have a nice bit of fun (read: drama) with him before the plot kicks into high gear. 
> 
> My greatest struggle with this fic is NQK's desire to be involved in the plot, but balance that with her desire to have the plot happen on schedule (the important bits like Yusuke becoming the Spirit Detective, at least). I considered getting her involved in the incident of Eikichi's kidnapping, but I just didn't feel like she'd make lasting changes. Why waste time and words on that when I know we're really itching for the Artifacts case, where changes with impact will happen? Hope my logic makes sense!


	38. Word Vomit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQKeiko experiences word vomit in an inconveniently metaphorical way, and a friend experiences word vomit in a disturbingly literal way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some suggestive content in the first section. Vomiting and blood (at the same time) in the third section.

 

Naomi, fingers warm and lingering, traced a path from my sternum to my bellybutton. My diaphragm hitched; her head jostled on my shoulder, drawing one of her devious giggles.

"Tickles," I said.

She did it again, chin digging into my chest, but I didn't mind. I moved my hand across her bare back in wide circles, just happy she was here. Even my crackling plastic dorm mattress felt comfortable just then.

"I knew this would happen," she said.

I craned my head to look down at her, painfully aware I'd probably just created half a dozen double chins for myself. One of Naomi's dark box braids slipped off her head, landing across my nearest breast. She didn't bother to gather it back up with the rest. The radiator in the corner of my dorm room hummed, keeping the January winter outside at bay. Her body pressed soft against my side was warmer, though.

"First day in McDonald's class," she said. " _Zing_. Sparks. I just knew"

"I mean, the fact that I couldn't stop staring at you probably helped," I said.

"True. But we've been dancing around each other for months."

She pushed off of me, sitting up on her elbows to look around, body precariously balanced on the edge of the narrow mattress. Somehow her false eyelashes hadn't come off in the events (the, um, rather athletic events) of the past hour. She looked like a model, frankly. But more importantly, she was smart. And kind. And wonderful. Her parents where from Ethiopia, she'd grown up in Britain, and she spoke three languages. Infinitely out of my monolingual, plain-girl-from-backwoods-Texas league. How I'd managed to catch her eye I couldn't say.

"Gotta say, though," she said, eyeing the posters crowning and lining my lofted bed, "I didn't think we'd have an audience like  _this_."

My eyes fluttered shut, cheeks heating with embarrassment. This was the first time she'd been in my room, completely unexpected, months of flirtation and long glances and  _wondering_  finally come to a pleasant conclusion. She'd had a boyfriend at the start of the school year, after all. Nothing more tragic than falling for a straight girl. The kiss she'd laid on me in the basement of Sigma Nu had tasted like Blue Moon beer and gasped surprise.

This was the first time she'd been in my room, and all of my Yu Yu Hakusho posters were staring at us.

I'd been too distracted when we stumbled in, shedding clothes, to worry about my nerdiness showing (not when I had so much else, stretch marks and small breasts and cellulite, showing at the time to worry about), but anxiety flared bright and hot just then. Hiei, Kurama, Kuwabara, Yusuke—staring at us while we hooked up. If only Yusuke was real and could see through those painted eyes. I could only begin to fathom the perverted comments he'd make, if he was real.

Oh, Christ. She must think I'm the biggest nerd on the  _planet_. My room was papered with YYH swag. I had figurines, posters, trading cards mounted in frames, even a doll of Hiei on my bed. And now here she was, lying next to me in my bed, dark and glorious eyes cataloging every last scrap of my nerdy hobby with a bemused smile. When she gathered the Hiei doll into her chest, nestling him right between her breasts, my cheeks went volcanic.

"So, it's a cartoon?" she asked.

"Um. Anime."

"So, a Japanese cartoon."

"Yeah. Ever seen one?"

"Nope." Naomi paused; her eyes brightened. "Oh. Yeah, I've seen that  _Spirited Away_  movie, actually." She smiled, encouraging and warm, the delicate golden hoop in her nose sparkling. "It was good. Really good."

"Yeah. Hayao Miyazaki is the best director. Only anime to win an Academy Award, which is cool Anime is criminally underrepresented in the international awards circuit, but recently directors like Miyazaki have been changing the game. It's just a shame that an art form like—"

Oh my god, was I nervous-babbling about anime? So embarrassing. I fidgeted and sat up, leaning against the cold cinderblock wall, feet jutting off the edge of the bed. I pulled a blanket across my lap; Naomi immediately plopped her head onto my thighs, toying with a strand of my long hair with her glossy pink nails.

"So," she said, gesturing with her free hand at the posters. "What's that one called?"

"Um.  _Yu Yu Hakusho_."

"What's it about?"

Was she humoring me? Was I boring her? Wondering, I gave her a brief description of my absolute favorite work of fiction: punk dies saving a kid, right in episode one, and then gets brought back to life by Spirit World. She cackled when I recited the intro to the first episode.

"One hell of an opener," she said. "It sounds pretty cool."

It's awkward, how much her acceptance thrilled me.

Her finger traced the edge of a poster. "So these are the main characters?

"Yeah." I pointed at them one by one, somewhat at ease now that I'd earned her approval. "Kuwabara, Yusuke, Kurama, Hiei."

"Got a favorite?"

"Kuwabara. Or Hiei. They're my top two," came my instantaneous reply. But then I felt those painted eyes on me and a tiny bit of guilt gnawed at my heart like a vicious guinea pig. "But Kurama's cool, and Yusuke is just adorable. They're all great."

Her nose crinkled again, amused. "So they're  _all_  your favorite."

"It's hard to pick," I admitted. "They're my  _boys_."

Naomi blinked at me. My face flushed. Oh, god, the weirdly affectionate emphasis I'd placed on that last word—

"I'm sorry I didn't take the posters down sooner," I blurted. "I meant to, before anything like this—"

"No." She shook her head, skull rocking against my thighs. "I like that you're passionate. And my roommate has  _exclusively_  decorated her side of the room with Harry Potter, so it's not like I don't get it. People bond with certain series that speak to them." Her eyes slid to the poster above my head, searching. "Can I ask why  _this_  series, though?"

"I guess it was just there for me in a dark place." I hesitated, but decided to tell her anyway. "When I was 14, I only had one friend. He died in a skiing accident."

Her full lips parted. "Oh.  _Oh_ , I'm so sorry."

"Thanks. It happened about this time of year, not that it matters." I shook my head, trying not to think too hard about Jeffrey, or the anniversary of his death only three days away. That was a story for another day, another time. Keep it light, girl. Don't ruin the afterglow so soon. "He liked this show, too. We bonded over it. So when times got rough, my boys were there for me. Just gave me courage and support, you know?"

Naomi smiled, not telling me to shut up, not teasing me for an attachment to fictional characters. My roommates hadn't been so kind. Kelsie and Margaret made snide remarks about the posters all the time—not to my face, but behind my back. They weren't as quiet as they thought they were, when they gossiped in the bathroom together. I'd thought about taking the posters down and eventually decided to leave them up, mostly out of spite.

But Naomi didn't mind.

Man. I'd really lucked out with her, hadn't I?

"This one, Yusuke?" I said, pointing at the poster at the head of my bed renewed enthusiasm. "He's a dumbass punk who'd die for his friends. Never fails to make me laugh, cheer me up."

I moved my finger to the short figure in black at Yusuke's side. "And Hiei gets prickly, but I think he's lonely on the inside. He doesn't show how he feels much, and always seems strong on the outside, but inside he depends on his friends. Reminds me to depend on them, too, when I get too introverted."

Next I gestured at the red-haired boy on Yusuke's left. "Kurama's a bit of a puzzle. He's older than he looks, and very serious, but I think his friends got him to loosen up. They taught him to trust. Sometimes I need to be better at that, too."

Last, I pointed at the tall boy at the back, with his goofy smile and poofy hair. "And Kuwabara…he's the kindest person there is, with so much heart. He never gives up and never backs down, and would die for the people he cares for." I let the hand drop, smiling at my boys, fictional though they were. "That guy gives me a lot of courage. They all do, in their own ways."

Like a lot of things that night, it was almost embarrassing how much  _Yu Yu Hakusho_ meant to me. It was almost impossible to describe how affectionate I felt toward the boys, how much I looked forward to writing and reading about them, how badly I needed reminders of them in my life. Pathological, basically. Obsession, more or less. I'd never found words to convey just how deeply I bonded with  _Yu Yu Hakusho—_ words that didn't make me sound like a nutcase, that is. Hell, I'd said my favorite characters out loud and then felt  _guilty_  for not naming the others. Clearly my feelings for them all ran deep.

But hey. Naomi was right. Other people loved  _Harry Potter_  much the same way I loved  _Yu_   _Yu_   _Hakusho_ , with loving ferocity and encyclopedic knowledge of canon and obsessions with collecting memorabilia. What was the difference between my obsession with  _Yu Yu Hakusho_ , really, and an obsession with  _Harry Potter_ , aside from the series' respective popularity levels?

"You talk about them like you know them."

I jumped, momentarily forgetting where I was, who I was with. Naomi giggled on my lap.

"Oh. Um. Sorry for ranting," I said. "I know I get really emotional about—"

But she shook her head again. "Don't apologize. It's not a bad thing. You're passionate. I like the sound of them, and I like  _you_ , so…" She shrugged, lowering her lashes with a coy smile. "Rant away."

Mouth suddenly very, very dry, I said, "I like you, too."

Naomi giggled. "As much as Kuwadara?"

"Kuwa _bara_." I leaned down to kiss her, to  _thank_  her. "And you're getting there."

We didn't talk about  _Yu Yu Hakusho_  much more that night. Too busy, too caught up in exploring each other for the first time, after eons of guessing games. But later she asked to watch the show with me, and even when we broke up many months later, she didn't use my attachment against me. She never made fun of my love for my boys—not ever, not  _once_.

It's odd, how much that tiny gesture meant to me.

Others haven't been so kind.

* * *

I hadn't played Ding-Dong-Ditch since my childhood with Yusuke, and I'd never planned to play that game again as an adult—but here I was, physical age 14, cumulative age 40, standing on the sidewalk in front of Minamino's house, preparing to do just that.

Minamino lived in a small house, brick, with white shutters and a green front door. The modest home had a second level, no doubt to allow for maximum space in this cramped suburb. Although the houses next door pressed almost wall-to-wall with their neighbors, all had a bit of yard out front. Half of Minamino's postage stamp yard boasted some of the most well-tended flowers I'd ever seen (because this was Minamino's house, and anything less would have been severely disappointing). A cherry tree with thick branches occupied the other half of the yard. It was too early in the season for cherry blossoms, of course.

Much too early for cherry blossoms.

And yet, as twilight fell around me, I beheld a riot of blossoms so magnificent, they put the city's best-kept trees in front of City Hall to absolute shame.

The perfume surrounded me in a sweet cloud as I stood there, staring at the tree and the house in turns. Doubtless the flowering tree was Kurama's doing. Did he want to view it one last time before he died? Maybe he'd looked at it with his mother, crafting a lovely memory for Shiori before he abandoned her for good.

Just speculation, but speculation I felt confident making.

Eventually I took a deep, perfumed breath and scurried up the sidewalk, beneath the limbs of the tree and the petals falling gently from them. A few caught in my hair, dusting my shoulders with pink, but I didn't brush them away. I had a job to do. No delays, Keiko. Just put down the bento, ring the bell, and run like fucking hell.

Too bad it didn't work out like that.

My parents named me with a sense of irony, no doubt.

Identifying the location of the doorbell before I even stepped foot on the porch, I walked up and set the bento right in the middle of the welcome mat (patterned with roses in the corners, because of course it fucking was). I rang the bell with a jab of frantic finger and turned to leave, barely even pausing in my steps. Smooth. Very smooth, indeed.

But not smooth enough.

I'd only gotten ten feet away when I heard the door open at my back.

"Yukimura?" he said.

I stopped, heart leaping into my mouth. I heard another click as the door shut. Had he gone inside? Hopefully he'd gone inside. Hopefully he didn't try to talk to me. He'd certainly made no effort to talk to me since he'd dumped me over a phone call.

Slowly, head turning in fractions, I looked over my shoulder.

Minamino stood on the porch, arms crossed, green eyes hooded and dark.

Words leapt into my mouth, nestling next to my beating heart.

" _Amagi's oven caught fire so she called me in a panic and asked me to bring you dinner and I didn't come here to pester you, I swear."_

One dark red brow lifted at my vomited words. Green eyes lowered, down to the bento sitting at his feet. The brow resettled as his skepticism faded.

"I see," he said. He bent at the waist, scooping up the bento and tucking it beneath an arm. With a low bow he said, "Thank you. Good night."

"Have a productive day off from school last week?"

For the second time that day, the words were out of my mouth before I gave them permission to leave. Minamino didn't look perturbed. In fact, he wore the same bland expression he'd pasted on every time our eyes met during the past week: bored, polite, distant, but with an undercurrent of do-not-touch-me standoffishness that kept the fangirls at bay.

Me, though?

It just made me  _angry_ —angry that he'd shut me out. Angry that even now he was keeping me at arm's length, mere days before he intended to die. Angry that our friendship apparently meant so little to him, he wouldn't let his walls down even long enough to tell me a proper, in-person goodbye.

I knew he'd shut me out to protect me. That was the most logical reason for his actions. It was a reason that made sense. But my heart felt differently than my head, coals of simmering annoyance fanned into flames of anger thanks to the kindling of his placid expression.

Not that I'd let any of my emotions show on my face. I matched his look bland smile for bland smile, holding the air of strangers between us like a shield.

Voice a pleasant murmur, he asked, "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." I smiled at him, chipper and bright. "I just hope your  _stolen time_  was fruitful, that's all."

That veiled reference got a reaction out of him at last, green eyes flying open. My name left his mouth in a gasp. "Yukimura—!"

But I was already turning, walking away with a spring in my step. Ha! Served him right, getting knocked off balance. Payback for the bouquet.

"Bye!" I said over my shoulder. "See you in school!"

Kurama—because I was definitely dealing with  _him_  now—didn't let me get far. I'd taken a scant four steps when I felt his hand close on my arm, tight as a vice and getting only tighter. He yanked me to a halt so hard my shoulder wrenched, flash of pain like lightning on a hot night. Kurama loomed over me with every inch of his taller height, glaring with white teeth bared. My heart stuttered and I gasped on reflex, trying to pull away.

He would not let go.

In a distant, lucid part of my brain, I realized I was dealing with a fox—not a high school boy, not a demon in human skin—a  _fox_  who'd scented prey and intended to taste blood.

And I was the hapless rabbit he'd scented on the trail.

"One day," he said, tone growling lower and sharper than I'd ever heard it, "one day we will stop dancing around each other, Yukimura." He pulled me closer; I could smell him, evergreen and mint and sweet earth, a scent I would've found pleasant in any scenario save this one. "One day, you will be  _honest_  with me."

I should've run, probably. I should've screamed, and run, and never looked back, because his teeth looked sharp all of a sudden and why-oh-why was I waring my  _red hoodie_  of all things tonight? He was as fox, almost a wolf, and the allegory was too clear to ignore.

Like I said: I should have run.

I didn't.

Instead—because I have no preservation instinct whatsoever—I glared right back at him, baring my dull human teeth like they were as impressive as his own.

"Oh  _really_?" I said, feigning overstated surprise. "I  _will_  be honest with you? And when, exactly, will that be? Because as far as I'm aware, you're like a toy in a fucking  _happy_   _meal_!"

His lips closed over his teeth as he blinked, pulling away so he could gain a holistic view of my face. "I'm like a  _what_?" he said.

"Like a toy in a happy meal," I repeated. I leaned toward him, smile surely deranged. "Available for a  _limited time."_

Another veiled reference, one he was too smart not to understand. His lips pulled back once more as he closed this distance between us, a game of tug-of-war that used my arm as rope.

"What are you implying, Yukimura?" he asked, tone dangerous despite its silk.

"Nothing." I said. "Nothing at all."

His smile chilled me. "We both know that's a lie."

"Maybe so. But I don't owe  _you_  honesty." And suddenly I wasn't angry anymore—just sad, ache in my throat rising hot and sharp. "It's not like we're  _friends_."

My voice cracked on that last word.

Once more—but for entirely different reasons—Kurama's eyes widened. His hand loosened around my arm. I pulled away, rubbing at where he'd grabbed me. He didn't say anything for a second. Kurama chewed on empty air, staring at me and my suddenly watering eyes.

It wasn't often I saw the fox uncertain, but now…he looked at a loss for words.

Maybe I should help him out.

"A friend wouldn't push me away like this," I said, hating how gummy my voice sounded, hating the burgeoning tears pricking at my eyes. "A friend wouldn't tell me goodbye with a  _bouquet_."

"Keiko." My name, my given name, sounded foreign in his mouth. "Keiko, I—"

"No. Save it." I turned from him, scouring my face with the end of my red sleeve. When I scrubbed away the unshed tears, I turned back, face as resolute as I could make it. Time to say goodbye and just walk away, Keiko. You've said far more than you intended, and enough was enough.

But when I saw the look on Kurama's face, the words building on my tongue fell to ruin.

"I'm  _sorry_ ," Kurama said.

I'd seen many of Kurama's faces. Some I'd seen for the first time that night. Just then I saw yet another new expression. Haggard, lean, his follow cheeks looked like chasms in the fire of the dying sun, eyes crystalline with the most brittle expression I had ever witnessed on a living creature. His smile, sad and frail, embowed with apology and regret, looked like an open wound.

"Perhaps I don't know how to treat friends," he murmured. "I confess I haven't made many in this life." His head inclined, smile softened to a gash half-healed. "Regardless. I am grateful to have counted you among that number."

We held each other's gazes until my eyes stung, and I had to blink back tears.

"You, too." I hated the way my voice cracked again, marking me the emotional sap I was. I shoved a hand into the pocket of my hoodie and pulled out an object that lay within. "I made this when I was a bit more level-headed. I wasn't sure if I should leave it, and today decided I wasn't going to give it to you, after all…but whatever." I thrust the thing toward him. "Here. For you."

Kurama stepped toward me, movements delicate, as if approaching a skittish deer. The bits of glued-together paper I'd cut from magazines—tied around the middle with a little red ribbon— crackled lightly beneath his fingers. He pulled the papers toward him, studying.

He closed his eyes.

"Look. Sorry I yelled," I said, voice as gruff as Kuwabara's. "I'm just frustrated, but I'll respect your wishes."

He swallowed. I saw his throat move even in the fading light. Above him, the sakura tree shed blossoms on the cool wind. A few dusted Kurama's hair like falling snow. A single petal landed on the object in his hand, crowning the fake flowers with their living counterpart—sort of.

The bouquet I'd crafted from photographs of flowers (since, unlike Kurama, I can't grow plants out of season) didn't depict sakura blossoms. Rather, it depicted chrysanthemum, azaleas, and bells of Ireland. I'd debated throwing an anemone in there, but at the last second had decided that flower felt too dramatic.

No matter which flowers I'd left out, however, Kurama knew what these flowers meant.

The look on his face said everything in his heart, the way those flowers said everything in mine.

"Thank you for this," he said, slipping the paper bouquet into his jacket. His eyes, when they opened, had regained their crystalline fragility. "Thank you, Keiko."

I nodded, shoving my hands into my now-empty pocket. My index finger dug into my thumb's cuticle, picking and tearing and grinding the flesh there as anxiety took hold.

This was the last I'd see of him, for…I wasn't sure how long. Spirit World would take him into custody after the Mirror incident. He didn't know that, though. He thought this was our final goodbye. He planned to die in just two days. For our own reasons, we drank each other down, just staring in silence as darkness fell, privately bidding one another farewell, neither willing to speak the words aloud—Kurama unwilling to ask any more questions about the nature of his odd new friend.

It was too late for him to get answers from me. What good were those answers, anyway, if he intended to die so soon?

I think he'd realized the futility of his search, at last.

"You're welcome," I said, but only once I memorized the fall of his hair and the line of his jaw. I inclined my head, not bothering to smile. "I'll see you around, Minamino."

His reply—a tight smile, sadness hidden beneath polite façade—didn't confirm my statement. He had no intention of seeing me around.

"Take care, Yukimura," he said.

It hurt to look at him anymore, so I didn't. I spun on my heel and marched off down the sidewalk, keeping my eyes locked forward—only the last light of the setting sun glinted off something as I neared the corner of his house, drawing my attention like a lodestone draws metal.

I saw a window on the side of the house, and through it an IV stand. No IV bag adorned it, but I knew what the metal stand looked like. I'd seen Yusuke's, and Aunt Lana's, enough times to know. So was that Shiori's room, then?

No, Keiko. No use wondering. Keep walking. One foot in front of the other, just move, and—

My eyes drifted lower, beneath the window.

I stopped walking.

Slowly, I turned to face the house.

Like the sakura tree, forget-me-nots weren't supposed to bloom this time of year. Against all odds, and thicket of them edged the side of Kurama's home, filling the entire gap between Kurama's house and his neighbor's with pale blue blossoms.

Pale blue blossoms, and rich green leaves.

Rich green leaves the precise color of Kurama's eyes—mirroring his the way the flowers mirrored the eyes of the dead boy in the story he'd told me so many weeks before.

"Once upon a time," Kurama had said in the warm greenhouse, "a mother lost her child. The mother grieved for weeks, refusing food and water. Her child's spirit watched in anguish as his mother faded away. One night, when the mother's grieving reached its peak, the child shed tears for his mother. He wept at her side, begging her with words unheard to eat, drink, and set aside her heartache.

"The next morning, when the sun rose, the mother woke. All around her forget-me-nots had sprung…an unending field of blue, the color of her child's eyes."

"She carried the blossoms with her as she pieced her life together, in memory of her child. And she lived happily ever after."

I replayed his fairy tale in my head on repeat, watching the flowers swaying beneath his mother's window. I watched them, and I remembered Atsuko's serene smile as the forget-me-nots on her bed invaded her dreams, turning them sweet with the memory of her departed son.

Kurama, the fox, was prepping for his death—but not only for that. He was prepping for his mother's grief, as well. He'd planted his magical plants beneath her window to give her good dreams of her dead son, once he left her. Once he gave his life for her in his gigantic, proud gesture of martyred repayment.

All at once, my heart hung heavy in my chest, weighted down by sadness and anger and disbelief.

Had he learned  _nothing_  during his time as a human?

"What's wrong?"

He appeared at my side on feet as quiet as a true fox's. I didn't look at him, though. I took a deep breath, smelling sakura, evergreen, mint—and now, as the wind picked up, the sweet, sweet smell of forget-me-nots.

"You  _know_  what's wrong," I breathed.

He shifted on his feet, uncertain once more. "What are you—?"

This time, I looked at him. I looked at his beautiful green eyes, unable to hide the melancholy in my own.

For the first time, I didn't bother to hide behind innuendo or puns.

For the first time, I told him how I felt.

"Do you really think those flowers will heal her, when you're gone?" I asked. "Do you really think flowers are  _enough_?"

Once again, Kurama didn't—or couldn't—answer. And in my heart, I could not help but pity him.

Did he really think so little of himself?

I knew he hated how he'd treated his mother, before he learned to love her. I knew he blamed himself for her broken spirit and her subsequent illness. I knew he carried the weight of her impending demise on his shoulders.

Even so…how could he  _possibly_  think mere flowers could make up for his absence in his mother's life—in  _anyone's_  life? Didn't he know he was worth so much more than that?

Did he truly despise himself that much?

"I'll see you around, Minamino." I heard the words as if at a great distance. "Enjoy your dinner."

He didn't stop me when I left. I looked back when I reached the end of the block. He stood stock still, staring at the forget-me-nots through eyes unseeing.

I left him there, in the fading twilight, hoping I had cooked his dinner properly, and that the flavors tasted of comfort.

So far as he knew, it was one of the last meals he'd ever eat.

* * *

I walked home in the dark, barely paying attention to other pedestrians as I tried very, very hard not to cry. Kurama's apparent self-loathing weighed heavy on my heart; I couldn't help the resulting sniffles. When I entered the alley behind my parents' restaurant, something finally caught my attention. I tensed at movement in the dark shadows behind the dumpster—but it was only Cleo, black-clad figure stepping gaunt into the dim light above the nearby back door. My finger relaxed on the trigger of my pepper spray. Had reached for it since I was so close to home, where my mother surely didn't want me using any  _aikido_  moves.

"Hello, Keiko," Cleo said. Her hands moved in her pockets, restless. "Nice night."

I didn't bother with a greeting. "What are you doing here?"

Even at night she wore her dark sunglasses, rendering her expression inscrutable. "I'm here to see you. On  _your_  terms."

The proclamation rendered me momentarily speechless. Her chin, tucked down near the collar of her leather jacket, jutted in an obstinate pout. Seemed she meant what she said, for once. Refreshing.

"OK," I said. "Let's take a walk."

"How 'bout a ride?" she countered.

Her motorcycle waited on the curb in front of the restaurant—how had I not seen it when I walked up? Or did Cleo summon it, somehow, the same way she seemed to appear with no warning? I wasn't sure, and she did not reveal her secrets when she handed me a spare helmet and told me to put it on. My heartrate kicked up when I straddled the bike at her behest. I'd shattered my elbow in my past life on a similar vehicle, after all. Some post-traumatic stressors defy even death. Luckily Keiko's nerves held firm despite the beating of my heart.

Her thin, reedy waist and knobbly spine stayed firm beneath my grip as she engaged the engine, disengaged the brake, and kicked the bike into gear. She piloted the heavy, growling bike with ease, apparently unperturbed by the wind, cold and biting at higher speeds. Neither of us spoke as she drove; she only chuckled once when she took a corner at an angle and my arms tensed around her middle. Keiko's nerves weren't infallible, after all.

Cleo took us out of the city and then above it, into the hills to the north of Sarayashiki—the same hills and roads, I suspected, Sensui's goons would travel when they eventually kidnapped Kuwabara. Continue up those hills and you'd find yourself in the mountains, on your way to Genkai's compound beyond the horizon. Cleo opened up the throttle when she hit these mostly deserted roads, flying down switchbacks and accelerating around corners (corners bordered by sheer drops over cliffs, guard rails as thin as candy floss) like a rally racer.

Eventually we came to a stop at the end of a switchback, a drop-off diving deep into the darkness below, area illuminated by a sputtering floodlight atop a pole. Cleo parked in a shallow median by the guard rail, bike mere feet away from plunging into the depthless shadows. For all the terror of that sheer drop, however, she'd chosen a beautiful spot. The city of Sarayashiki sprawled below, all lights and glitter and sleeping streets. Beyond that, on the horizon, lay the sprawl of Tokyo itself, horizon illuminated as though the city were the rising sun.

"I like it up here," Cleo said. "Bird's eye view of humanity."

I didn't say anything. She harrumphed, then waked to the guard rail and swung one long leg over it. Cleo settled atop the narrow metal strip, feet inches from the cliff, staring over the city like a watchful gargoyle on the edge of a cathedral battlement.

"All that potential," she murmured. "All those stories, being lived and experienced in a million different ways. So close you could touch it, but forever beyond your reach."

I got the sense she wasn't speaking for my benefit. Too bad I didn't have the patience to abide her rambling. Steeling myself for the truth, I asked, "Are you really one of the Fates?"

She didn't reply for a moment, or move. Then her hand tightened into a fist atop the rail at her side.

"Yes," she said.

A simple response, straightforward and clear. I appreciated that, even though it summoned more questions than it answered. I chewed on her reply for a moment before saying, "And is Hiruko really the god Ebisu from Japanese legend?"

"Yes," she repeated.

One more mystery solved. Which led me to the question, "Why did Hiruko bring me here?"

Cleo's shoulder-length hair tossed as a wind stripped by. She did not turn around or fix the errant strands, however. She merely said, "I'm not sure."

"Don't lie to me," I said, but there was no aggression in my words. I kept my tone as simple as her own, movements purposefully languid as I joined her on the guard rail (although I kept my feet firmly on the least dangerous side of it, thank you, yawning darkness a gaping maw at my back that set my spine to tingling).

"I'm not lying." Cleo's silvery eyes met mine over the top of her sunglasses. "I'm not actually sure why he brought you here."

Although I detected no deception in her words, I couldn't give up that easily. I said, "Then what are your  _theories_? You can at least tell me those, right?"

Cleo shut her eyes, grimacing. Her voice sounded like a surgeon's instrument, sharp but delicate. "There are things I can't tell you, Keiko."

"Can't, or won't?" I pressed.

"Can't."

"You  _liar_!" Her eyes popped wide, surprised at my spitting words. My earlier placidity had vanished, all my Kurama-induced frustration boiling to the surface at once. "You said this meeting was on  _my_  terms. Mine. Not yours!"

Cleo heaved a sigh. "It  _is_  on your terms—"

"No," I snapped. "If you won't answer my questions, then this is  _not_  on my terms. I want to know what's happening, what Hiruko wants, what his goal is, how he did all of this, how—"

"Keiko!" It was Cleo's turn to snap. She shifted to face me, teeth visibly clenched in her narrow jaw. "I am  _trying_. I am! But—Hiruko, he's a lost soul. He's looking for his place. But the specifics, I just don't know." She shook her head, voice lowering when I didn't fight her. "Hiruko came to us. We tried to help him. But he couldn't be…satisfied." Cleo took a deep breath, something catching in her throat. "We…couldn't do what he asked. So, he took—he took—"

Cleo opened her mouth, presumably to keep speaking—but no words came out. Her speech had become more and more labored as she'd gone on, ever word more gravelly than the last until she couldn't talk at all. Now she stared, trying to speak, face growing pale as she lifted a hand and cupped the column of her white throat.

"He— _took_ —" she said.

And then she was on her feet, leaping over the guard rail onto solid ground, where she collapsed to her knees. Her back heaved and arched as she wretched onto the asphalt, and despite my distaste for Cleo, I found myself at her side, hand on her heaving back as she tried to vomit. Nothing like seeing someone vomit to get you to care about them.

Only, when she finally managed to throw up, what came up wasn't the remnant of some half-digested meal.

Cleo vomited up a fountain of bright blood. It caught the ends of her hair, staining them and the skin around her mouth deep red.

"Oh my god," I said, lurching away from her. "Oh my god,  _Cleo_!"

She lifted a hand and waved at me, blood running down her chin like she'd been eating juicy watermelon, eyes telling me to stay back—and then she had to wretch again. Another font of blood poured from her open mouth.

Something solid fell to the pavement with a clatter.

That thing appeared to be the culprit of this…attack, of Cleo's. She stopped heaving as soon as it came up. Fingers as delicate as a doctor's forceps, Cleo reached into the puddle of blood and plucked the object up. She cleaned it with a handkerchief she pulled from her pocket, frowning irritably at the thing as if it had personally insulted her.

It was a stone, I realized. A smooth, black stone, oval, the size of a child's fist.

"I'm sorry, Keiko." Cleo's voice rasped, thick with blood and mucus. "I'm sorry, but I  _tried_." Silver eyes slid my way, pleading. "You understand that, don't you?"

It didn't take me long to work out what she was implying. After all, it was pretty obvious.

"You…you literally can't talk about it," I said. "I mean, you literally  _can't_. Can you?" I swallowed down my rising nausea as wind blew the scent of blood my way. "Maybe it's magic. I don't know. But whatever it is, you're barred, or  _cursed,_  or somehow prevented from telling me everything, aren't you? And if you try, you throw up blood and stones."

Cleo chuckled. "Perceptive."

"There was a podcast I used to listen to, where secrets sounded like static in the ears of those not meant to hear them." My wry smile probably didn't reach my eyes. "I'm less perceptive than I am I'm genre-savvy."

That drew forth another of Cleo's dead-leaf laughs. "And here I thought you didn't believe you were in a story."

"I didn't believe I'm in a  _fanfiction_ ," I corrected. "A story, maybe. This is certainly feeling more like a story every day." I gestured at the blood but tried very hard not to look at it. "Demigods, fates, and magical anti-truth curses and whatnot…"

Cleo (who had been wiping blood from her mouth) grimaced. "It's less a curse than it is…" She searched for words, finding them only once the blood had been blotted away. "Let's just say there are some secrets mortal flesh cannot entertain. Some things are just too  _big_."

Another veiled implication, but one I made short work of. I asked, "Borrowing a body, are we?"

"Something like that." She looked over the cliff at the city again. Once more, her words did not sound meant for me, though this time they were not guarded by blood and pebbles. "Moral flesh has its limitations. And its joys."

Lights from the city reflected in her sunglasses, stars on a dark sky. Oddly, I read longing in her expression—longing and pride, neither of which made sense to me. I joined her at the railing to share in her lofty view.

"Thank you for trying to talk to me," I said.

She shook her head, chuffing. "Don't thank me. I didn't tell you enough. Not  _nearly_  enough to warrant thanks."

"Still," I insisted. "You tried. I've tried to tell a lot of stories and failed. There's no shame in that."

My thoughts drifted to the mountain of unfinished stories I'd written, and left behind, in my old life—not to mention the efforts I'd made in this life to complete them. These stories I kept under my mattress in bound journals, alongside the journals where I'd penned my remembered details of  _Yu Yu Hakusho_. I'd never gotten far into those works-in-progress. Like Cleo had said: I was living in a story, or a story-like world. My former imagined worlds didn't seem so urgent, now that I lived in a fictional universe of my very own.

"My child…you were not meant to be here."

Cleo stared in my direction, eyes obscured by her dark glasses. I frowned. I didn't like how I couldn't read her, couldn't see what she was thinking in the lines of her face or the gleam of her eye.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"This world. This place." She gestured at the city, with its myriad people and stories and plots, independent of mine yet still important. "It was not meant…it was not meant to  _be_. And it is flawed because of this."

Sensing a theme, I asked, "Does this have anything to do with the missing stories?"

She seemed pleased, if the curl of her lip meant anything. "So you've seen it. You've seen this incomplete facsimile of a universe." Cleo ran her age-spotted hands through her bloody hair and laughed. "Hiruko was a  _lousy_  student."

Maybe because she spoke offhand, her words were allowed to enter the world. Or maybe that just wasn't a secret too large for her skin. Intrigued, sensing answers, I said, "He was your student?"

"Yes." Her feet moved, carrying her close to me. "He was so  _lost_ , Keiko. We pitied him. We tried—" Cleo swallowed, throat catching again. It sounded like hiccups, when she strayed too close to the truth. "We tried to give him a place—to teach him, and to help him, and—"

One more, her words tangled in her throat. This time I didn't run when she fell to her knees and coughed blood onto the pavement. I held back her hair, instead, murmuring comforts until the stone forced its way up her throat and fell to the ground. This truth, too, she cleaned and stowed in her jacket pocket, tucking it from sight like a magpie hoarding treasure.

"Thank you," she ground out once she recovered enough to speak. "Keiko—"

"Don't," I said. The word surprised even me, but Cleo was  _trying_ , even if I didn't have all the answers yet. "You've done enough."

"I'm sorry." She looked like she meant it, with eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. Her hand trembled when she passed it through her pink-tipped hair. "I'll…I'll ty again. Another time."

"OK. Sure." My smiled looked as brittle as Cleo's eyes, I was certain. "I'll chew on this a while, see if I can piece things together. Take some of the work out for you."

"Thanks. Appreciate it." She grimaced, then, face contorting with pain and reluctance. Her shoulders slumped further, shrinking inside the shell of her leather jacket. "Sorry, Keiko. But I have to go."

"Wait until I'm not watching." When she frowned at my request, I said, "Your whole  _Harry Potter_  Apparating act gives me the wiggins."

"But—" She gestured at her motorbike. "I can—"

"It's OK. You're in no shape to drive." It was a long walk back, but the cold nearly-spring air would do wonders to clear my head. I certainly had a lot to think about. I did my best thinking alone. "I'll find my own way home."

Cleo nodded. Her glasses glinted in the light of the lamp, pools of cosmic dark that saw more than I could fathom.

"I've left a shortcut for you," she said. She lifted a finger like a flag on a fraying wire. "Walk down the hill a ways. You'll see it."

Strength failing, she sat heavily on the guard rail, but she did not vanish into the ether. Respecting my wishes to not see her pull her little disappearing act, probably. Badass that she was still standing despite the amount of blood she'd barfed, also probably. Cleo was made of stern stuff. Bidding her a muttered goodbye, I turned and walked down the sloping road, intending to disappear behind the bend in the switchback much the same way she might disappear into thin air.

"Keiko—a warning."

The lights from the city lit her from behind, casting her cobweb hair into a silver halo and her dark jacket into an oil slick silhouette. Fatigue limned her like a shroud. I did not know what it took for her to be here, talking to me, but I suspected every moment had its cost.

"You matter," she said, "but less than you think. The friends you make here—the characters you regard as canon— _they_  are the ones you need to protect. Not yourself."

She was preaching to the choir, little did she know. I nodded. "OK."

"Not that I had to tell you that." Her teeth glimmered like bullets beneath the cold street lamp. "You'd protect them all on your own, wouldn't you?"

"I love them." The words were as simple as they were true. "I love all of them. Even the ones I haven't met yet."

"I can tell. Your love of stories shows. And that love is written on your bones in ways you can't even imagine." Her head lolled, elbows resting sharply on her knees. Cleo's voice carried on the wind, audible, but only barely. "Take care, Keiko. I'll see you soon."

Taking her at her word, I left her where she sat. I did not ask Cleo anything else that night.

Halfway down the path toward the next switchback, I found a bicycle leaning sedate against the guard rail. I rode it home in the dark, the bloated moon my guide down the winding mountain road.

I fell into bed, and into a dreamless sleep, with more questions than I had answers—but the feeling I had finally found the path toward the certainty, even if it was paved with the spit up stones of Cleo's unspoken truths.

* * *

A tuft of errant hair jutted off the back of Yusuke's head. He spoke through a hearty yawn as I trotted out the back door of my parents' restaurant.

"Morning," he said. "Remind me again why school starts so goddamn early?"

"To torture us." We fell into step, side by side on the way to Yusuke's first day back. "And to prepare us for life as productive, sleep-deprived adults—AKA, compliant cogs in the machine of society."

"Wow, Keiko. You got a bit anarchist while I was gone." He sounded almost impressed; I just laughed.

"Maybe." I eyed him askance as we walked out of the alley and onto the sidewalk proper. "You feeling OK about going back?"

Yusuke's glower could melt bricks. "Since when have I  _ever_  felt OK about school?"

"True." My lips curled, mischievous. "At least you don't have to wear bright pink."

"Uh. Pink?" When my smile grew, maniacal and mysterious, he put a bit of creeped-out distance between us. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Wait and see."

Yusuke had called late the night before, shortly after I made it home from my rendezvous with Cleo, and had asked to walk to school together the next morning…sort of.  _He_  wanted to walk  _me_  to school. I almost called him a gentleman before realizing he had to have some ulterior motive or another—most likely he didn't want me walking him to school so he could play hooky, make his escape without me dragging him bodily to class. Whatever. Frankly, I was willing to tolerate his chicanery no matter his motives so long as it meant getting to see a friendly face.

The events of the night before had me rattled, I confess. Kurama and Cleo, and the drama associated with each, left me feeling numb. One final walk to school with Yusuke (ironic considering it was also the  _first_  walk to school with Yusuke in quite some time) wouldn't go amiss.

Something told me I should savor this walk. Who knew when we'd get a chance at another, once the shit hit the fan?

As we navigated the early commuter crowds and made our final approach to Meiou, Yusuke stopped dead in his tracks. The school gate loomed before us. Surely in his eyes it looked like the gate of a prison, even if he didn't go to the same school as me anymore, and this particular prison was not his own.

"Oh my fucking god," Yusuke said, bulging eyes fixed on the students as they filed in the gates. "Oh—oh my  _god_."

I nodded, hands flapping. "Oh my god,  _right_?!"

"It's…it's  _magenta_." He tracked the boys as they walked past, aghast, appalled, astounded at the horrible color they all wore. "Who the hell thought  _magenta_  was a good idea?"

"Nice use of color language," I observed. With a prim smile I smoothed the front of my crimson skirt. "I lucked out. Red's my color."

But Yusuke was too transfixed at the horror before him to pay attention. "So bright," he said. "So girly." He pulled an impressive stink-face. "So…gross!"

"Yeah. I  _much_  prefer the girls' uniform."

"Heck,  _I'd_  prefer wearing the girls' uniform over  _that_  garbage."

"Makes you grateful for Sarayashiki's uniforms, doesn't it?" I nudged him slyly in the ribs. "One might think it could  _almost_  inspire you to wear the right color uniform, for once."

He shrugged, shoulders of his green summer uniform wrinkling. "Ha. Over my dead body."

I stared at him. Took a minute, but soon Yusuke realized what he'd done. He smacked his cheek with an exaggerated groan.

"Oh damn," he said. "Even  _I'm_  making puns now."

I gave his head a sympathetic pat. "The jokes write themselves."

Yusuke's eyes flashed; he started to say something, waving away my hand like a dog rejecting an unwanted ear-scratching, but then he fell silent. His eyes trained over my shoulder like a sniper's scope.

"Can you believe this?" he muttered, too low for anyone else to hear. "Not even at my school and they're already staring!"

I snuck a glance over my shoulder. Two boys and a girl, all wearing garish Meiou fashion, openly stared in Yusuke's direction. I paid them no mind and stuck my nose high in the air.

"Well, of  _course_  they are," I said, tone comically lofty. "Word travels fast when there's a zombie invasion afoot."

Yusuke cracked a wicked smile before slouching, hooking his hands into claws, and shuffling past me at the staring students. One foot dragged behind him in an exaggerated limp.

"Brains!" he groaned at my classmates. "Braaaains!" He couldn't keep the aggressive smile off his face. "Don't make me bite you. You'll get infected!"

As one, my classmates eeped, faces paling as they stepped away from Yusuke's zombie impression. I stepped between them and Yusuke, hand coming up to ward my friend off.

"Play nice," I said to him. Turning to my classmates, I pasted on a chipper smile and cheerily intoned, "Sorry about him. He's adjusting to being human. You know. Since he was  _dead_  recently."

Watching my classmates shriek and run off was intensely satisfying, I've gotta say. Yusuke hooked an arm around my neck with a crow of devious delight.

"You're evil!" he said.

"Learned from the best." I grabbed his wrist, keeping his arm around me so he couldn't get away. I pinned him with a stare as I asked, "You  _sure_  you don't want me to walk you to school?"

"Nah." He twisted, unlooping his arm and stepping out of range. "Gotta face the music like a man."

"Or just ditch me so you can play hooky."

Immediately his expression became casual.  _Too_  casual. Looking hurt, he said, "It's almost like you think I'm some sort of delinquent, Keiko."

"Almost," I said, agreeably. My tone skewed stern. "Go to school, Yusuke, you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Putting his back to me, he walked away. His hand rose over his head in farewell. "Karaoke later?"

"Sure. Meet you at my parents' after class!"

"Right. See ya!"

I watched him go knowing it was unlikely we'd get to hit up karaoke later. There was no telling if he'd actually go to school or not, of course, though I hoped he'd at least give his first day back a proper shot...but why was I even worried? If all things went as planned, he'd end up skipping school today to track down Gouki. Skipping school was an inevitability. But if he could at  _least_  make it to class on time, maybe the hooky would be excused…

He wasn't the only one playing hooky, I soon learned, or the only canon character with mysterious whereabouts.

Kurama wasn't in school, either. My stomach dropped into my heels when I saw his empty desk.

"So I was right," I said, words slipping free of their own volition.

"Hmm?" Junko said at my side.

"Oh, um. Nothing," I said. I hooked an arm through hers and pulled her past the empty seat. "Nothing at all."

I spent class staring at Kurama's desk and gnawing absently on the end of a pen. No doubt Kurama was in Spirit World, robbing it blind of its hidden treasures with the help of Hiei and Gouki. And no doubt soon Koenma would summon Yusuke from school to begin his first mission as the Spirit Detective.

The stars—or the full moon, rather—had at last aligned.

The Artifacts of Darkness Arc had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here.
> 
> Very excited for the next few chapters. The events within have been clear in my head since the beginning. So glad we've come this far. Next week gets exciting!
> 
> Keiko's paper bouquet made me laugh. She can't grow exotic flowers in winter, so paper versions would have to do. Also, translation: The azaleas meant "take care of yourself for me." The chrysanthemums meant "you are a wonderful friend." The bells of Ireland meant "good luck." The unused anemones meant "betrayal."
> 
> You are all beyond wonderful and kind, and I'm so grateful for the support you left this week. MAJOR SUPER AWESOME THANKS!


	39. Tell Me a Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NQKeiko tells, and is told, a story.

The next day—Tuesday, one day before Kurama intended to use the Mirror—I attended class like usual.

Of course, today was anything but usual…especially for Minamino.

He didn't know that yet, though.

I didn't see him before school, of course. I didn't seek him out. Truth be told, I wasn't even sure he'd come to school that day, or if Yusuke's Unexpected Scheme was going to fall flat in Minamino's absence. Only after lunch did I catch glimpse of Minamino's rubicund hair, strands gleaming bloody in the light streaming in the classroom windows.

When I walked in, he sat reading at his desk—ignoring me, clearly. I ignored him right back and sat down at my own, even though we were the first two there and snubbing him would normally be considered rude.

It's not like _he_ greeted _me_ , either—his eyes merely flickered in my direction before darting away again, back to his book. So much for civility, not that it mattered. I was too nervous to talk to him. Too scared I'd give everything away.

Distance was definitely best, especially now that I knew The Scheme was on.

The classroom soon filled; the teacher began her lecture on cellular division. I barely heard a word, though. Was too busy looking out the window, trying to affect a bored, I'm-just-daydreaming stare—but that was a ruse covering the laser of my focus. I stared at the school gate below so hard, I feared the thing might catch fire. Nothing absent or daydreamy about me today. No fucking way. But it would be _just like him_ to be late and mess this whole thing up. I glanced fervently at my watch, sneaking peeks at it beneath my desk so the teacher wouldn't see.

Luckily it didn't take long for _him_ to appear. Good thing, too, because I was about to chew my own arm off with impatience. When I saw him I sat up straighter, pulse lurching in my throat like a rickety rollercoaster.

Two stories below, green jumpsuit clashing horribly with the brick pavement, Yusuke had appeared beyond the slats of the gate.

I'd told him which window I'd be sitting in. His dark gaze raked the side of the building, connecting with mine as though drawn there by a tractor beam. Yusuke smirked; I smiled back, then gave him a nod.

_Yeah_ , the nod said. _He's here._

Yusuke's smirk morphed into an outright grin; he covered the expression by running his hands over his gelled hair. He did his best to smooth the smirk into a look of haughty confidence before returning my nod, shoving his hands in his pockets, and walking out of sight behind the wall encompassing our secluded private school.

I knew where he was going, of course.

Minamino, however, had no idea what was coming.

I didn't dare sneak a glance at the fox, even though I wanted to. I merely waited, agonizing seconds turning into agonizing minutes, until I wanted to jump up and run screaming from the room.

Lucky for me, Yusuke was a fast worker. It didn't take long for the assistant principal to show up at the door to the classroom. Our teacher stopped talking when the door rattled open and the principal scanned the room.

Her eyes, of course, alit on Minamino.

"Minamino, come with me, please," she said.

Because everyone else was doing it, I looked at Minamino at long last. Would've seemed suspicious if I didn't. Even though I knew his mother wouldn't die today, the bolt of panic striking through his verdant eyes made my heart hurt. He didn't spare me a glance as he gathered his things and walked from the room, eyes tight and hard like he meant to fight the world and win.

After his disappeared, I sagged in my seat with a relieved sigh.

All had gone according to plan. So far, at least.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

* * *

The day before, Monday, started off uncertain.

It definitely didn't end that way.

Despite telling Junko to spread the word of Yusuke's return, I spent most of the breaks between classes assuring my peers that yes, Yusuke was alive. No, he was no a zombie. No, he hadn't actually died—the medics had made a mistake. Yusuke had been in a coma. No, his brush with death hadn't made him a better person overnight. Why would you even _ask_ that?

When rain fell that afternoon, the accompanying thunder mirrored my darkening mood.

To keep up appearances, I went home directly after school and helped out in the restaurant. Yusuke, as predicted, did not make an appearance. Recovering after his first altercation with Gouki, no doubt.

Or _was_ there any doubt?

Had everything gone as canon predicated, or had Kurama—given the conversation we'd had the day before—changed his fate, somehow, and acted beyond the scope of expectation?

Only one way to find out.

Because the alternative was worrying myself into an anxious mess (which would do no one any good), and because the only consequence I could see was Keiko becoming more aware of her best friend's activities, I put on my raincoat and trekked to Atsuko's apartment once the restaurant closed.

To my surprise, neither Yusuke nor Atsuko answered when I rang the bell. An unexpected party opened the door and stared at me, eyes wide, mouth parted, fingers of one delicate hand pressing at her open lips. The girl looked more than a little horrified to see me, not that I blamed her. Meeting me tonight definitely hadn't been part of the plan—especially not for the grim reaper who thought she had a handle on fate.

Well. _Surprise_ , I guess?

"Oh," said Botan. She looked me up and down, eyes growing progressively wider. "Oh! _Um_ —?"

"Botan, right?" I said.

Her eyes went even wider still, if such a thing were possible. "Y-yes, I'm—" But then her eyes narrowed; she leaned toward me, comically suspicious. "Wait. How did you—?"

"Blue hair, bubbly personality, pretty face." I shrugged, smiling. "Your type isn't exactly a dime a dozen."

And that was no exaggeration. Botan was without a doubt one of the prettiest people I'd seen in this life—in a way I admit was almost unsettling. Pores tiny in her alabaster complexion, powder blue hair glossy and thick as it tumbled over her slender collarbone, Botan's facial features had the wide-eyes, full-lipped, delicate look of a high fashion model, or a famous cosplayer who hadn't yet changed out of her wig and rich magenta contacts (which, despite their color, suited her as naturally as breathing). Even without mascara her lashes threatened to brush her eyebrows. She wore plain, high-waisted jeans and a sweater, but when she moved the clothes draped her body as if they'd been made for her. Perhaps they had. Perhaps Spirit World had a good tailor tucked away somewhere.

Truth be told, the grim reaper looked like a photoshopped doll come to gorgeous, perfect life. The kind of girl I'd have become a stumbling mess in front of in my old life—the kind of girl I doubtless would've had a crush on for her looks alone.

Luckily Keiko's nerves were steadier than mine. Although the shock of Botan's looks certainly struck me, I didn't find myself a babbling idiot, either. Good. I couldn't afford to break down just then.

Botan looked at first shocked, and then pleased by my earlier statement. "Yusuke said I was _pretty_?" she asked, amazed.

"Of course," I said—and, feeling playful, I tipped the grim reaper a rather flirty wink. "And he was right, if I'm allowed to say so. You're _gorgeous_."

Ivory cheeks flushing, Botan waved a dismissive hand and laughed, a charmingly embellished "oh ho _ho_!" Even though she didn't have a British accent (this wasn't the English dub of the anime, after all) her inflection sounded appropriately poised, formal, and sophisticated. Very Botan. I liked the sound of her voice at once.

"Oh, _stop_ it!" she said, playfully shoving my shoulder. "You charmer, you!"

"Yup. Charmer. That's me!" I dipped a bow with a touch of Western flourish. "I'm Keiko, by the way. But I figure you already know that."

"Well, yes," Botan admitted—and then her pleased smile melted, as dramatic as a popsicle liquefying under a blowtorch. She stepped toward me, apartment door falling shut at her back. "But Keiko, you can't be here right now! Yusuke, he's—"

"If he's hurt, then this is _exactly_ where I need to be."

"I understand the sentiment, but— "And then she stopped talking. I think my words caught her quite off guard, if her fluttering eyelashes and gasp of surprise were any indication. "Wait. What makes you think he's hurt?"

"We planned to go to karaoke tonight. It's not like him to ditch me without calling." (I'd disabused him of that bad behavior years before.) "With this new Spirit Detective gig, it wasn't hard to put two and two together." Botan's jaw dropped. I smiled. "Something happened on a case, didn't it?"

Botan stared at me for a second.

She then let out an enormous shriek of rage, pivoting on her foot and kicking in the door before she marched inside.

"Yusuke, you little—" Botan screeched. " _What, precisely, did you tell Keiko?!"_

I almost laughed out loud. Botan was just as spirited in this life as she'd been in the anime, flipping between comical rage and charming, bubbly dramatics at the drop of a hat. I followed her into the house, locked the door behind us, and trotted down the hall to Yusuke's bedroom.

Yusuke lay on his bed, front of his pajamas clutched tight in Botan's slender hands. She was shaking him, of course, kneeling on the mattress at his side as she pried him from the grip of sleep. Bandages adorned his cheeks and peeked from the top of his shirt, I noticed. Seemed he'd fought Gouki today, after all.

Good. Right on schedule.

"Wake up!" Botan hollered. "Wake up, Yusuke! I have a bone to pick with you!"

His eyes finally fluttered open. "Wh-what—?"

"You told Keiko!" Botan said. "I _expressly_ told you to keep Keiko _out of it_ , Yusuke, but you told her anyway!" She gave him another hearty shake. "Yusuke, how could you?! Koenma will be _furious_!"

"Hey, ouch, watch it!" Tired of being shaken like a ragdoll, Yusuke wormed out of Botan's hold and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His knees buckled when he tried to stand, however, so he flopped back down and glared at the woman next to him. "I didn't survive getting pile-drived by an ogre so you could _kill me all over again_ , dammit!" The boy fell quiet, blinking in sudden realization. In a very small voice, Yusuke said, "Oh, _damn_. I was pile-drived by an _ogre_." He looked down, touching the bandage on his cheek. "Well, that explains why I feel like I got hit by a car."

"Really?" I said. "Another car?"

Yusuke's eyes jerked up, meeting mine with a panicked gleam. "K-Keiko!?"

"Yes, Keiko! And that's the problem!" Botan said. Her arm flung out in my direction. " _She_ _can't be here_ , Yusuke! And for heaven's sake, you _can't_ talk about _ogres_ in front of her!"

"Oh, can it, Botan!" Yusuke groused. Botan started to argue, but he held up a hand and ticked off numbers on his fingers. "I talked to her in dreams, she saw the fire turn blue when I saved her, she helped me come back to life, and she's _definitely_ smart enough to realize when I'm hiding shit from her. She's _clearly_ clued in about the whole spirts and magic crap, so what's the big deal with knowing about demons, too?!"

Even I felt surprised by Yusuke's well-formed outburst. I mean, his logic was sound, and Botan's inability to speak just then indicated she felt the same way. After everything Keiko had seen during Yusuke's resurrection period, it was ludicrous to think Keiko didn't have at least some inkling that the supernatural existed. What was the point of pretending none of it was real when she had firsthand evidence to the contrary?

That had always bothered me about the manga. Keiko wasn't a dumbass. There was no way she could forget everything she experienced, but in the beginning, Botan and Yusuke acted like Keiko had no idea the supernatural existed. They'd kept things from her for an unbearable amount of time, endangering her very life in the process.

Clearly this version of Yusuke had a different opinion about what Keiko should and should not know about his role as Spirit Detective. For that I felt immeasurably glad.

"And besides," he continued. "It's not like Keiko is helpless. She can fight." His smiled was as proud as it was peeved. "Even _I_ can't hit her when she puts her mind to dodging. At least if she knows what's up, she can protect herself if anything ever came after her." Yusuke crossed his arms over his chest, shoving his nose resolutely in the air. "Keeping her out of it is pointless, so I ain't gonna do it."

Botan considered this, mouth screwing up as she mulled it over. She shook her head. "But Yusuke, Spirit World's secrets aren't supposed to be heard by mortals. You are an _exception_. You can't just drag everyone you care about into Spirit World affairs!"

"That's _exactly_ why I have to drag her in, Botan—because keeping somebody I care about in the dark would be _dangerous_." He looked at me, apparently not at all perturbed that he'd just said he cared for me out loud. Too distracted to realize he was being embarrassing, no doubt. Yusuke certainly looked serious just then. "You should've seen it, Keiko. Big red ogre with horns and teeth, sucking kids' souls with this Orb thingy. Demons are a thing, apparently, and they're _gross_." He tapped the bottom of his fist again his knee, eyes widening. "Oh. Right! My first big case started! There was a big break-in in a Spirit World vault, and now I've gotta track down these criminals who stole some treasures, and—"

Botan's magenta eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. Grabbing his collar again, she shrieked a furious, " _Yusuke_!"

"Botan," I said. "It's OK."

Midway through shaking the teeth out of Yusuke's skull, Botan looked up. Yusuke took advantage of this distraction and wriggled from her grip again, scooting away across the bed until he hit the wall. I offered Botan a sincere smile and placed a hand over my heart. While the gesture felt dramatic, something told me the reaper would appreciate the sentiment behind it.

"I won't get involved," I assured the reaper. "I will not tell anyone about Yusuke's role as Spirit Detective, or about—what did you call them? Demons?"

"Yeah," Yusuke said, playing beautifully into my feigned ignorance. "Apparently there's a whole world full of 'em somewhere. I don't have all the details yet, but they're a nasty bunch."

"Well, I will _definitely_ need the rest of those details soon, because you just talked about _another literal world and a race of literal supernatural monsters_ in the same breath, and that's some big-ass shit right there," I said (Botan looked positively _green_ just then), "but in the meantime, Botan, I just want to say that I won't mess this up for anyone, I promise. I'm a _great_ secret-keeper. The secrets of Spirit World are safe with me—certainly safer than the treasures in that busted vault of yours."

Yusuke snickered at my jab at Spirit World. Botan's angry grimace diminished somewhat, but she still looked uncertain. Lucky for me, Yusuke is a great character witness.

"Keiko _always_ means what she says," Yusuke piped up. Botan shot him a sharp look. "She never breaks promises. We can trust her not to blab, I swear."

Teeth worrying her lower lip, Botan looked at Yusuke. She looked at me. She looked back and forth, ponytail whipping behind her head, teeth gouging deep into her pink mouth, hands coming together in her lap so she could pick nervously at a cuticle.

"Oh, this is _not_ adhering to protocol," she muttered. "Koenma will be furious!"

I suggested, "You can always blame this on Yusuke's big mouth."

Yusuke nodded. "Yeah, you can always—hey, wait a second!" He turned to me and raised a fist. "Watch it!"

" _You_ watch it," I shot back. "You're the one who got the shit kicked out of him today."

"I could've taken that ogre!"

"The evidence," I said, with a pointed look at the bandage on his cheek, "suggests otherwise."

Yusuke slapped a hand over the bandage, which agitated the cut or bruise beneath. He flipped back on the bed and rolled across it, groaning in pain—and then Botan's laugh puffed into the air like the fluff of a startled dandelion.

"You two are _quite_ the odd couple," she said, as if discovering something delightful. Her eyes rolled skyward, helpless and resigned. "Oh, I know I'm going to regret this, but—welcome aboard, Keiko!" A conspiratorial smile crossed her lips as she rolled to her feet, extended a hand toward me, and offered up a chipper wink. "Knowing Yusuke, he needs all the help he can get from smart, sassy ladies like ourselves!"

Oh my god, she was adorable. I took her hand and shook it, unable to keep the smile off my face. "You said it, Botan."

Yusuke—who had fought hard for this alliance—suddenly looked uncomfortable. Eyeing us with obvious suspicion, he asked, "Why do I feel like introducing the two of you was a terrible idea?"

"Because it was," I deadpanned. "You just signed your death warrant."

"Yes, Yusuke, your death warrant," Botan agreed. "Soon we'll be giving you _makeovers_!"

We commenced with giggling at Yusuke's expense. He sulked.

"Oh, man. This sucks," he said.

"You brought it on yourself," I told him.

"Don't make me regret bringing you in, grandma!" he said—but then his combative look turned solemn. "Keiko, since you're here—you're smart. Smarter than me, though don't let that go to your head. What's your take on this Gouki guy?"

"No idea yet, since you haven't told me anything about him," I lied. Sitting on the chair by the door, I said, "Tell me a story, Yusuke."

Content to sit back and play the role of ignorant newcomer, I let Botan and Yusuke spin the tale of demons, Spirit World, the vault, and the thieves who'd breached its walls. Watching the pair snark and bicker as they recounted the facts was honestly more entertaining than hearing the facts themselves. As far as I could tell, nothing about the Artifacts plot had changed in this rendition of _Yu Yu Hakusho_. The ogre Gouki, the mysterious Kurama, and the cutthroat Hiei had stolen the Orb of Baast, the Forlorn Hope, and the Shadow Sword, then absconded with the treasures to Human World. Gouki had been actively stealing the souls of children since earlier today. I acted appropriately stunned by the revelation of Demon World (and appropriately neutral when I heard the names of the demons), of course, but Yusuke and Botan barely noticed. They were far too wrapped up in their retelling to judge my acting ability.

"So kids started collapsing and it wasn't hard to find the demons," Yusuke said. "Hiei and Kurama ran, but Gouki stuck around, and we fought. He almost got me but Botan chased him off and brought me back here." At that he grimaced. "And from what Botan tells me, I can't afford to mess up again. Those kids' souls'll get digested unless I beat the guy, and fast. But after today, I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to beat him. My Spirit Gun barely made a dent."

"About that, Yusuke," Botan said. She lifted a finger. On it gleamed a golden ring with a thick band and small tines extending over her knuckle. "I have something that might just help."

It was the Concentration Ring, naturally, to turn up the volume on Yusuke's Spirit Gun—only once he used it, he'd be down for the count. He put the ring on his finger and stared, grim lines etched into the skin between his eyes.

"Thanks," he said. "But that Gouki thing has stone skin. Even with this, how am I supposed to beat him?"

Botan—who had looked quite triumphant at the revelation of the Ring—slumped slightly. I cleared my throat. Yusuke looked at me with hope in his eyes. Keiko to the rescue, he clearly thought.

"I'm not sure, Yusuke," I said (I hated watching his hope pop like a punctured balloon, but I couldn't spoon-feed him all the answers if I wanted him to grow and develop the way he was meant to). "All I can say is that you should try looking at it from a different angle. Try looking at the problem from the inside out. It's amazing what new perspective can do when you're trying to solve a problem."

Yusuke considered this, gazing at the ring on his finger in silence. Despite the ache in my chest demanding I tell him what to do, 'inside out' was the only clue I felt safe enough giving him—but something told me I needn't have given it to him at all. Despite his claim that I was smarter than him, Yusuke was intuitive in ways few rivaled. He didn't _need_ my help defeating the demon Gouki. Yusuke could do that all on his own merit.

"I'll think about it," he said. He clenched his fist, looking up with determined eyes. "Maybe I'll have to improvise. Who knows? But whatever happens, I'm going to track that demon down tomorrow." His fist clenched a little tighter, muscles quivering in his taut forearms. "I'm going to fight him, and I'm going to _win_."

"That's the spirit, Yusuke!" Botan said, smacking his back with her open hand. "But while we're making plans, tell me: What do you plan to do about the other two?"

Yusuke frowned. "The other two what?"

"Why, the other two demons, of course!" The grim reaper looked utterly appalled. "Surely you haven't forgotten about them _already?_!"

Yusuke flushed. As he babbled something about Botan being an enormous nag, Botan reached into her shirt once more and produced a manila folder (one that could _not_ have fit in there given the way the garment outlined her chest so thoroughly, but that's neither here nor there; I wasn't staring, no way, who, me?).

"Here, Mister Lazy," Botan said. "This is the complete dossier on the demons, the treasures, and your recovery timeline. I suggest you study it!"

Yusuke took the folder with a grumble, shoving it under his pillow and out of sight—where it would doubtless remain, and remain unread, knowing Yusuke.

"Sorry, Botan," I said, "but you'd be better off asking a _puppy_ to study. Yusuke isn't the studious type."

Botan's crestfallen look (followed swiftly by her kitten-like rage at Yusuke) made me laugh. I carried that laughter with me when I left that night and trudged through the rain toward home.

Botan didn't know it, but she had no reason to worry.

Yusuke would recover the treasures just fine. I had every faith in him.

* * *

Not two seconds after I got home that night, and only a moment after the bedroom door shut behind me, my phone rang. I lurched across the room to grab it before it woke my sleeping parents. "Hello?" I hissed into the received.

"Hey, Keiko?" came Kuwabara's gravelly voice—a voice that sounded even rougher than usual. "It's, uh. It's _me_."

Yeah, it was him—but why? The clock on my desk proclaimed midnight was fast approaching. Voice low, I said, "Are you OK? It's late."

"Oh, were you asleep already? I can call back tomorrow, or—"

"Nah, I was awake." I sat on my bed and reached for the lamp on the bedside table. "You usually don't call so late, that's all."

Kuwabara said nothing.

I waited a beat.

More nothing.

"So…what's up?" I asked.

"Um." He paused. Something rattled, maybe his breath or a sheet of paper. "Could you just… _talk_ , for a little while?"

"Uh, sure?" What an odd request. "What would you like to talk about?"

He drew in a breath. "No, no, not like—not like _us_ talking." Another long pause, and then his voice came harsher than before. Raspier, sort of, like he was trying really hard not to sound winded after running for miles. "Can _you_ just talk?" he asked.

"Oh. Um." I stood, walking until the phone's cord stretched to its full length and back again. "Sure. But why?"

"I—I can't say."

It wasn't like Kuwabara to stammer and stutter like this—not with that agitated tremor in his voice, nor the crack at the end signaling unspoken anxiety. My fingers clenched the phone a little tighter.

"Kuwabara," I said. "What's wrong?"

The words came out like they'd sprung from a lanced boil. "Nothin', Keiko, _nothin'_. I just need you to talk, OK?!"

My feet stopped pacing. Kuwabara gasped, falling silent in the wake of his own outburst. It also wasn't like him to raise his voice at me, nor was it like him to snarl as if I'd said something mortally offensive. Normally so gentle, so kind, this out-of-nowhere aggression rendered me silent.

We sat on the phone together for nearly a minute. I watched the hands go around my clock, marking the time as it passed between us.

"Sorry," Kuwabara blurted. "I'm…stressed. But I'm fine. And I'm sorry." His voice cracked again, wheedling and small. "Can you just talk to me? _Please_?"

While saying "please" was in character for the polite Kuwabara, I still felt unsettled. Clearly something was wrong with him. Why was he lying to me? Or did it even matter? Nagging wouldn't get him to talk to me. Best just do what he asked and trust he'd come to me if he really needed help.

"Say no more," I said, affecting a breezy tone of voice. My pacing resumed, though, betraying my mounting nerves. "What are friends for but to talk on command?" Tension struck through me like an awl through a pierced ear. "But, um…let's see. What should I talk about?"

"Anything," Kuwabara grunted.

"Well…" Wracking my brain produced only one option; it was getting late, after all, and I was too tired to be creative. "I could tell you a story, if you'd like. Maybe in English, test your knowledge?"

"That's—that's _fine_ ," he said. Now he sounded positively strangled. "Just _talk_."

Because I could quote all the funniest parts from both the book _and_ the movie (and because it had been on my mind recently), it should come as no surprise that _The Princess Bride_ began to pour out of my mouth. At first Kuwabara listened to the tale of Buttercup and Westley in sphinxlike silence, but when I got to the part where Westley died, he let out a small gasp.

"That's awful," he said. "They were so happy."

"They were very happy," I assured him, "so it should bring you no comfort that Buttercup eventually found herself to be married…to a man she did not love."

My heart soared when Kuwabara sounded appropriately appalled by this, grateful that he didn't reject the romantic parts of the story the way Yusuke probably would. He reacted to everything with shock, appreciation, or horror where appropriate, laughing out loud when I got to the parts with Fezzik, Inigo, and Vizzini. Sometimes he asked for translations in Japanese, but I used simple English so he could follow as easily as possible (Kuwabara was getting good at English, but he wasn't _that_ good yet). He fell into an apprehensive hush when I told him about the screeching eels, the Cliffs of Insanity, the tale of the Six Fingered Man and Inigo's quest for revenge. He outright cheered during the mysterious Man in Black's duels with the sword-fighting Spaniard and the jolly giant Fezzik—because those parts were badass, and why _wouldn't_ he get invested? This story truly had something for everyone.

I confess I got really, embarrassingly into my storytelling. It helped that I'd mimicked all the actors' voices and acted out scenes from the film approximately ten billion times, which made the Battle of Wits between Vizzini and the Man in Black particularly amusing. Kuwabara ate up Vizzini's convoluted logic about the iocane powder's placement in the goblets, and he made a noise of muffled horror as the Man in Black fell for Vizzini's obvious trickery when Vizzini exclaimed, "What in the _world_ could that be?!" and swapped the cups when the Man's back was turned.

"That lying cheat!" Kuwabara said.

"Yes," I agreed—and then I launched into the Sicilian's monologue, after the men drank and the mastermind revealed his dastardly plot.

"'You only _think_ I guessed wrong!" I crowed in a terrible imitation of Billy Crystal's reedy voice. "That's what's so funny! I switched the poison when your back was turned! You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders—the most famous of which is 'never get into a land war in Asia'—but only slightly less well-known is _this_ : ' _Never_ go in against a Sicilian, when _death_ is on the line!' Ha! Ha _ha_! Ha ha ha ha ha—!"

Because the moment required it, I threw back my head and laughed like an absolute loon—but just before I could dramatically fall silent and describe the Sicilian's sudden death to Kuwabara, the door to my room burst open. I shrieked and jumped two feet in the air as my mother marched in, hair tucked under the blue mushroom of a sleeping cap, and glared as ferociously as one of my story's screeching eels.

"Keiko, honey?!" she said. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"

"Mom! Sorry!" I said, trying to collect myself (Kuwabara definitely said something into the phone; I pressed my hand over the receiver to muffle his deep voice). "Was I too loud?"

"Yes, Keiko, you were _indeed_ too loud," she said with a roll of her sleepy eyes. "What in the _world_ are you doing?"

"Just…just on the phone, is all!" I said, pointing at it with an awkward laugh.

"Well, you'd better hang up and get some sleep. It's very late!"

"You're right, Mom, I'm so sorry."

"Uh huh. Sure." She turned away, hand on her forehead. "I don't want to know…"

I waited until she left the room to lift the phone to my ear. "Did you hear that, Kuwabara?"

"Yeah." He sounded like Droopy Dog when he lamented, "You have to go?

"Looks like it." I'd never been given a curfew because I'd proven myself trustworthy enough not to need one, and I didn't want that changing now (not when the Plot was here and sneaking out had become a more distinct possibility). "I'm sorry."

"It's OK. I knew you'd have to go eventually." Nothing could hide the morose resignation in his rocky voice. "I'm just sad you didn't even get to finish the story."

Laughing, I said, "Leaving you with quite a cliffhanger, I am. A veritable Cliffs of Insanity moment, huh?"

"Yeah. But I don't mind. It'll make the rest even better." He paused for a second, and then with earnestness apparent told me, "Thanks, Keiko."

His somber attitude made my breath hitch "Did I…did I help?" I asked. "With whatever it is that's bothering you?"

"Yeah. You did." While he sounded calmer than when he called, he still radiated melancholy; I hated that I didn't know why. "Call you tomorrow? Maybe hear the ending?"

"Of course." I thought about prying. Decided against it. "Night."

"Night."

He hung up first. Moving through syrup, I set the phone in its cradle.

What in the _world_ had that been about?

I confess I worried more over Kuwabara's odd behavior than I did the plot of _Yu Yu Hakusho_ that night—because only one of those things could be explained by canon.

* * *

Mom's voice sounded as uncertain as it did muffled when she spoke through the bathroom door the next morning, Tuesday.

"Keiko, honey?" she said. "Yusuke's here. Were you supposed to walk with him today?"

No, we were not. We had made no plans to do so the night before. I pulled the toothbrush from my mouth and spat into the sink. A glance at my watch told me it was barely 6:30 AM—far earlier than Yusuke liked to get out of bed, and long before we would meet each other for a morning commute. In fact, I'd gotten up earlier than usual despite my late conversation with Kuwabara, unable to sleep due to sheer restlessness. But what had driven Yusuke from his cozy bed at this hour?

"No?" I said. "Did he say what he wants?"

"Sorry, I didn't ask. He's by the back door. Should I tell him to wait for you?"

"Yeah, two minutes!"

As her feet padded away down the hall, I entered panicked-preparation-mode, scrambling for my hairbrush and the tie of my school uniform as I tripped my way back to my room to dress. Luckily I didn't wear makeup in this life, same as my old one, so that didn't factor into my morning routine. I managed to make it downstairs in the two minutes I'd quoted, even if my hair still stuck up a little in the back.

"Yusuke, it's early," I said when I went outside and saw him lounging against the alley's wall. "What's up? Beat Gouki already?"

He looked around as if scanning for eavesdroppers. "Shhh, keep your voice down!" he said. "And no, not yet, but it's on my To Do List." The boy shook his gelled-up head. "Look, I really need to talk to you."

"Something to do with the case?"

Another glance around the deserted alley. "Not here. Wanna get breakfast? I know a crepe place." His eyes bored into mine, accusing. "You _love_ crepes."

"True." I pretended to consider the offer even though I'd already made up my mind to take it. "Your treat?"

"…sure."

"…I'll bring my wallet, anyway." Yusuke's delayed answer did not bode well for that promise.

In a surprising show of foresight, Yusuke had indeed chosen a spot for breakfast just a block and a half from my house. The sun had barely risen, but he still insisted we sit on the brick patio away from the rest of the patrons (they stayed wisely indoors, away from the misty morning chill). I ordered banana and chocolate crepes; Yusuke didn't order anything. Another surprise from his this morning. Normally he ate everything in sight. Now, however, he sat in his seat with hands jammed in his pockets, slouched over and jiggling one of his knees up and down, up and down. So he was anxious about something, then. Interesting.

Once the server brought my food, I unwrapped my utensils and tucked in. " _Now_ can you tell me what this is about?" I said when the server was gone.

Yusuke shifted in his seat, still jiggling that restless leg. "So…you know that file Botan left me? The one about the case?"

I lifted a brow as I lifted a fork to my mouth. "Don't tell me you _actually_ read it."

"Honestly, I was chucking it in the garbage," he admitted. "But a page fell out, and things just clicked."

I frowned. "Things? What things?"

Yusuke took a deep breath. "Don't freak out, OK?"

I put down my fork. "Well. _That_ bodes."

"I'm serious. You are _not allowed_ to freak out."

"You know that's the worst thing to say to someone before telling them something freaky, right?" I said. "You know that it basically guarantees a freak out, right?"

"Keiko. _Please_."

My snarky comebacks died at once. It was not often Yusuke said 'please,' nor did he often wear the expression of grim intention he donned just then. He swallowed, sitting up straighter so he could pull the manila folder from the night before out of his jacket.

"I have a favor to ask," Yusuke said.

I did not like the look in his eyes. I did not like it, not one bit. But Yusuke might feed off my unease, so I pushed the feeling aside and kept my tone neutral when I spoke. No sense spooking Yusuke at this crucial point in the timeline—but what the heck was he so worked up about?

I hid it well, but my heart began to beat a hurried tattoo against my ribs.

"You want _my_ help? That's rare," I said. "But sure. What is it?"

He took a deep breath, eyes closing. His knee stilled beneath the table. My heart beat a little faster. Clearly he was prepping himself for something. Something big. But what could—?

Yusuke opened his eyes and said, "I need you to introduce me to someone at your school."

And with that, my heart near 'bout stopped.

Because it was obvious were he was going with this, now wasn't it?

I didn't know how he figured it out, and I didn't know why this change had happened—but it was _obvious_ what Yusuke was about to say.

And I had no idea if I was prepared to hear him out.

"Oh?" I said. Somehow my voice held steady. "And why is that?"

His leg resumed its frantic bouncing. "It's…well…"

"Yusuke." I leaned toward him, banana crepe forgotten. "Tell me."

My best friend took another deep, bracing breath, cheeks puffed out and eyes closed tight. When his eyes opened, they held the plea from earlier: _Don't freak out, OK?_

Wishful thinking, on his part. But I didn't tell him that.

"One of the perps—one of the demons who broke into Spirit World," Yusuke said. "Well…"

My patience frayed when he stalled again. " _Yusuke_."

The boy shook his head. For a moment I thought he might not have the wherewithal to speak the truth aloud—but then he found the words at last, and when he spoke them, he confirmed my budding fears.

"It's just…well, Keiko," Yusuke said.

He leaned toward me, eyes intent on my face.

"I think one of the demons goes to Meiou," he said—and then he waited for me to freak out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live in southeast Texas, and here in about thirty minutes Hurricane Harvey is going to slam into my city…hence this chapter's early posting. Gotta get it up before the power goes out and internet dies. Wish me luck! Will let y'all know if I end up going for an unexpected swim. ;)
> 
> Loved this chapter's ending too much to keep going. But how did Detective Yusuke figure out there's a demon at NQKeiko's school? We'll see! Guessing most of you will be able to guess. :P Also, yay for Botan making her debut! But what's up with Kuwabara?
> 
> Side note: In the manga and anime, Yusuke was confused when Kurama's mother called him "Shuichi" and was similarly confused that Kurama had a human mom. This leads me to believe Spirit World did NOT know of Kurama's secret human identity, and somehow only knew him by his demon name (probably because the case arose too quickly for them to do proper research). If they'd known about Kurama, I think they would have told Yusuke about it ahead of time. His surprise at Kurama's human name said a lot of about Spirit World's incompetence. 
> 
> I know people are anxious for Hiei, so let me just say we're very, very close to his introduction in the story. Stay tuned!
> 
> Big ol' honkin' thanks to all who read last week! You are my heroes and you should all be wearing capes to signal your hero status.


	40. Tide to the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our eponymous lucky child finally runs out of luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultural Notes: There's a saying in Japan that goes "Wake from death and return to life" (起死回生). It refers to when someone is able to turn a bad situation into a good/successful one, and it's a bit of a pun when applied to Yusuke considering he literally woke from death and returned to life. It's featured in this chapter.  
> Also, we see "shoganai" again, and it means "it can't be helped". It's said in Japan when one is inconvenienced as a reminder to just keep calm and move on.

Yusuke stared at me.

I stared at him.

Neither of us spoke for a moment—him for fear of my reaction, me for…well. For fear of my reaction, too. Although my mouth had gone quite dry, I licked my lips and tried my best to look stunned. Skeptical. Maybe a touch freaked out, because that was only natural at a time like this.

Be careful, Keiko. Don't look like you know too much, but don't overact any hysterics, either.

"So you mean to tell me," I said, voice measured and even, "that there's a _demon_ at my school."

"Well." Yusuke shifted in his seat, eyes wary. "Well, yeah."

I sat back in mine and breathed a solemn, "Huh."

Yusuke froze like a deer under the gaze of a predator. I lifted my water glass to my lips. Drank. Set it down and sawed off a bite of banana crepe. Lifted it toward my mouth, chocolate dripping from the edge of my fork.

"And, uh…how do you feel about that?" Yusuke asked.

Banana midway to my lips, I stared at him.

Yusuke looked as freaked out as he expected me to be. Leaning away, eyes wide and horrified, he whispered: "Why aren't you screaming?"

Slowly, I put down my fork. I pushed away my plate and lowered my head to the tabletop.

"…I don't know if that's better or worse than screaming," Yusuke observed.

"It's…screaming-adjacent," I muttered.

"The heck does _that_ mean?"

For a moment, I didn't answer—mostly because I wasn't sure _how_ to answer without giving shit away. Would the real Keiko freak out at this revelation, or would she remain stoic? She'd passed out for a mere two seconds in the anime when she was told demons existed, and then she'd beaten a determined warpath to get to Yusuke on Hanging Neck Island. Quite the warrior, even if she did momentarily faint—not that I blamed her. That Keiko didn't have the forewarning I did. She learned of demons all in one go. I'd learned of them the night before (so far as Yusuke knew) and was marginally more prepared to learn one went to my school. Her fainting had been perfectly reasonable in context. In my context, it was less so.

Still.

Even my version of Keiko didn't have enough forewarning to simply pass this off as a non-issue.

"I'm too busy appreciating the irony of all this to be screaming," I mumbled.

I could practically see Yusuke rolling his eyes. "Well gee, I'm _so glad_ you're enjoying this."

My eyes rolled, too. "'Enjoying' isn't the word."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I found my motivation for the scene. _This_ is how Keiko would feel: incensed she had missed something, peeved she'd been kept in the dark, a tiny bit afraid (though she'd cover it with bluster), willful and dry and stern all at once—and she'd direct those feelings toward Yusuke in the form of verbal spar and blame him for everything. Because _of_ _course_ she would. Sitting up, I shot Yusuke a glare and snatched my fork off my plate.

"There's a demon at my school, and here I was worrying about _you,_ Yusuke?" I muttered. "I was worried about _you_ when there was something dangerous under my nose that _could bite it off_?" I shoved a scrap of crepe into my mouth, and then I shoved in another before I'd even begun to chew the first. Words muffled by banana and chocolate, I slurred, "Fuck that. _Fuck_ _it_. The irony burns. Just tell me who the hell the demon is and put me out of my misery." Another bite shoveled its way into my mouth, but Yusuke said nothing. I looked at him and made a shooing motion. "Well, go on."

He poked the corner of his mouth for some reason. "It's just—your face—"

An exploratory lick told me I'd covered my chin in chocolate. "Oh, don't go getting prim on me now," I snarked, mopping my face with a napkin as I glared. "You're the one who's pushed me to stress-eating." Grabbing my fork, I shoveled down another bite. "And I can't _believe_ you even read that file."

"Hey, I didn't need the file to figure it out." The boy almost sounded offended at the suggestion. "That uniform is hard to forget."

Ah. There it was. The final clue to this little mystery, and the words I'd rather expected to hear ever since Yusuke asked for his favor. He'd recognized Kurama's uniform. Funny how the simple act of letting Yusuke walk me to school had resulted in this change to canon—but now wasn't the time to muse over canon changes. Keeping my face neutral (AKA, keeping my face _disgruntled_ given the current situation) I watched Yusuke flip through the file and offer it to me.

"The minute I saw him, I thought his clothes looked familiar," he said. "It just took seeing the picture to jog my memory."

Gulping, I took the file from him. A photo of Minamino Shuichi—or rather, a photo of _Kurama_ judging by the predatory glint in his bright eye—occupied the top left corner of the page. A candid shot taken at three-quarter angle, it showed him from the neck up, body clad in familiar bright magenta. Writing filled the rest of the page, but it conveyed little more than his name and the suggestion he might be some kind of animal spirit.

Gee. Spirit World really was incompetent, wasn't it? But I shouldn't say that out loud. Yusuke wasn't supposed to distance himself from Spirit World until after the Sensui Arc, when he learned of the crimes of King Yama and was banished to Demon World for his Mazoku heritage. For now, he was a somewhat reluctant, but loyal, employee.

"See?" Yusuke said, reaching over to tap the paper. "Kurama's wearing a Meiou uniform."

"I see that," I said.

Yusuke waited for me to elaborate. I did not. A vague suggestion of cobblestones filled the photo's dark background. Had this image of Kurama been captured in the Spirit World vault? It seemed a bit silly that Kurama would wear his school uniform during the heist, but that was no skin off my nose, really…

"So," said Yusuke when he tired of the silence. He could barely contain the eager edge in his voice. "Do you know him?"

After briefly flirting with the idea of playing dumb, I decided I wasn't a competent enough actress to pull that off. Tell truth, but tell it slant. Instead I handed the file back to Yusuke and crossed my arms over my chest, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

"Kurama, huh," I said. "That's nothing like what it says on his school ID."

Yusuke bolted to his feet, excitement volcanic. "So you _do_ know him!"

"Well, I _thought_ I did. But so far as I know, his name is Minamino Shuichi."

Yusuke's nose wrinkled at the very human name, nothing at all like 'Kurama'. "OK. Weird. So what's his deal? Know anything about him?"

"Yeah. I do." And then I pinned my friend with an unflinching gaze. "Remember that guy I told you about whose mother is dying?"

Yusuke's eager smile vanished. Moving millimeter by millimeter, he lowered himself back into his chair. I took a deep breath. Telling Yusuke the truth was a gamble, but the fewer lies—even lies by omission—I told now would benefit me in the long term. Couldn't risk losing Yusuke's trust if my deception came out, and there was no reason the real Keiko would keep this information secret.

"This is him," I said. "And he's actually something of a friend of mine." Eyeing the file in Yusuke's slack hand, I forced a tepid smile. "Or he _was_."

Didn't take long for Yusuke to connect the dots, eyes lighting up with understanding. "Is this the same guy who dumped you?"

"Yeah." I swallowed with a glass throat. "This certainly explains some things. If he's somehow a demon and he recently fell in with dangerous criminals, it's no wonder he's suddenly distance himself from everyone around him."

Half expecting Yusuke to insult Minamino for being an ass to his friends, it came as a surprise when Yusuke's eyes fell to the table. He did not speak. It wasn't often I beheld Yusuke lost in thought (thoughtful this guy most certainly was not). The moment caught me off guard. I paused to observe, and when he did not rouse from his stupor, I rapped my knuckles on the table.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He took a breath. Let it go. Took another, and spoke. "I found them in the big park on the south side yesterday—Kurama, Gouki, and Hiei. They didn't notice me right away. Figured I'd hang back, eavesdrop a bit, see what was up before I kicked their butts."

"Smart of you," I said, unable to keep the warm approval from my voice—but Yusuke hardly noticed. He didn't even gloat.

"When I overheard them, Kurama was…how did he say it?" His eyes screwed up as he summoned the memory. "He was 'withdrawing from their alliance'?" Yusuke shook his head. "He was leaving the others and he was taking the Mirror with him. That Hiei guy wanted to build an army, really start shit. Kurama didn't want any part of it. Kurama even threatened Gouki when the big guy didn't back off and they tried to take the Mirror from him."

Ah. I remembered that part from the anime, I thought. Keiko, however, would have no such context. I lifted a brow and said, "Wow. He threatened his allies?"

Yusuke nodded. "Yup. And the others were _pissed_ , but then I showed up and everybody but Gouki ran off." His eyes rose to mine, uncertain. "Do you think…do you think Kurama stole the Mirror to help his mom somehow?"

"Maybe." Definitely, but no way would I tell Yusuke that. I tried to look suitably uncertain, instead, and then I masked the look with concern. "But do his reasons change anything about your mission?"

Yusuke's brow knit. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, does Spirit World _care_ if Kurama stole the Mirror to save a life?"

Yusuke's brow knit further. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm just wondering what will happen to my classmate when all of this is said and done," I said. The concern seemed logical enough, given Keiko and Minamino were friends. Too bad Yusuke's confused expression told me didn't see that reasoning. I asked, "What will happen to Minamino Shuichi once Spirit World tracks him down?"

It was like watching a fish learn how to fly. The wheels in Yusuke's head turned, turned, turned, but no matter how many times he tried to speak, the words came out a senseless stammer. Understandable, really. He probably hadn't thought that far ahead yet, to the actual punishments for the demons he tracked down.

"I mean—I mean, he'll…they will…I don't _know_ ," he said, each syllable a struggle of dawning comprehension. "Gouki is an asshole and he deserves what he gets from Spirit World. Hiei, too. But Kurama—" Yusuke paused, swallowed, and looked quite green. "I—If my mom was dying, I might...I mean, I wouldn't…but—" And then he threw up his hands with an exasperated growl. "Ah, screw it! I'm not paid enough to think this hard!"

"You're not paid at all, actually."

"That makes it _worse_." Yusuke shook his head like a dog clearing its ears of water. "Here's a riddle for ya. How the hell does a demon have a human mom?"

My brow arched. "I just found out demons exist. What do you think I am, an expert?"

"An expert at being a pain in my ass, maybe," he grumbled, but the jibe had no heart.

In a show of surprising carelessness, Yusuke wound a hand into his gelled hair, mussing the glossy strands. While Yusuke was not a vain person in the traditional sense, he cared very much for his delinquent style. This must really be getting to him...

"This doesn't make sense," he said, half pleading and half frustrated. "Why would a demon have a human mom? Or a human name? And why would a demon care about a human enough to save one who's dying?" He looked to me as though seeking confirmation of his own experiences. "You should've heard 'em talking, Keiko. That Hiei guy, and Gouki—they _hate_ humans. They want to eat them and enslave them and burn this world to the ground. Gouki and Hiei are both human-hating assholes and they deserve what's coming to them, but Kurama—" Another shake of his frustrated head, followed by a string of impressive (not to mention loud) curses. He flopped boneless in his seat and moaned, "I don't understand any of this bullshit!"

"You and me both," I remarked. "So what are you going to do?"

At first he didn't reply. He harrumphed and sighed and muttered a few more profanities, slumping in his chair until his head came level with the backrest. Then his eyes cleared; he heaved his most dramatic sigh yet, sat up, and pounded his fist against the table. My plate rattled a porcelain response.

"I'm gonna kick ass like always, _that's_ what I'm gonna do," he said, triumph crowning his decision and his expression alike. "I'm gonna beat up Gouki and confront Kurama and then when that's done, I'll kick the crap out of Hiei."

How very like him, to fall back on what he was best at in times of uncertainty. Smiling, I said, "Sounds like you've got quite a busy schedule this week."

"Damn straight," he said—and he winced. "Speaking of busy schedules. Sorry to drag you into this, Keiko, but if I want to get that Mirror back before the full moon tomorrow night, I gotta act fast. I gotta level the playing field." He grinned a wicked grin, demonic heritage foreshadowed. "Show this Kurama guy I'm onto him. Kick his ass just like all the others."

That smile of his, mischievous and bellicose, sank into my bones like damp, rotting my mood from the inside. Choosing my words with care, I asked, "So you'll kick his ass even if he's trying to save someone's life?"

Somehow, in his haste to fight, I think he'd forgotten what I'd said about Kurama's mom, if only for a moment. Yusuke's smile vanished, confused blinking taking its place. I didn't want him punching Kurama in the face on sight. Yusuke hadn't done so in the anime, so maybe it was wrong of me to doubt him, but that smile…

"Sometimes people do bad things for the right reasons." I kept my voice cool and even, trying to keep a level head despite how badly I wanted to tell Yusuke to leave Kurama alone. When Yusuke scowled and opened his mouth, I held up a hand. "I'm not defending him. But you don't know him like I do."

"You barely know him at all," Yusuke fired back. "You didn't know he was a demon."

"True," I replied, "but I do know he defended me from bullies when they struck, when you weren't around to do it yourself."

Yusuke hadn't been expecting that. His teeth clacked together so hard, I heard them click from across the table.

"I don't get the sense Minamino—I mean, _Kurama_ is evil, or that he's trying to hurt anybody," I said. "In fact, he seems lonely."

Yusuke's eyebrows shot up like geysers. So did mine, in fact. My word choice had been spontaneous, but once it left my mouth, I realized how true it felt . Kurama had been raised by a woman younger than him, and had been surrounded by peers whose intellects offered him absolutely no engagement whatsoever. And no one else in this world was a reincarnated demon, so far as he knew. He had grown up well and truly alone.

I knew that feeling. I knew what it was like to keep secrets from your birth, and what it was like to be alone. But unlike me, Kurama hadn't had a Yusuke show up and be the canary to his albatross.

If I'd felt sorry for him before, I sure as shit felt bad now.

"He seems like a very lonely person," I concluded, "not an evil one. So I hope you take that into account when dealing with this situation."

I couldn't say more than that without giving myself away, so I shut my mouth and waited. Yusuke stared, considering what I'd said, but eventually he shook his head.

"Sorry, but even if Kurama _is_ pulling away from the others, the idea that a good person would ever be all buddy-buddy with demons like Hiei and Gouki…I just don't believe it." My mouth went desert dry at his resolute attitude, and it went even dryer when Yusuke's evil grin returned. "And _he's_ not gonna believe it when I show up at his school."

"And that's where I come in, I assume," I said, tone mirroring the landscape of my mouth.

"Damn right. Now listen up."

It was a simple enough plan: Show up at Meiou, call Kurama out of class, and either beat the crap out of him right there or just scare Kurama badly enough to make him do something stupid (slim chance there, but Yusuke didn't know it). Yusuke figured if he dangled the knowledge of Kurama's human identity in Kurama's face, and show him Yusuke had the upper hand, it would send Kurama scrambling. All Yusuke wanted from me was a signal to let him know Kurama was actually in school, and Yusuke wasn't hanging around Meiou wasting time.

"Bold move, Yusuke," I said after he relayed the plan—the plan he had no idea was utterly, completely ironic. In the manga, Kurama called Yusuke out of school and took him to the hospital to see his mother. Now Yusuke wanted to confront Kurama, completely reversing their canon encounter.

Like I'd said before: How very, very _Yusuke_ of him.

"What can I say?" Yusuke said with a cocky smirk. "Bold is my middle name." His eyes turned serious. "So. Will you help me?"

To be honest, I hated this plan. I didn't want it to get off the ground at all. Who knew how Kurama would react to being intimidated like this? What would this do to canon? And more concerning still, what would _Kurama_ do to _Yusuke_? But the alternative to not-helping was staying out of it, and if I stayed out of it, I couldn't intervene if something went horribly awry.

Damn my meddling tendencies and obsessive streak. Damn it all to hell!

"Sure," I said. Before Yusuke could finish pumping a triumphant fist, I grabbed his hand. He blinked at me like I'd grown a second head. "But, Yusuke, please—he's my friend." It wasn't hard to inject my voice with sincerity, because I meant every word I spoke. "If Minamino tries to talk to you, just hear him out." I tightened my grip on his fingers, pleading with my eyes, my voice, my touch when he didn't agree right away. "Do it for _me_ , OK?"

Yusuke took a deep breath. He covered my hand with his, looked into my eyes a second, then closed his eyes and cursed.

"Ugh. Fine," Yusuke said. He opened his eyes only so he could roll them. "I'll hear him out if he talks—but I can't guarantee I'll listen. Capisci?"

Much as I wanted to press for a clearer promise, I figured this was all I could really ask for.

I'd just have to protect Kurama myself, if it came down to that.

* * *

Kurama looked absolutely thunderous when he returned to class. He came back only a scant fifteen minutes after Yusuke called him out. They must not have duked it out right there in the office, I surmised, for which I felt immeasurably grateful. Seemed Yusuke could control his temper if he felt like doing so, after all.

And so could Kurama, come to think of it. Although his eyes looked like chips of malachite, all hard edges and flashing facets, no blood stained his hands. Or would death-by-Kurama come cleaner than that?

I tried to catch his eye when he returned and took his seat. So did half the class, of course, but I threw my hat in the ring, too. He didn't deign to look at a single one of us. He just sat down, faced the blackboard, and listened to the lecture as though he wasn't feeling absolutely murderous inside.

His fist gave him away, of course.

It quivered on his magenta-clad thigh like a tightrope in a gale, and when the bell rang, he glided from his seat and beat even our teacher out the door.

Kurama did not join me and Kaito for lunch (surprise, surprise), and he did not appear during my last class of the day. Junko informed me she hadn't seen him in an earlier class, either.

"What do you think happened?" she whispered in a stolen moment before class started. "The girls said he got called out to the office?"

"He did," I confirmed.

Her eyes clouded. "Do you think his mom is OK?"

"No idea."

I had no idea just then, but I knew I'd find out soon enough.

* * *

I walked in the door, took one look at Yusuke, and declared, "You look like you got hit by another car."

Yusuke scowled. Botan giggled, leaned down, and poked a finger at the bandage on Yusuke's cheek. "He does, doesn't he?

"Both of you, shut up." Yusuke lay on the floor on his back in the middle of his bedroom, covered in bandages, skin of his index finger blackened—side effect of the Concentration Ring? He mimed shooting the ceiling before letting his arm fall limp to the carpet. "I'm beat up, but I got 'im!"

Stepping over his legs, I crossed the room and sat next to Botan on the bed. "Gouki?"

"Yeah. I got the Orb back."

"Busy schedule indeed," I muttered. I'd come over to Yusuke's house directly after school, still dressed in my uniform, and he'd already taken out Gouki? To confront Kurama and defeat Gouki all in one day was quite the feat. Canon moved quickly once the ball got rolling.

Next to me, Botan reached into the front pocket of her hoodie. A green glow suffused our faces as she pulled out what had to be the Rapacious Orb—a baseball-sized object with a surface that looked like stained glass, sort of, black fissures fracturing a sphere of sickly jade light. The light had odd, unsettling depth, spiraling down and down like it sucked in other lights and tried to eat them whole. Looking at it for more than a few seconds made my forehead prick with cold sweat.

"It's eerie," I said. I was very glad when Botan put the thing away.

"And you haven't seen it suck out a kid's soul," Yusuke said. He lifted his head to look at the reaper next to me. "You maybe wanna take that back to Spirit World before Hiei swoops in and murders us for it?"

"Good idea. I'll return this to Spirit World at once." She bounced to her feet, only to sit back down with a frown. "But before I go—what's phase two of your plan for Kurama?" Botan, like a pinball bouncing between conversation topics, turned to me and beamed. "Oh, before I forget—Keiko! Thank you so much for helping Yusuke with Kurama—or should I say _Shuichi_." She favored Yusuke with a proud beam, a mother hen clucking over her favorite fluffy chick. "Even with Spirit World's resources at my disposal, I didn't uncover Kurama's human disguise, but Yusuke's detective instincts broke this case wide open. I'm ever so proud of him! To sniff out a demon skulking in Human World is true testament to his talent!"

Yusuke crooked his fingers, smirking. "Yeah, yeah, keep it comin'," he said. "I'm _awesome_."

Something about Botan's phrasing (the part not devote to praising Yusuke, I mean) bugged me. "Skulking?" I repeated. "I don't think Kurama was skulking."

Botan pushed at my arm, touch both an admonishment and a good-natured tease. "Well, of _course_ he was skulking!" she said with a bright laugh. "Kurama is demon pretending to be a mortal boy. Who knows what dastardly schemes he's been getting up to here?"

"With all due respect, I don't think he's been doing anything but watching over his mother," I said—and Botan's smile vanished.

"Oh, Keiko, you don't really believe that, do you?" she said, tone concerned, eyes pleading, like I'd somehow never learned Santa wasn't real and she was the bearer of bad news. "Demons prey on humans. There's no reason for him to be here unless he was up to something."

"Is that so," I said, but it wasn't a question.

Botan answered anyway. "Why, yes!" She cupped a hand around her mouth, leaning toward me to mock-whisper: "And Yusuke told me that story about his human mother being sick. I think Kurama is _pretending_ to help his mom to throw us off the scent! Maybe it's an act to make us feel sorry for him. Perfectly in character for a demon, wouldn't you say?"

At the suggestion Kurama was faking, my ire rose, fists clenching against my legs. How _dare_ Botan suggest such a thing? I opened my mouth to argue, to set her straight—but her charming, friendly smile stopped me cold.

No guile, no aggression, no venom…Botan spoke frankly and with cheer, as if talking about the weather, laws of nature immutable, and not a good friend of mine. I didn't get the sense she was being cruel. But why would she talk about our friend and ally Kurama like this, if…?

Oh.

Right.

He wasn't our ally yet.

He wasn't yet our ally, and so far as I knew, at this stage in canon Botan was a very devoted Spirit World employee. She looked at demons as black and white, good and evil, no shades of grey between them. To her, it was inconceivable that a demon could be good.

Kurama hadn't proven her wrong yet.

Hopefully he would still get the chance despite the changes to canon.

At this realization (or was it more of a remembrance?) my temper cooled.

"Maybe," I said. "But if Minamino was faking, that would mean he knew Yusuke and I were friends."

Botan looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You never would have known about his mom if it wasn't for me telling you about her," I said. "Kurama has no idea Yusuke and I are friends. I've certainly never mentioned Yusuke to him by name." Stripping all sounds of accusation from my voice, because I certainly didn't want to antagonize Botan, I said, "Are you saying he planned to use me to make you feel sorry for him, without no way of knowing about my connection to the eventual Spirit Detective?"

Botan put a hand to her chin. For a second I thought she might listen to me, but instead she just laughed. "Well, who knows what Kurama is capable of?" She gave a resolute nod. "He's a very dangerous criminal!"

My lips thinned. How frustrating. If we were all to become friends later, it wouldn't do for Botan to be so black-and-white about demons and their morality. But what could I say to make her more receptive to—?

Botan and I flinched in unison as Yusuke sat up. "No, Botan—I think Keiko's right."

His solemn expression didn't fit his features, somehow. Botan stared at him in wonderment. When my eyes met Yusuke's, I swallowed down a ball of prickly nerves. Maybe I didn't have to do the convincing, after all. Maybe Yusuke would do that for me. But could I really get that lucky?

"You do?" I asked. "You agree with me?"

Yusuke nodded. "There hasn't been time to tell you, but when I talked with Kurama today, I…he requested we meet later. Tomorrow." He hesitated. "And he promised to give the Mirror back to me."

Botan lurched to her feet, aghast. "He _what_?!"

"I know, I know, bad move, don't trust him, he's an evil demon, blah blah blah," Yusuke said, rolling his eyes. "Spirit World thinks he's a criminal, but he didn't seem like one to me. He didn't seem angry, or like he wanted to fight. He seemed _sad_." At that his expression fell, diving into grave waters. "You were right, Keiko. He looked lonely."

"Lonely?" Botan asked, incredulous. "What do you mean, he looked _lonely_?"

Although Yusuke was not the more poetical of the two of us, leaving maudlin and flowery language to yours truly, in that moment he surprised me (he was doing that more and more as days went on). He hesitated, but only for a moment.

"It's like there was this—this _space_ inside his eyes," Yusuke said. "He was desperate to use that Mirror and he was scared I'd take it away from him before he could." Speaking aloud bolstered his opinions, I think, because his stubborn eyes began to gleam. "Someone who wanted to just hurt others wouldn't look like that. They'd be angry, not scared. So I don't think Kurama is a bad guy."

"What?!" Botan threw out her hands, advancing on Yusuke where he lay. Hands on hips, magenta eyes glaring, she said, "You don't mean that, Yusuke! His friend nearly _killed_ _you_ today!" When Yusuke remained unmoved by her logic, she practically grew fangs. "Yusuke, he's a demon, a _criminal_. Koenma himself told me—"

" _Screw_ Koenma."

Botan shut up immediately. Yusuke heaved himself upright, peeved. Botan's appeal to authority just now clearly didn't sit well with him.

"Screw Koenma," Yusuke repeated (Botan looked quite appalled at this prospect, of course). "That _brat_ isn't here fighting ogres and watching kids get their souls sucked out. And _he_ didn't see the look in Kurama's eyes today. And _he_ didn't hear Kurama arguing with the others, saying he wanted out. _I'm_ the one who's seen it all, not Koenma. I'm the best person to make this call, and if Koenma doesn't like it, he can come down off his throne and do the fighting his own damn self."

I squashed the part of me that was glowing inside (glowing and also screaming that Yusuke was sticking it to the man—er, sticking it to the _baby_ —and hell yeah, boy, you tell 'em!). Putting on a stunned face, I caught Yusuke's gaze and spoke.

"You trust him," I said. It wasn't a question. "You trust Minamino, Yusuke."

"I wouldn't go that far," he said at once. "But…I'm willing to give him a shot." He turned to Botan again, who looked utterly flummoxed by Yusuke's mutiny. "If he gives the Mirror back, it's no harm, no foul, right? Spirit World won't get mad if he returns it, will they?"

Unfortunately for both Yusuke and myself, Botan merely grimaced. "I can't make that promise, Yusuke. Kurama, Shuichi…he committed a crime against Spirit World."

"So his cooperation means nothing?" I said, before I could modulate my fierce, protective tone. Yusuke glanced my way, brow knit at my sharp interjection, but he said nothing.

"I don't make the rules, I'm afraid," said Botan—with real regret in her voice, which surprised me. "If what Yusuke says is true, and Kurama really does return the Mirror after using it to achieve a peaceful goal, perhaps Spirit World will have leniency…but I'm just not sure."

Nobody spoke for a minute. My stomach twisted into a pretzel, tight and swollen with nerves, salt of anxiety withering my tongue. Spirit World had not punished Kurama too harshly in the manga or anime, but…

"Well." Yusuke shrugged, looking at me askance with a sly smile. "If Spirit World can't make promises… _shoganai_ , or whatever."

I couldn't suppress a helpless giggle. He _never_ used that phrase, preferring to meet inconvenience with a gripe or a grouse instead of shrugging it off like a typical Japanese person. Once Yusuke saw me smile, he looked away with a satisfied smirk.

"I'll meet Kurama tomorrow and see what happens," he said. "And if it does turn out he's pulling a trick, and he doesn't cooperate, I'll kick his ass and take the Mirror. Either way, I'm gonna win."

Botan giggled. "You truly do epitomize 'Wake from death, return to life,' don't you, Yusuke?"

"Hell yeah, I do!" he said…and then he shrank a bit. "What does 'epitomize' mean, again?"

As Botan proceeded to give the reluctant Yusuke a vocabulary lesson, I fell quiet, thoughts flying free of the room and into the dark night beyond.

I wasn't going to be a part of Yusuke's meeting with Kurama tomorrow—not the way I'd been a part of Yusuke's plan this morning. If something went terribly wrong during the meeting, I wouldn't be there to fix it.

I just had to hope it went according to canon plan. I just had to hope I got lucky, and everything turned out OK.

Too bad saying _shoganai_ myself didn't do anything to make me feel better, as it had done for Yusuke.

* * *

As the full moon appeared overhead, my palms began to sweat, water pulled from them as the moon pulls the tide. Blotting palms on pants, I stared at the hospital looming tall and bright above, slats of the bench below biting into my thighs like teeth.

It was Wednesday night, and Yusuke was with Kurama.

I hadn't followed him to the hospital. I wasn't that stupid. Instead I deduced which hospital housed Kurama's mother (Hotaru had been quite helpful on this matter, thanks to her cousin the nurse) and went there shortly after Yusuke intended to meet Kurama. Now I waited on a bench across the street, protected from the dark by the light of the streetlamp overhead. Eyes on the sky, waiting for a plume of light atop the hospital to signal the Mirror's magic, I waited, knee jiggling with pent-up nerves. The hands of my watch spun round and round. One hour, then two, passed with glacial agility.

By the time Yusuke finally appeared in the hospital's main doors, the skin around my nail beds wept dark blood, stripped to the quick by anxious fingers.

I stood when I saw him. He spotted me at once, looking both ways (somebody had learned from their mistakes) before crossing the street. His shoes slapped against the pavement; he skidded to a stop, hands jammed deep into his pants pockets, shoulders slumped as if to brace against a hurricane wind that did not blow.

Yusuke did not meet my eyes.

Icewater flooded my stomach.

"Hey," I said when he didn't speak. "What happened?"

Yusuke shook his head. "Not here. Train station."

Wanting to press, wanting to pry, knowing I shouldn't do either, I bit my tongue and kept quiet on the walk to the station. Few people lined the streets this evening, but when we passed a couple holding hands and giggling, Yusuke kept his head down. Normally he'd scoff at public affection. Now, though…

Why hadn't I seen the light from the Mirror? Was I just not spiritually aware enough to see it?

Or had it simply never—?

No.

No _way_.

Don't think like that, Keiko.

We descended the stairs to the train platform underground in silence, heavy and thick like fallen snow. No one else waited on the platform. We were alone. I touched Yusuke's arm, curling my fingers into the fabric at his elbow. He looked down with a start, eyes hollow—hollow and _brittle_. Like they'd been scraped out from the inside, shells that could see but not take the weight of what they saw.

"Yusuke," I said, low and urgent. "What happened?"

His eyes slid to the train tracks. He grunted, "Not here."

"No one's around," I insisted, waving at the empty platform. "Talk to me."

Yusuke lifted his wrist, watch upon it gleaming. "Two minutes. Train gets here in two minutes." He swallowed, shaking his head. "Tell you then."

"No." My snarl surprised even me. " _Now_ , Yusuke."

Yusuke didn't reply. No verbally, anyway.

He simply reached into his pocket, and showed me the Forlorn Hope.

It was smaller than I expected. Maybe six inches across at the most, set in a round brass frame, orbs of jade studding the perimeter of the metal ring—and plain. Very plain. It didn't sparkle or glow like the Rapacious Orb. Aside from the gems and a braided white cord attached to a ring at the top, the Mirror wasn't event decorated.

Still.

The sight of it snatched my breath, Mirror stealing air the way it had been stolen from the vault in Spirit World.

Drained as it was, my chest nearly imploded when Yusuke said: "Kurama didn't use it."

At first I thought I hadn't heard him right. I stood there, silent, until the notion finally sank home. The words knocked me back on my heels, rocking me in place as if from a punch.

"What?" I said. The icewater in my veins froze solid, muscles tightening, as immovable as stone. "He _what_?!"

"He didn't use the Mirror," Yusuke said. He shook the object in his hands, or perhaps his hands merely shook. "He started to, but then—he _stopped_."

No. No. Surely he was kidding. Surely this wasn't real. Surely Yusuke had misunderstood—or _I_ had misunderstood, somehow.

All I could say was, "Why?"

"The Mirror—" He took a deep breath, and in his chest I heard it shudder. "Botan said there was a cost for using it, but she didn't know what it was. But Kurama said…" Yusuke swallowed down the bile I tasted in my own mouth. "He said the cost is your _life_."

Dimly, far off down the train track, I heard a rumble. The train, or my own heartbeat roaring in my ears?

Before I could figure it out, Yusuke began to babble, and I heard the rumble no more.

Face agonized, hand wrapping around my wrist as though to anchor himself against a typhoon, Yusuke said, "We were talking about his mom and he told me the cost and I don't know why I did it, but I told him about how my mom acted after I died, how upset and sad and pissed off she was, and he—he just _gave it back to me_." Yusuke looked as if he didn't believe his own words. "He just _gave the Mirror back to me_ , before he even used it, and now his mom—"

"Oh my god," I said.

"He was willing to die for his mom, Keiko." Yusuke shook his head, shaking and shaking like he sought to deny reality itself. "He was willing to die for her, but he said he couldn't do it, and I just—I just—"

"Why?" I asked again. I think it was all I could say.

Yusuke ground his teeth, voice rough and desperate. "He said—he said it was because she would never ask him to trade his life for hers. He said he couldn't betray someone he loves like that, even if he was trying to save them." His tone dropped into sorrow like a stone into a lake. "And he couldn't do it knowing how broken she'd be without him, afterward."

Black spots swam at the edge of my vision, then.

Because these words Yusuke said—the words he said came from Kurama—

They were my words.

These were my words, spoken to Kurama that night we dance beneath the stars, thrown back in my face like razor shards of hail.

Only one thought occurred to me as Yusuke and I stared at one another, him agonized, myself frozen, neither able to speak, neither able to comprehend what had just transpired.

_What in the world have I done?_ I thought.

Time seemed to stop. It slowed and crawled, crystallizing in place around us, spell broken only when the train roared down the track and shrieked to a halt at our feet. Yusuke walked as if on autopilot toward the doors, toes edging the yellow safety line as the train aligned before him. He shoved the Mirror in his pocket, braided cord hanging free over the hem.

My eyes caught on the cord like skin on razor wire.

The moment, like before…it crystallized.

I knew exactly what I had to do.

"Yusuke," I said.

He hummed, but he did not turn around. Good. I didn't want him to. I walked forward and wrapped my arms around him, forehead resting against the back of his hot neck. Yusuke stiffened under my touch, but he did not pull away. In front of him, the doors whooshed open, waiting for us to come inside.

In my head, I began to count.

"What are you doing?" Yusuke murmured.

My arms pulled a little tighter. I smelled his hair gel like perfume in my nose. I took a deep breath of it to steady myself, still counting inside my head.

"I'm sorry," I said after a few stolen moments. "But I have to do this."

He shifted, but he still did not break free of my embrace. "Do what?" he said.

I swallowed.

In my head, the countdown came to an end.

"Do _this_ ," I said—and I shoved Yusuke forward as hard as I could.

Yusuke wasn't expecting it. Lucky me. Surprise was the only way I could get the better of him, probably—that and my _aikido_ training. I knew just where to push to knock him totally off-balance, send him careening forward like a helpless avalanche down a hill. He bellowed as he fell, slamming onto the floor inside the train, twisting onto his back so he could look at me and yell, "Keiko!? What the heck are you— _oh_."

His blazing eyes drifted, and then the fire in them doused.

He'd spotted the Mirror in my hand—the Mirror I'd tugged from his pocket as he fell.

Before he could process what I'd done, or try to take the Mirror back from me, the train doors shut behind him. Right on schedule. All according to my slapdash, desperate, spur of the moment plan.

"I'm sorry, Yusuke," I said as he threw himself at the doors, but it was too late. He pounded his fist against them, screaming my name, demanding I give the Mirror back _right fucking now, dammit_. "I'm sorry, Yusuke—but I have to fix this."

I didn't wait for the train to pull away, to take Yusuke out of sight into the dark tunnel beyond.

I just started running, pulled to the hospital like the tide to the moon...because if I didn't do something, Shiori was going to die.

And it was all my fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is, perhaps, an argument to be made that this isn't altogether her fault, but in the moment NQK definitely FEELS like it's her fault.
> 
> Next chapter is full of—you guessed it—everyone's favorite fox demon. And don't worry. We'll figure out *why* this change occurred soon. Maybe not next chapter, but I think next chapter will be exciting enough to excuse any delayed revelations. What do I mean by that? Stay tuned.
> 
> I pulled some of Botan's dialogue about Kurama directly from the manga, BTW. She referred to him as a bloodthirsty villain a lot. Obviously her opinion changed over time, but just in case y'all were wondering, the manga validates her initial distrust and negative opinion of him. She works for Spirit World, after all, and mirrors their thinking.
> 
> Hurricane Harvey has wreaked havoc in my hometown of Houston. I'm OK. I got very, very lucky. Others did not. My cousin lost her house and cars. Countless friends have no idea if their homes still stand. Many have been displaced, with no sign of normalcy's return on the horizon. Yet, as the bad news flooded in, the outpouring of support, well-wishes, and check-ins during the past week were a boon to my spirits. I haven't met you in person, but the show of care and concern was absolutely touching. Thank you so much. You were amazing, and your well-wishes were chips of light in a dark week.
> 
> I noticed I used a lot of water and storm metaphors in this. Cleary I have Harvey-brain! XD


	41. How Do You Know My Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko knows more than she should, and not just about Kurama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: The Forlorn Hope works differently in the manga vs. the anime. In the anime, the Mirror spared Yusuke to honor Yusuke's nobility and selflessness. In the manga, Yusuke survived because he and Kurama shared the burden of the sacrificial life energy required to grant the wish—not because of nobility/selflessness. Wanted to clear that up (there's a long post about it on my Tumblr) for those who are familiar with only one canon or the other, because in this chapter it's super relevant.

 

The nurse at the front desk flinched as I slammed through the doors of the Long Term Care Ward, a wild-eyed tornado clad in disheveled clothes with flyaway hair. He started to speak, probably to tell me visiting hours were over, but at the look on my face he shut his mouth. I'm not sure what the look on my face said, exactly, but I knew it couldn't have been good—not if it reflected the turmoil I felt inside. Not if it reflected the turmoil that had sent me sprinting through the streets, guts churning into a maelstrom of agony as I ran beneath the light of the full and bloated moon, bloated like a corpse, a corpse like Shiori would become if I didn't fix this  _oh my god, Kagome was wrong, Kagome was wrong, I_ did _influence Kurama, I_ did _throw him off track, I_ did _—_

As I approached the desk, I squeezed my nails into my hand. Pain-wrought clarity, cold and sharp, sliced through the haze like a sword. A smattering of bloody drops hit the floor when my fingers unclenched.

"I'm here for the Minamino family," I said. A set of forbidding double doors stood behind the nurse, this man, this Cerberus guarding hell. I said, "Where are they?"

"Are you a relative?" he asked.

To be perfectly honest, I don't know what I said back. The memory is too blurry, too panic-punched to recollect. I know I babbled with tears in my eyes (it wasn't hard to cry on command given the circumstances), saying how badly I needed to see my friend because I heard his mom is dying, and please-oh-please won't you help me, sir, I'm begging you, please just let me in to see my friend, please? The man's face softened automatically. Nothing like being a cute young woman in crisis to stir feelings of sympathy, am I right? For perhaps the first time in this life, I didn't mind being quite so young. Leverage what you got, girl.

"It's OK, miss. You can go see them," he said, probably breaking some law or another in his attempt to soothe a sobbing teen. He hit a buzzer under the desk; behind him, I heard the heavy double doors unlatch. "Room 114."

Poor bastard. I didn't even thank him. I shoved away from the desk and pelted at the doors, throwing them open with my shoulder as if ramming down the gates of Troy, running past and down the hall, tracking room numbers one by one. 100, 102, 104, 106—

Room 114 was empty.

I stood there for about ten seconds, every breath a punch to the gut, taking in the empty room. It was a typical hospital suite furnished for an extended stay. TV, bed, table, chair, kitchenette. A few homey touches—a knitted blanket, some books—gave the space a lived-in feel. A vase of tulips on the bedside table had been knocked askew, water puddled on the floor, reflective like a Mirror.

A mirror.  _The_  Mirror.

My fist clenched again, half-moons of my nails gouging deeper into my palm. The pain felt good, felt  _real_ , lashing me to the here-and-now, keeping me suspended just above the yawning abyss of panic threatening to swallow me whole.

Where the hell was Kurama?

_Where the bloody fucking goddamn hell was Kurama—?_

"Yukimura?"

I almost started to cry when I heard him say my name. He stood behind me only a few feet away, eyes as wide as I'd ever seen them, hands hanging loose and empty at his sides. His garnet hair glimmered in the humming florescent lights; the bags beneath his tired, swollen eyes puffed like he'd been punched. Were they swollen with tears? Who knew. Who  _cared_?

"Minamino," I breathed. My voice hitched and cracked from emotion and exertion both. "Your mom. Is she—?"

His brow furrowed, probably wondering just how the hell I knew to ask. "In surgery. What are you doing here?"

'In surgery' meant 'not dead yet.' Cool relief flooded my breastbone; I sagged for just a moment, collapsing against the foot of the bed with a gasp.

_I wasn't too late._

_I could still fix this._

"Oh, thank god," I said—but this was no time for celebration. Not yet. I stood and wedged my nails back into the flesh of my palm, reveling in the firework of pain. "Come with me."

Minamino's eyes hardened. My knees almost gave out again, though this time for an entirely different reason.

"I don't have time for you today, Yukimura," he said—no, he  _spat_. His silky voice had lost all traces of musicality, burlap usurping silk, rough and thin and strained by emotions I couldn't begin to name. He pointed down the hallway. "Leave. I need to be here for my mother."

For a second I couldn't move.

Then I squared my shoulders.

"And you  _will_   _be_ , if you come with me," I said—and I reached for him.

He only gasped, too confused to argue, when I grabbed his hand and pulled him after me down the hall. I paid him no mind, not even when he dragged his feet against my grasp. I was too busy looking for a stairwell sign, which I found in short order. I kicked the door open and hauled Minamino through, but mere moments after the door banged shut behind us, he ripped his hand from mine with surprising strength—only, it shouldn't have surprised me. This was Kurama we were talking about.

…not Shuichi.  _Kurama_.

_That's_  who stared at me with eyes on fire. Not Minamino. Not my classmate. Kurama the fox demon glared up at me, three steps below on the landing, not deigning to follow me even three measly stairs.

"Yukimura, what is this?" he said in a low voice—a low, controlled voice scarier than any bellow or snarl. "Why are you here? I am in no mood for—"

"You're in the mood for  _this_ , trust me," I said.

Before he could argue, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Mirror.

Minamino…he stopped talking.

The silence that followed seemed to last an hour, though I know it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. His eyes travelled from my face to the Mirror in a loop, wheels turning behind those living emeralds, trying to discern just what, exactly, was happening, and why, exactly, Yukimura Keiko held the Mirror of Darkness in her hand.

I had no idea what I was going to tell him: not now, nor what I'd say when all of this was said and done. There had no time for clever plans or devious schemes tonight, no time for my overthinking and worrying, no time to wonder what the real Keiko would do in my position.

There was only time to act, as  _I_  would act. I'd deal with the consequences later.

Just as the silence stretched to its breaking point, a rubber band pulled too taut to do anything but snap, Kurama's eyes met mine. A spark of green flashed like broken glass, striking me silent and still.

Kurama asked, in a voice of deadly quiet, "Where did you get that Mirror?"

I shook my head. "No time. We're going to use this save your mother's life." I turned and started up the stairs. "C'mon. Come with me."

His hand closed around my wrist like a vice snapping on the foot of a rabbit. I almost fell, whipped around in my tracks, but his hand on my shoulder kept me from tumbling down the stairs. I felt demonic the strength in him again as he supported me, felt the way he bore my weight as though I were made of twigs, and once more I sagged. He didn't move. He didn't let me fall against him—just like I wouldn't let him fall tonight. Him, or his mother.

We were going to save her, and save Kurama in the process. No fucking doubt in my mind…just so long as he  _cooperated_. Stubborn fox.

"Wait," he said—and finally the agony inside broke through his calculating calm, raw pain turning green eyes dark. "We can't use that. The cost—"

"The Mirror takes a life if only one is offered," I blurted. "If you've got two people, it just takes a little of each life and grants your wish, no death involved." I pointed at him, then at myself, then at him again, hysterical grin cracking across my face like a brick through a window. "Math ain't my best subject, mister-sir, but gosh-golly-gee, I see two people here, so—"

A flex of his hand pushed me back to standing, but he didn't look relieved by my logic. His eyes merely narrowed with obvious suspicion. "How do you know that?"

"No time to explain. I just do." I started up the stairs again. "Now come on."

" _No_."

My hand spasmed, nails biting hard into my palm. The world reddened, adrenaline pounding so sharp I could taste it, and I couldn't help myself: I threw up my hands, opened my mouth, and  _shrieked_. The wordless, feral, guttural shriek echoed up the stairs like the cry of a wounded animal. I spun, foot stomping, and glared at the fox demon below with teeth bared. He didn't so much as cringe. Was probably like getting growled at by a bunny rabbit, but whatever, I was beyond caring at that point.

"Shove your 'no' up your stubborn  _ass_ , Minamino," I said, or maybe yelled—but Kurama remained unmoved.

"No," he repeated. "Not without a guarantee that your theory is correct." A grimace crossed his lips. "I can't risk letting you get killed for—"

He said something else. I didn't hear him, too caught up in the sensation of my anger cooling. I put a hand to my forehead.

_I can't let_ you _risk getting killed._

"Oh, Kurama." His name slipped out on a sigh. "Worrying about others even  _now_?"

The air between us seemed to vanish, just then, sent running by the sound of his true name. No distance between us, no lies, no walls—an admittance I knew more than I should, and about far more than the Mirror in my hand. Kurama stilled, every muscle a stone, eyes locked on mine as if to burrow inside them and see what secrets I kept. I waited, unable to keep the small, warm smile off my lips as Kurama's posture corrected. He rose to his full height, hands falling to his side in fists, feet squaring under him as if he meant to fight.

"How?" he breathed. Despite their volume, the words reverberated in my ears as if they had been screamed. "How do you know my name?"

My smile grew, then faded, then grew again. Kurama watched, hair-trigger tension readying like a fist behind his luminous eyes.

"Same reason I know how the Mirror works," I grated out. "Which I  _will_  tell you about—but later."

His eyes narrowed again.I skipped down the stairs and latched onto his sleeve before he could speak. Kurama put his hand over mine, but not in a caress or gesture of warmth: this was a warning, feather-light and zephyr-cool, that I'd come close enough to touch. Close enough to strike, if he so chose.

Normally that would have scared me. Now, though, I banked on my own vulnerability to get me what I wanted.

"Please," I said, gripping him tight. His fingers curled around mine in response. " _Please_. This wasn't supposed to happen." My voice trembled with fear and pain and more fear. "If you just trust me, it doesn't have to be this way. Your mother can live." My throat thickened with unshed tears. " _Please_?"

Kurama did not answer. His thumb traced over the back of my wrist as if seeking the delicate vein below the skin…but to cut it or protect it, I can't say.

"Please, Kurama," I said, and my voice broke entirely, cracking like an egg in a clawed hand. Desperately I wished for a power, any power, to make him believe me, or to fix all of this with a finger snap. "I'm—I'm not lying to you. Please, believe me. I need you to trust me, even if it's not in your nature, OK?"

He remained quiet. Green eyes searched my face the way a lost traveler reads a map. A vibration travelled up my spine in a wave; I trembled, unable to prevent it, knees and hands shaking as much as my quavering voice. Kurama's scent—mint, earth, ozone—filled the air like the scent of rain before a storm, but breathing it did little to calm me.

"Please," I repeated. "If we were ever,  _ever_  friends— _please just let me help you_."

Kurama stared, hand still poised over mine, without speaking. We traded that long, lean look until my eyes teared, a single drop of saline spilling down my cheek. Kurama traced its fall with his gaze until it dribbled off my quaking chin.

Something shifted behind his eyes.

Without a word, Kurama's fingers curled around my wrist, and he pulled me after him up the stairs.

* * *

The moon hung above us like a watching eye, distant and cold as we dashed together to the middle of the roof. I felt to my wooden knees and tried to set the Mirror on the ground. It fell from my numb fingers with a clatter of metal on concrete, surface reflecting the sky as a spate of clouds moved across the moon. Kurama knelt across from me, color of his eyes lost to the dark.

"Are you certain?" he said.

I took a deep, shuddering breath.

Before I could reply, the clouds parted, and the Mirror reflected the face of the pearlescent moon.

Light bloomed inside the mirror like one of Kurama's hothouse flowers, radiant green to match the Rapacious Orb—only gentler, the light of a thousand glow-worms in a peaceful, shadowed cavern. I leaned forward on reflex, but my face only looked back at me for a moment before the image rippled, changed, distorted into something new, more colors swimming from the green glow like a developing photograph.

I had never met Shiori. I did not know the lines of her flesh and blood face. Still, when the image of a dark haired, liquid-eyed woman stared up at me, I knew it must be her.

She had Shuichi's eyes, somehow, even if their color didn't match.

"Mother," Kurama said—but I hardly heard him, because the Mirror had begun to speak. Its voice didn't travel through my ears and into my skull, but the other way round, from inside out as if the Mirror had lodged itself inside my head. Deep and booming, commanding yet soft, the voice filled up my head like tea poured from a warm jug.

It happened too quickly to impress or thrill me. There wasn't time for wonder.

"You seek to mend what has been broken," said this rich, old voice, "and align destiny on its proper path. You require the life of this woman restored, and the happiness of her son returned." I heard Kurama draw sharp breath, but I ignored him. "Is that what you ask me to grant?"

"Yes," I said, because the Mirror spoke the truth. "That's  _exactly_  what I want."

"You are sure?" the Mirror asked. "You would sacrifice your life for this boy's happiness?"

"Yes." I extended a hand, one finger brushing the Mirror's cold face. "But I don't think it will come to that."

I was looking at Kurama when the Mirror said, "Then your wish is granted." I was looking at him and smiling, amused by his shocked expression, laughing at how even now he was not accustomed to receiving help. Unnamable affection filled me from the inside out, cool and tingling, then warm, then hot, then burning, then a thousand little needles pricking at my insides as the green light from the Mirror burned to white, then rose to a crescendo of blinding pain—

Was that  _me_  screaming?

Oh.

So it was.

It wasn't affection that I felt, after all. It was the Mirror sucking hot and greedy at my very life, siphoning my vitality like gargantuan wasp larvae on the back of my tiny self, an ant beneath its enormous, hungry mouth. It wormed its way through my hand and into my body and gulped, guzzling, gluttonous, curling into the roots of my hair and the tips of my toes, ravenous for every last drop of me it could possibly consume. I smelled blood and bone and singed hair and pulped teeth, felt my nails shudder in their beds, eyes swelling in their sockets from the force that had lodged itself inside me. My lungs threatened to heave out of my mouth as I gasped and choked for air, stomach a knot of iron, unable to see or think or feel anything but that horrible, sucking  _drain_  threatening to reduce myself to nothing more than hollow memory.

Then I felt him touch me— _him_. Not the Mirror. A real touch on my real skin, pulling me from the depths of pain and back to earth again.

When the hand closed over mine, my abused nerves sang in protest—but the force inside me deflated, retracted. I could breathe again. I felt the concrete under my knees and the mad raging of my heart. I heard the sound of my own breath, my own whimpers, and a sound like crackling fire somewhere at my feet. Opening my eyes felt like lifting doors of iron.

Green lightning haloed Kurama's body, aurora borealis twining into his hair and lighting up his eyes with verdant flame. Teeth grit, hair on end, shoulders like strained wire, he met my eyes and grimaced, a guttural cry escaping his lips as the force that had been inside me tried to eat him, too. His fingers spasmed around my hand, but he did not let go—not even when those Mirror's gnashing teeth bit at me again, and I felt my body slump backward, away from him.

Darkness consumed me.

I fell into the black wondering if Keiko's frail, human body had enough life to give, or if our shared sacrifice had been in vain—and hoping, against all odds, that I'd sated the Mirror's depthless appetite.

* * *

I woke to a hand on my cheek and an arm beneath my shoulders. Someone said my name, but the pounding ache inside my skull all but drowned it out.  _Bam, bam, bam,_  each beat of my heart sent a spike of migraine misery through my temples and down my back. I clutched my face in both hands and sat up with a groan.

"Ugh. Jesus- _fuck_ , my head!" I said.

"Keiko—are you all right?"

I cracked an eye, wincing even in the mild moonlight, light a lance striking sharp into my brain. Kurama knelt next to me, hair still reamed with static. He looked a bit like a lion who'd gotten stuck in an electric socket, though I'd never tell him that. How'd he get that way? He was normally so put-together…

"Were you kicking my head while I was out?" I grated up at him. "Sure feels like it."

Green eyes narrowed. "That was incredibly reckless," he said. His arm around my shoulders tightened, pulling me to his chest. "That was—"

His soft voice sounded too loud, too close, like a microphone with bad feedback. I looked away, wincing—and a shaft of light caught the Mirror where it lay on the ground.

Oh. Right.  _That_. That's why we were here. How had I forgotten the Mirror and the wish—

_The wish._

_Had I done enough?_

"Is your mom alright?" I blurted. My eyes opened all the way despite how much it hurt; I was shoving away and rising to my knees in an instant, wheeling on Kurama with a curse. "What the heck are you still doing up here, dumbass?!" My arm flung toward the door. "Go to her! Go see if she's OK!"

It was as though he'd forgotten the reason we'd come up here, too. Realization struck like lightning, suiting his on-end hair.

"Mother," he said. Without preamble, he was on his feet and running for the door—only when he wrenched it open, he paused. Turned back and met my eyes with…not a frown. Not anger. He was too worried for his mother to waste energy on me, but in his eyes I saw something build and break and build again, new information warring with old assumptions and the revelation of tonight.

Tonight, everything had changed. When it was over, and the dust settled…

"Keiko." My name sounded like petals on a cool wind. "When this is over—"

"We'll have to have that little conversation of ours. I get it, I get it," I said. I tried to brave a resigned smile; I fear I only grimaced. "It's been a long time coming."

"Yes," he replied, with odd wonder. "A very long time."

Kurama paused for just a moment, eyes shutting. When he opened them again, I saw nothing but sincerity—sincerity and a promise left unspoken.

He said: "Thank you, Keiko."

My skin tingled, but not in a good way. It crawled as though besieged by termites, burrowing beneath the bark and into the wood of my guilty heart.

"No," I breathed. Then with more force: "No.  _No_. I deserve no thanks. None whatsoever." My hand lashed at the door again, harder. "Go.  _Go_!"

Kurama did not argue. He merely left, leaving me alone on the roof.

It took a few minutes to gather myself enough to stand. Electric ticks jumped through my muscles when I moved; an ache settled into my bones, hot and throbbing, too intense to ignore. I hobbled to the Mirror and picked it up, teeth grinding when bending over made my spine creak.

"My, my," the Mirror said. Its voice came quieter this time, deep inside my head, somewhere above the palate but below the place where memory lives. "So you knew my secret."

"Wow." I blinked at the Mirror as it reflected the night sky above. The moon stayed firm behind the clouds; I angled the Mirror down so it could reflect the front of my shirt, instead. "You, uh…you talk."

"On occasion." Its voice drifted toward the realm of yearning. "To think. If only more had instincts like yours, perhaps I wouldn't be called the  _Forlorn_  Hope at all."

I felt a little sorry for the Mirror, suddenly. Its reputation wasn't its fault. It was merely hungry, after all. Dare few ever tried to feed it out of fear.

"Perhaps not," I said. "So you  _did_  grant the wish?"

"Yes." Cool relief flooded my head at the frank confirmation. "Your gift of life energy, spent for the sake of another, eased my hunger."

I breathed a relieved sigh. "Good. Thank you." I hesitated before asking, "Say. Can you tell me something?"

It paused, a vacuum opening behind my eyes in the absence of its voice. Some of my migraine sucked into that vacuum and disappeared. Perhaps the Mirror was still hungry, for pain of any kind. I held my breath as I waited for its response. Talking to a Mirror wasn't the highest marker of intact sanity, but still…maybe it could ease the worry polling in the place the migraine had once filled.

"I have granted many wishes, and I have taken many lives," the Mirror mused, "but I have answered few questions since my creation long ago. Few have dared speak with me, I suppose." I could almost sense it stirring in whatever non-space it called home, as if summoning its sentience like a maître-de. "Still. I will try. Ask."

"Did I do the right thing tonight?" I said. "Was I supposed to make canon happen, or was I supposed to let this new _Yu Yu Hakusho_ have its say?"

The Mirror didn't reply. Perhaps it didn't know what  _Yu Yu Hakusho_  was. My head shook almost of its own accord.

"I'm the one who planted the seeds that led to this," I said. "Wasn't it my job to fix what broke?"

"It is…difficult to say," the Mirror told me. Its tone firmed when it continued. "But it is clear to me you care deeply for this world, and for those who inhabit it. Let that care guide you, and all consequence you will weather." The presence in my head dimmed, lights fading to black before a movie. "Now I must sleep, my friend. Good luck to you."

"Yeah." I put the Mirror in my pocket, and its presence left my head for good. "Thanks."

Wind stripped by, cold at this lofty vantage point. With arms wrapped tight around my shoulders, my feet drifted toward the edge of the building. A chain link fence kept me from a plummet to the pavement below. The fence rattled when I looped two fingers through the links; I sighed, leaning against the icy metal wires, thoughts with Kurama somewhere in the hospital below.

What did Kurama think of me now?

And what would I say to him when we next saw each other?

But more pressingly—what the fucking hell was I going to say to  _Yusuke_  when I saw him next? Because that was going to happen much sooner than my confrontation with Kurama.

_Much_  sooner.

Like. Immediately, in fact.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Yusuke waiting for me in the street below—lounging on the same bench where I'd waited for him earlier. Despite the casual way he draped his ankle over the opposite knee, I read the tension in his shoulders and the agitated jiggle of his leg even from the hospital roof.

As if sensing my gaze, his face lifted in my direction.

When our eyes met, Yusuke did not smile.

Suddenly, it wasn't Kurama I was most afraid of.

* * *

"So he's fine."

"Yeah." I swallowed, mouth dry from talking. "And his mom is, too."

Yusuke leaned forward and spat off the edge of the roof, into the bayou behind my parents' restaurant. He'd listened to my story without saying a single word. Not like him at all, and to be honest, his silence was sorta freaky. I'd been expecting sarcasm and yelling, not this. We'd taken the train to my house without speaking and climbed on to the roof without even communicating the need for this conversation to happen in our special hang-out place. I guess it was the only private place we both knew. The story slipped from my lips in a series of curt, factual statements—ones I'd rehearsed during our quiet journey home. Had to spend the train ride doing something other than picking my nails bloody with worry…

Eyeing me askance, Yusuke asked, "You wanna tell me how you figured it out?"

Feigned ignorance came easily. "Hmm?"

"How the Mirror worked like that." He held up two fingers, eyebrow askew. "Taking parts of two lives instead of one whole one?"

"This child got lucky, I guess." Time to attempt a lame pun, throw him off the scent with a bad joke and a cheesy wink. "That's my name, after all."

"Yeah, right," Yusuke said, not buying it in the slightest. "You mean to tell me just  _lucked out_  and solved all our problems?"

"Well, what's the alternative?" Another cheesy wink. "I'm secretly from Spirit World and I've been sitting on all the secrets of this world since I was born?"

Tell all truth and tell it slant, as Emily Dickinson would say. Yusuke had no idea that this absurd hypothetical came distressingly close to describing the truth of my existence. He blinked, pursed his lips, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"When you put it like that," he grumbled, "it sounds pretty stupid."

I chuckled; Yusuke scowled. He wasn't one for brooding, but just then he stared into the dark above the drainage canals as though to pierce the shadows with his gaze. I put a hand on his knee and squeezed.

"Look, Yusuke, I…I panicked," I said, and this wasn't a  _slanted_  truth at all. "I couldn't stand the thought of Minamino's mom dying, and I knew the Mirror could help, so…I had to try. I had to try  _something_." Even though the effects of the Mirror had abated, my smile trembled at the edge. "I couldn't just let my friend's mom die, you know?"

Yusuke looked at me for a long time. He didn't believe me—not entirely. That was obvious in his furrowed brow and pursed lips. Too bad he had no solid evidence to work with, nor any theoretical alternatives to supersede my explanation. He sensed something was up with me, but he had no means of proving it, and no compelling leads to explore or unravel.

Plus, I'd never lie to him. I always meant what I said, so far as he knew. Other than his nagging instincts, he had no reason to suspect me of anything scurrilous.

Though I would not let it show on my face, I worried I was being cruel to him, deceiving him this way.

I tried very hard not to think about that too much.

Eventually Yusuke sighed, running a hand over his slick hair. The tension left him with the sagging of his lean shoulders.

"Yeah, I know," he grumbled. Sighing, he laced his fingers together and stretched, knuckles cracking like fireworks. "Well. This means two down, one to go." At last a smile returned, sly with triumph as he lifted the Mirror from his pocket. "Thanks to you, I've got the Orb  _and_  the Mirror."

"Yeah," I said.

"That means I face Hiei next, to get the Sword." Yusuke's nose wrinkled like he'd just licked a lemon. "But he's the nastiest of the bunch. And I don't have any inside intel on him like I did Kurama. How am I gonna handle this one?"

"You've got your work cut out for you, for sure," I agreed—but I offered Yusuke no tips on how to deal with the bloodthirsty fire demon.

I was too busy thinking about how  _I'd_  deal with him, when the time finally came for Hiei and Keiko to meet.

Of course, it's not like I hadn't considered the Hiei Abduction before that night. I'm not stupid. I'd been thinking of meeting Hiei almost daily since my rebirth as Yukimura Keiko. It was, after all, her first brush with true danger (if you didn't count rescuing Yusuke from the fire). The incident therefore required quite a bit of worrying on the part of yours truly, even if it had remained a distant dream for most of my childhood.

Well…it was distant no longer. Now that Kurama had lost the Mirror, Hiei's time to strike loomed large.

Although I felt inclined to worry about Kurama (where was he? on the run from Spirit World?) and Yusuke (had he really swallowed my explanation that I'd gotten lucky?), I pushed those worries aside after Yusuke went home that night. I went to my room, pulled my journals from their hiding spot, and opened the one marked The Artifacts Case to my notes on Hiei's abduction.

I had a plan. Of  _course_  I had a plan. This is me we're talking about, Overthinker Extraordinaire.

The problem was that for my plan to work, I needed to know exactly when Hiei would strike—and unlike the situation with Kurama, I didn't have the full moon to guide my way. I knew Hiei abducted Keiko after school one day, but was that day tomorrow? The day after? How could I anticipate Hiei's arrival if I didn't know when he'd come for me?

Lucky for me, Keiko has some really great friends.

* * *

Intent on tracking down Kurama and seeing if he'd made it to school that day, the sight of Kuwabara leaning on the wall by my school gates knocked me for quite the loop. My feet skidded on the sidewalk when I spotted his blue uniform and orange hair—definitely out of place amidst the red and pink Meiou uniforms streaming past.

Also out of place was Kuwabara's posture. He stood with hands thrust deep into his pockets, shoulders slumped, schoolbag clamped between his elbows and ribs hard enough to give me sympathy pains. Jutting neck supported his head as it jerked left, right, and back again, eyes roving over the street as if hunting for a tiger on the loose. Instead he spotted  _me_. His eyes widened, coin-round and anxious, and he pushed away from the wall to dart in my direction.

"Kuwabara?" I said. "What are you doing here?" My brow arched. "And how did you know where my school was?"

He ducked his head as he came close, sheepish. "Aw man, I had to ask, like, a  _lot_  of people where it was—but that doesn't matter!" He grabbed my hand in his massive ones, fingers delicate yet strong, peering nervously into my face. "Keiko,  _are you_   _OK_!?"

"Uh…of course I am." His face came dangerously close to mine; we probably looked like lovers to outside parties, holding hands like this, but I shoved that thought away (hopefully the rumor mill didn't go ballistic). "Why wouldn't I be?"

Kuwabara began to speak, but he stopped and looked over his shoulder so hard I feared he'd give himself whiplash. When he gave a strangled grunt, I leaned around him expecting to see that tiger he'd been searching for...but only my classmates walked by. Strange.

"Ooh, I don't like this," Kuwabara muttered, voice climbing an octave. "Ooh, I don't like this at all! I don't—" He looked at me, then over my shoulder, and at that his eyes popped wide. He jumped past me with a yelp, shielding me from  _something_  with his bulk. "W-what in the Sam hill is that?!" he said, pointing into the limbs of a tree a few feet down the sidewalk.

I scrambled to his side, eagerly scanning the foliage above. Had Kuwabara spotted Hiei, maybe? Was Hiei up there watching me?

It seemed not. The tree was rather barren, in fact, limbs clearly visible—and empty—between the smattering of clinging leaves.

"What?" I said. "Where?"

"You didn't see—?" Kuwabara blinked like an owl, then lowered his reddening face. "Oh. Um. Nothing's there, after all." Tangling his fingers in his curled hair, he said, "Aw man, I'm losin' it. This  _sucks_."

My hand descended on his arm, pulling his fingers free of his pompadour before he could make himself bald. "Kuwabara, what the heck is going on?"

"The  _Tickle_   _Feeling_!" he hollered, as though he'd been holding back the words for days. Around us, several of my classmates flinched and stared. "It's the  _Tickle Feeling_! I've been getting it nonstop since Sunday and last night I had a dream where—" His cheeks pinked; he stopped talking, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. I just had a premonition last night, and it involved you, and lately my premonitions have all been right. Beats me why this is happenin' all of a sudden, but it is, so I just gotta deal with it." He grabbed my hand again, once more peering into my face as though he could find a threat hiding in my eyebrows. "You're  _sure_  you're OK, Keiko? Like, for-sure for-sure?"

I squeezed his hand back in an attempt at reassurance. "I'm sure about me. But I'm not sure about  _you_."

"It's not  _me_  you need to be worried—" he began, but then the blush drained from his face. So did his usual complexion, followed by every last scrap of blood coloring his veins. Face like paper, sweat beading on his temple, his eyes fixed on something just behind me, back toward the school gates.

"Oh no." His voice came small, a child in a dark bedroom after something went bump in the night. "Oh—oh no. Not  _her_."

But there was no one behind me when I turned to look—no one Keiko could see, anyway. Squeezing his fingers harder, I asked, "Her  _who_?" I waved a hand in front of his face when he neither responded nor looked at me, eyes locked on the empty air. "Kuwabara, what are you looking at? You're freaking me out!"

He snapped back to reality, but his face didn't color again. More sweat beading his forehead, he said, "It's—it's hard to explain—but Keiko, I have to go." Fear twanged like a broken violin in his rocky voice. "Just promise me you'll stay safe, OK?"

Before I could craft an answer, Kuwabara dropped my hands and loped down the sidewalk faster than a gazelle on speed. Blinking after him, stunned by his abrupt exit, I merely stared when he stopped on the corner and yodeled, "And don't go  _anywhere_  with any small children wearing black, you hear me?!"

"Uh," I articulated.

Kuwabara shuddered, the shake of his body visible even from up the road. "Oh no. No,  _no_ , not today, Satan—!" he said, and he ducked around the corner and out of sight.

"Is your friend all right?"

Flinching, I spun on my heel and found Amagi standing a few feet away. She glanced the way Kuwabara had gone, but she didn't wear the freaked expressions of my other classmates. Apparently she was made of sterner stuff than they when faced with a squawking delinquent.

"Oh, Amagi-san," I said. "Um. I'm not really sure."

Amagi hummed, low and musical in the back of her throat. Expression bland but shrewd, she looked first the way Kuwabara had gone, then back toward the school gate—toward the place where Kuwabara himself had been staring only moments before. She frowned, head dipping in a knowing nod.

"Ah," she said. "It's no wonder he ran."

"Um…is isn't?"

"No." She inclined her head at the empty spot. "There is a dead woman by the school gate. She is quite unhappy, not to mention vocal."

For a second, I thought I'd misheard. I stared at Amagi with my mouth open, trying to absorb the sight of her unexpectedly expectant face without success. Eventually Amagi took pity on me and offered the barest of smiles.

"Your friend can see ghosts, can't he?" she asked.

I blurted, "Can  _you_?"

"Sometimes." She shrugged; I nearly passed out from shock. "Mostly during sleep paralysis. But there's a nasty spirit just over there, and I don't have to be sleeping to see  _her_. She probably spooked your friend, if he's at all inclined toward the spiritual." Her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?"

It took a minute more to both process this  _oh-my-god-what-the-hell_ information and to remember how to speak. "My friend, he was really embarrassed to admit he could see ghosts," I said when I regained use of my faculties. "I'm just surprised. You're so…open."

"Not with everyone," Amagi said, blandly, "but given your interest in Minamino, I guessed you'd be as open to hearing as I am to sharing." She stepped toward the school gate, apparently unconcerned that she'd just admitted she knew something was up with Minamino and  _oh god oh god what was happening with my classmate?_ "Let's get inside before the bell rings. Oh, and Keiko?"

Against all odds, I remembered how to be a human being. "Yeah?" I grunted.

"Your friend is right. There's a pall over you, as though someone at a great distance means you harm." She skimmed my body from head to toe, and on some days that would've given me butterflies, but just then my jaw was on the floor and I couldn't be compelled to care. "Be careful today."

"You…you got it," I managed to mutter.

Junko approached me and Amagi at the shoe lockers, chattering about a new boy she'd met. Amagi made no further mention of our conversation at the gate. Kurama never showed up for class. I spent all morning with my mouth hanging open, trying to put my shattered brain back together in the wake of this morning's excitement. When I finally managed to regain my critical thinking skills, I came to one conclusion.

I had psychic friends—more of them than I realized—and both had given me a warning that today was not meant for ordinary measures.

Like I said: I'm lucky Keiko has such good friends.

* * *

When school let out that day, I did not allow myself to be alone.

Junko took the train home each day. A single friendly overture saw me walking her to the station, two friends chatting about teachers and cute boys, normal as could be. If Junko noticed the way I scanned the trees and powerlines above, scoured the alleys and dark doorways for the sight of a black-cloaked man, she did not mention it. She merely talked and gossiped until she boarded the train and left me alone—alone if not for the crowds milling through the station, that is. Following a group of young women like I'd stitched myself to their shadow, I exited the station and sat on the nearest bench.

A bench in the middle of the square outside the station.

A bench in the line of sight of hundreds of people and security cameras, well-lit and obvious.

Voices and the slap of feet on pavement buzzed like wasps in the air. No one paid me any mind as I flipped idly through a textbook, highlighter tucked behind an ear as I read my chemistry homework. To passersby I was nothing more noteworthy than a schoolgirl waiting for a train—the very portrait of normalcy. Certainly not the target of a bloodthirsty fire demon intent on world domination.

Little did they know that in lieu of covalent bonds and rogue electrons, the name of a demon repeated itself over and over in my head like the answer to tomorrow's exam.

I had no idea if this plan of mine would work. I hoped it would, of course, but I had far fewer skills at my disposal than did demons like Hiei and Kurama…but this was a disadvantage I would soon rectify.

Maybe. Hopefully. We'd see soon enough.

It felt like I sat there for an hour, though the clock tower above the square suggested I spent a mere five minutes screaming Hiei's name inside my head. Pretty sure I've never thought that hard about something in either of my lives, nor focused on anything with that same single-minded ferocity. Eyes fixed on my book, not daring to look around, his name coursed through me like a mantra, syllables blurring together until the word lost its meaning to the depths of repetition.

_Hiei Hiei Hiei Hiei Hiei—_

I almost didn't notice when a shiver coursed its slow way up my spine—but I did. In that spot below memory and above my teeth, where the Mirror had spoken to me, something  _rattled_. I stopped thinking his name and sat up straight, looking around the square with as much subtlety as I could muster.

Hiei did not appear.

For a second I felt disappointed. Then I screwed up my courage, remembered Hiei was a stubborn shithead, and hoped the next part of the plan didn't make look like too big of an idiot (though of this I had very little hope indeed).

"You can come out now, Hiei," I said, eyes still locked on my book. "I'm tired of waiting, and I'm not very good at it, anyway."

One moment of nothing passed. That moment turned into two, then three. Drawing breath to sigh my disappointment, I began to close my book and leave—but then black boots appeared in my line of sight, tips of their scuffed toes visible just above the edge of my textbook.

Promptly, I forgot how to breathe.

Hiei demanded, "How do you know my name?"

He had a voice like a sword sliding into an ill-fit scabbard, gruff and rude with pronouns indicating he thought very little of me indeed. Not that I expected much more, but still. His voice scraped against my ears like a cheese grater, higher pitched than I'd expected but no less intimidating than I'd previously assumed.

I barely dared to look at him, of course. I barely dared to think, or breathe, or cheer that my plan of summoning him to me had actually worked. I was too afraid for any of that.

This version of Hiei, the early-canon version…he was not the trustworthy fighter from later in the series. He was the demon who hated humans and sought to enslave them with the Shadow Sword.

He was the demon who might kill me, if I didn't play my cards just right.

Luckily I'd been dreaming of how to play those cards—not to mention perfecting my poker face—for fourteen entire years.

Crossing my legs at the thigh, I made a show of rolling my eyes, not deigning to look up from my book. Curious though I was to see what Hiei looked like in real life, it was imperative I not indulge just yet. I had a point to prove before any of that.

"What,  _really_?" I said, snark dripping from every syllable. "Do you  _really_  think I'd tell you how I know? I'm not stupid enough to lose my only bargaining chip."

"Bargaining chip?" Hiei spat the words like he'd bitten into a rotten apple. "That implies I have something you want, and that  _you_  have something  _I_  would want to exchange for it." Surprisingly talkative, this Hiei. I'd forgotten how mouthy he got during his Villainous Monologue stage. "What could a  _pitiful human_  like  _you_  ever hope to offer a demon like me?"

"Wait and see." I let my eyes climb a little higher, up to the hem of a ratty black cloak with a torn hem and the tip of a scabbard hanging beside it. "That sword."

Even just looking at his legs, I saw him tense. "You can't have it," he growled.

"I don't want it," I said. "I just want to know something about it."

There followed a somewhat lengthy pause. Clearly Hiei hadn't been expecting that inquiry—which was all part of the plan. Words slow, suspicious, and patronizing, Hiei said, "What could a weakling like you  _possibly_  want to know about this sword?"

My breath rattled in my chest. Slowly, every move deliberate, I raised my eyes from my book. Hiei stared back with incredulousness so intense I could taste it—but I didn't let myself fall silent under the sight of his boiling eyes or the curl of his snarling mouth.

"That sword…can it turn me into a demon?" I asked.

And then I waited for my answer.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here he is. The fire demon you've been waiting for in all his villainous, rebellious-teenage-edge-lord, early-canon glory. Gosh, he's a goober in these early stages. SO FUN.
> 
> Man, I ain't going easy on y'all with these cliffhangers, am I? I debated leaving off after Hiei asked "How do you know my name?", but then the demon question was a cool cliffie all on its own and I couldn't resist.
> 
> Guys. GUYS. I debated for MONTHS over whether or not I'd straight up kill Shiori. MONTHS OF PONDERING. In the end I figured if she died, NQK would collapse under the weight of her own guilt and never "break the rules" again. And that would make for a boring story, so…Shiori had to live. And besides. NQK will feel guilty enough even after a close call…MORE ONTHIS AND KURAMA'S BEHAVIOR VERY SOON!
> 
> And so Amagi revealed a little tidbit about herself. There have been hints about this development before, but they're TEENY tiny.
> 
> Apparently I need to threaten peoples' mothers more often, because WOW. The response last week was out. Of. This. WORLD. Thank you SO MUCH for reading!


	42. Lost Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not-Quite-Keiko goes to dinner.

The day I met Kurama, I found him underwhelming.

Hiei, however, rocked me to my core.

He stood no taller than five feet, crowned by an impressive shock of blue-black hair that could probably poke my eye out of Hiei got too close. Its deep navy color remained dark until light persuaded sapphire highlights into view. The odd white streaks in his hair were just that: odd. Streaky, grey, like he was actually a lot older than his height suggested. Or (more plausibly) like he'd gone to a salon and requested the weirdest dye-job on the planet, then had stuck a fork into a toaster and let it pick his spiky hairstyle.

His face, however, struck me far more than his height or hair.

The eyes dominated his features, of course. Small chin, delicate jaw, rounded cheeks, all topped by scarlet eyes so large they might actually have come out of an episode of the anime. They possessed a luminous quality that reminded me—strongly, inexplicably—of the reflector on the back of my bicycle at home. His eyes caught the light and reflected it in a glowing flash the same way those red reflectors winked bright even in the dark, eerie and inhuman in its color's bold intensity.

There was absolutely no mistaking this person for a human, that's for sure. No cosplay contacts could ever hope to replicate the coruscant quality of those eyes.

I probably would've found him intimidating if he didn't look like a goddamn _child_.

Despite knowing he could kill me with his pinky, and despite knowing that he hid six-pack abs under the folds of his ratty black cloak, it was hard to look at someone that short with eyes that big and not see a child staring back at you. A homicidal preteen carrying a sword, sure, but a homicidal preteen nonetheless. Even his cloak, with a trailing hem and a gaping hole on the left shoulder seam, contributed to the impression of a dirty orphan boy, a wild child raised in the woods without manners or the concept of personal maintenance. In fact, a smudge of dirt adorned one cheek just below the blaze of his watching eyes.

Although he stared mostly at me, it did not escape my notice that every so often he scanned the crowd behind me, or looked askance at the humans walking by. He wasn't nervous (it would take a powering-up Toguro to make Hiei nervous), but he was certainly wary. Probably not accustomed to being out in the open in Human World, if I had to guess—which was good, because that's what I'd been hoping for. The mud caked on his boots told stories of nights spent in parks, baths taken in bayous, catnaps stolen in the shadows of remote trees.

I knew very well I should be afraid of him.

I knew it, but it was hard not to want to scrub the dirt from his cheek with my thumb and tell him to take a bath. He'd been my favorite character in my past life, next to Kuwabara. Putting aside that knee-jerk fondness was going to be tough.

"A demon, you say?" Hiei said, button nose thrust high into the air. "Why?"

A shrug. "I have my reasons."

"Ha!" His nose rose even higher, light glancing off his reflective gaze. "For a human, you're ambitious."

"My, my," I observed. With precise, purposeful movements I packed my book into my schoolbag. "Do mine ears deceive me, or was that a compliment?"

"Not remotely," Hiei sneered (oh Jesus, seriously, he stared at me like an emo kid who'd just learned I wasn't a My Chemical Romance fan, words dripping with wry derision and acidic humor). "It's no surprise you recognize the superiority of the demonic race. Too bad for you this Sword would turn a mere mortal like you into nothing more than chattel, a pitiful lackey who follows orders with no will of its own." His grin had teeth—sharp ones. Boy literally had pointed eyeteeth, it turns out. "Not what you had in mind, I imagine."

"Not remotely," I said, quoting both his words and his sneering tone. "But I'm pretty willful."

"Not nearly willful enough to resist the thrall of the Shadow Sword," Hiei said. His hand drifted to his side, to the bulbous hilt of the _Kōma no Ken_. Spiked and knobby, it looked like it had been made of the carapace of a gigantic insect. Gross. Hiei said of the Sword, "It would overrun your weak human consciousness in _seconds_."

Hiei laughed, a harsh bark of scorn I suspected he'd practiced in a mirror. For real, though—the boy was hitting all the points from the Evil Villain Handbook, right down to the maniacal laugh. I ignored him, though, filing away his words for further study.

So the Sword, barring error on Hiei's part, would turn me into a mere lackey, not a demon of any power or substance…just as I'd remembered it would from my memories of the anime. As such, I wasn't too disappointed to receive this news. Ah, well. It had been worth a shot, even if that shot had been very long indeed. I wasn't too keen on becoming a demon. Not averse to it, necessarily, but it would be hard to explain a third eye to my mother. It was nice to get a concrete answer as to whether or not gaining powers from the Sword was even possible. The Sword couldn't give me powers unless I wanted to give up my free will—and like I said, I'm pretty willful. That's a no-go.

Oh, well, Keiko. You'll get powers another way. But we'll assess the possibilities another time, when a homicidal preteen wasn't holding a sword in your face.

And who knows? Maybe he'd still cut you with it, anyway, and maybe he'd be wrong about becoming a brainless thrall.

We'd see soon enough, I figured.

"You're surprisingly talkative, you know," I said, covering my rumination with snark. "If you want to be an effective evil overlord, try working on your menacing silences instead."

Hiei's jaw snapped shut with an audible click of his sharp teeth. A mere human giving him lip instead of cowering in fear? No way had he prepped for that. I was the lowly, helpless damsel in distress so far as he was concerned.

Good. My whole plan hinged on throwing him for various loops, starting with calling him out in full view of the public. I glanced the clock above the courtyard. Only a few minutes more until the next phase…

"Well," I said. I rose to my feet and brushed down the fabric of my skirt. "I guess this is the part where you kidnap me." Sliding my eyes toward Hiei, I adopted a sly grin. "Isn't that right?"

Hiei grit his teeth, lips pulling back to reveal those needle canines. His hand on the Sword tightened. He wasn't lunging for me, and his eyes still danced over the crowd around us, so…

"Except," I said, "I don't think even _you_ would try to kidnap me in such a public place." It was my turn to look down my nose at him (not that it was hard considering the height difference). "The minute you start a panic, Spirit World will fall on this place like a bomb. They'd find you in minutes." It was my turn to smirk. "You'd much rather keep a low profile, since you're on the run from Spirit World and all your friends have been defeated."

Seemed my logic struck a chord. Hiei ducked his chin, glaring from under the fringes of his hair. "Did the Detective tell you that?" he snarled.

Oh. Interesting. No mention of Kurama—just the Spirit Detective, whom he had to know I knew. He was only kidnapping me to get to Yusuke, after all. Did he not know I'd been involved in events last night, regarding Kurama and the Mirror? Did he not know about my connection to Kurama?

Interesting.

I could use this.

"Maybe, maybe not," I hedged. Pretending to have been struck by a brilliant idea, I lifted one eager finger into the air. "Oh! Tell you what. I'll let you kidnap me without a fuss," (at this Hiei looked very surprised indeed), "but only if you let me go give an excuse to my parents so they don't worry about where I've gone. Then you can do whatever you want."

"They'll worry when you never come home again," Hiei spat.

I hummed, rocking back and forth on my heels with a cheery bounce. "Mmm—nah! I don't think so."

Hiei's lip jutted into a manner suspiciously resembling a pout (seriously, talk about baby-face). "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean I'll come home again, one way or another."

"Your confidence is sorely misplaced if you think that bumbling Detective can save you from someone of my strength."

"Perhaps." I tipped him a very merry wink. "But perhaps I know something you don't."

For only a moment, Hiei looked stunned by my declaration. Soon his eyes narrowed; he squared his feet beneath his hips as if he intended to fight me there and then.

"Don't act like you have any advantage here," Hiei said, words flung like poisoned knives. "You learned my name from the Detective. You must have anticipated I'd use you as bait to get to him. That's why you were saying my name inside your head." He tried his evil laugh on me once more, but once more I remained unmoved. "You surprised me, but it won't happen again."

"It won't, will it?" I mused. Snorting (and taking a surreptitious glance at the clock), I said, "Shows what you know."

"What do you mean?" Hiei asked. When I didn't answer, merely smiled at him with nonchalant cheer, he gnashed his teeth. He took one sharp step in my direction; I backed up on reflex, thighs bumping the bench. He said, "Why are you so _confident_ , damn you?"

Before I could reply, the next train arrived—and with it came the salarymen.

Sarayashiki wasn't all that far from Tokyo, when you got right down to it. Just an hour by train, and in Japan, that wasn't a bad commute at all. Hundreds of businessmen commuted from our sleepy hamlet to the big city each and every day, and they all came home on the exact same train at the height of rush hour. I heard the train's brakes squeal inside the station and smirked, watching as behind Hiei's unknowing back a multitude of men in suits poured from the station doors. Hiei heard their feet, though, and turned just as their number crested our spot in the courtyard, breaching us with a tsunami of ties and shiny shoes and briefcases and stomachs hungry after a long day's work.

And you know what those stomachs were hungry for?

Some of my dad's famous ramen, that's what.

I'd done enough customer tracking for the business to know the source of our most consistent clientele. I knew where the dinner rush came from. I'd known since I helped my parents discern here to best place billboards when I was a kid.

In fact…

"Confident?" I repeated. "Yeah. I suppose I am." I pointed above the train station. "And that's why."

Hiei spun, hand on his sword, clearly expecting an attack—from Yusuke, maybe?—to come flying at his exposed back.

Above the station, lit by a floodlight, sat a brightly colored billboard adorned with pictures of steaming ramen. Hiei stared at it without understanding, fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

_Yukimura Ramen,_ the billboard proclaimed. _Delicious and nutritious. Find us on Block 32!_

While the fire demon's back was turned, I turned and walked away, letting the rushing crowd sweep me up and carry me through the square. Took Hiei a minute to notice I'd gone. When he finally did, I heard his voice from some distance behind me—and he sounded _pissed_.

"Wait," he snarled at my retreating back. Anger vibrated in his voice like shifting tectonic plates. "Get back here. I'm not done with you."

With nary a backward glance, I said, "Then come with me, Hiei."

There was no way to know if he'd do as I asked. I couldn't hear his feet above the smack and pound of all the salarymen. Eyes forward, Keiko. I walked from the square and down the street in the middle of a mob of suited office workers, confident that the crowd around me remained too thick to allow Hiei to strike.

I'd timed it perfectly, escaping amidst the press of hungry salarymen.

I was safe…for now.

Many of the men on the street that night were regulars at the restaurant. I had a whole spate of escorts to walk me home this evening. Some even greeted me as I followed them over the sidewalks and through the town, asking if I was on my way home to help serve on the restaurant floor.

"Maybe," I told one of them, "but I have a friend with me tonight, so maybe not."

At that, I tossed another cheerful glance over my shoulder.

Just as I'd hoped, a thoroughly disgruntled Hiei followed at the edge of the gaggle of salarymen, glaring as though to burn me to ash with his blazing eyes. I couldn't help but grin at the sight. His glower intensified.

I didn't need a Jagan eye to read his mind just then. His face said it all.

Hiei didn't follow me into the restaurant itself, of course. I stood in the doorway and smiled at him, where he waited in the street with hands shoved violently into his pockets. "Not coming in?" I asked in a sprightly tone. Hiei's brows lifted, then knit together.

"Into your _hovel_?" he retorted.

How very like him, to insult the restaurant on principle. With a shrug I told him, "Suit yourself. My 'hovel' is lovely, for the record." I pointed in the appropriate direction. "There's an alley around back that's probably more to your taste. Wait a minute and I'll get you something to eat."

Hiei recoiled as though I'd tried to strike him, hand once more on his Sword—but there were far too many people about for him to use it. He said, "You'll _what_?"

"I'll get you food," I said, enunciating each word with care. Hiei stared at me as if I'd turned into a goat before his very eyes. "What? I'm hungry, and it wouldn't be polite to eat in front of you, would it?"

Unaccustomed to the concept of social niceties, Hiei looked appropriately stunned. Despite the threat he posed, a giggle bubbled in my chest. I stifled it but was unable to fight my growing smile. Man, he was too precious for words—a lost little wild boy trying to become the emperor of Neverland.

His expression darkened at the sight of my smile. A manic gleam lit his eyes from the inside, sending cherry sparks into the night.

Or maybe he was an Evil Overlord, after all.

Focus, Keiko.

Hiei, for all his appeal as a favorite anime character, does not mean you well.

I slipped indoors amid the flow of customers, ducking around the edges of the restaurant toward the kitchen. Mom and Dad greeted me as I pushed past the _noren_ concealing the kitchen from the restaurant floor. I skipped over to give them both a quick kiss on the cheek but was careful not to disturb their cooking. They worked like a well-oiled machine, moving in tandem to assemble the elements of their delicious homemade ramen, flying between the huge vat of broth that had been steeping since the night before and the spheres of coiled noodles on the side workbench.

"You hungry?" Dad asked as he layered noodles into a huge bowl.

"I can fix you a study snack!" Mom said, pouring broth over the noodles.

"Oh, don't worry—it's the dinner rush. I can make my own food Mind if I get some study grub for me and a friend?"

"Oh course honey," said Mom, hands flying as she fried pork cutlets for katsudon.

"Do good work!" Dad added as he sliced _uzumaki_ fish cakes.

"I always do," I said—and then I left Mom and Dad to it. They fell back into their cooking rhythm with gusto, content to let me do homework (and maybe consort with demons) on my own. Neither noticed when I left. I stood in the doorway with a tray of food for a solid minute, watching as they laughed and chattered about incoming orders and their current inventory.

My parents didn't need to work at this point. They could easily leave the cooking to the other chefs they'd hired, just relax on the income from their new second location…but they loved what they did. Cooking, once a necessary job, now brought them joy.

Their food tasted better than ever, in my not-so-humble opinion.

Hopefully Hiei agreed.

He wasn't in the alley, but I suspected he remained close by. I set the tray of food on an empty produce crate and pulled up two others to serve as seats. Once I settled in, I cracked a pair of chopsticks.

"Hiei?" I said. "Food's gonna get cold."

He appeared in a rush of displaced air and a flash of incandescent eyes. I didn't look at him. I thanked my parents for the food with a hearty "Itadakimasu!" before wrangling a ribbon of noodles with my chopsticks.

Hiei did not sit down. He eyed the ramen with an overstated grimace, as if I had tucked into a bowl of worms. Sighing, I lowered the bite and nudged the crate opposite mine with a toe.

"Pull up a chair," I said. "C'mon. It tastes good, I promise."

"I should cut you now," Hiei shot back.

"You could," I said, nodding, "but you'd be missing out on a nice dinner." I gestured at the empty crate. "Sit. Eat. You can't perform a kidnapping on an empty stomach, can you?"

Hiei didn't move. Eyes blazed like banked coals in the alley's thin gloom. Once more, I sighed. I picked up my spoon and dipped it into his bowl, taking a large swig of broth.

"Not poisoned," I said, smacking, "but very tasty. You should have some."

Still, Hiei did not move. I shrugged.

"Suit yourself," I said.

I dug into my bowl of ramen. Hiei watched me eat five bites of noodles; I counted each one, nervous under his watchful gaze. Hiei was a wildcard. I'd been half-sure he'd cut me with the Sword the moment I walked through the alley door and was alone with him for the first time, but perhaps the promise of food had stayed his hand…or the curious nature of my behavior had inspired him to delay his plan just a little longer.

That had been my plan, after all: to make him _see me_.

Hiei barely thought of me as a sentient being, after all. Humans were barely worth a second look, let alone human treatment. Making him curious forced him to look at me, to see me as a living entity instead of the talking object he'd been intending to steal from Yusuke. Tonight I hoped to capitalize on my personhood so he'd treat me a little less like an inanimate tool…and maybe not cut me with that Sword at all. Just kidnap me and knock me unconscious. The effect would be the same, right?

I didn't want to be a demon—and definitely not the kind the Sword would turn me into. Given the way I'd influenced Kurama's life, I couldn't take the risk of getting cut by that Sword. Perhaps it was wrong of me to doubt Yusuke's ability to save me, but my life mattered more than trust. Avoiding getting cut was my top priority.

The fact that I didn't yet have a third eye boded well for me, so far.

Hiei moved so slowly, I only noticed he'd come close when I found him looming over the food. I looked up with noodles streaming from my mouth to find him standing next to his crate-chair, eyes still locked on me. He maintained that gaze as he lowered himself to the crate, hand extending in increments toward his food. Tan fingers curled tight around his spoon, which he lifted and dunked neatly into the ramen.

"Wait," I said as he lifted the spoon to his face. He lowered it so hard, broth sloshed back into his bowl. Tone gentle, I chided, "You have to say 'thanks' first."

Hiei bared his teeth. "Do _not_ tell me what to do, human wench."

It was almost endearing, the way he insulted me with words I'd seen him utter in myriad fanfics. Emphasis on the word _almost_. "OK, OK," I grumbled. I lowered my eyes and kept eating. "Keep your shirt on, man."

Hiei complied with my demand despite his anime-tendency to rip off his clothes at the merest hint of conflict. I tried not to look at him as he ate, catching occasional glimpses of his suntanned hands fumbling with the chopsticks, as if he hadn't eaten with them in some time. The level of food in his bowl diminished clear to nothing before I'd eaten even half my food—but perhaps that wasn't really so impressive considering my nerves. My stomach roiled far too much to stomach an entire bowl of rich, hearty ramen.

"Wow," I remarked when he lifted the bowl and swigged down the last dregs of broth. "You must have liked it."

Hiei set down the bowl. "It was…edible," he admitted, grudging despite the meager compliment.

"Such a ringing endorsement," I deadpanned. "You should write restaurant reviews."

I expected him to snap a harsh retort. His response of silent staring, therefore, felt both surprising and uncomfortable. I kept cool under his gaze, chopsticks in hand, stirring my ramen with idle swirls of lazy wrist. The demon looked disgruntled, tension winding tight behind his scarlet eyes, building and building like steam under the lid of a pot.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" Hiei muttered.

I nearly dropped my chopsticks at the random—not to mention preposterous—question. "Uh. Who says I'm not?"

"You offered me a _meal_." The demon glowered as though I'd said something infinitely stupid. "Why?"

I didn't reply right away. Agitating the noodles in my bowl, I said, "It's not that I wasn't afraid of you. It's more like it's harder to fear someone once you've broken bread with them. Broken noodles?" I shook my head. "Anyway. I was hungry. It would have been rude not to invite you to eat, too." At that I lifted my eyes to his, grin as conspiratorial as my wink. "Rude, even if you _are_ planning on kidnapping me later."

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. In a motion too fast for my eyes to follow, Hiei bolted to his feet, standing behind his crate-chair and glaring as though I were a bug that had crawled too close to his muddy boot. In spite of myself, I shrank beneath that look, breath catching like a shattered plate in my neck. What were the chances I could pepper-spray Hiei in the face if he came after me? He'd surely counter my aikido moves, but maybe he didn't know how to avoid the pepper-spray attached to my keyring…

"How did you know that was my plan?" Hiei snapped, oblivious to my scheming.

"I know a lot of things." I shrugged. "More than you know."

"I'm no fool," Hiei countered. "I know you're hiding something. It's all over your ugly human face. Even if you _did_ learn my name from the Detective, that doesn't explain how you knew I was coming for you." His foot knocked aside his crate, clearing part of the space between us; I flinched at the clatter of wood on pavement. "Tell me how you know these things. _Now_."

Somehow my hands didn't shake as I stacked up our plates and silverware. "Honestly," I said in a shockingly steady voice, "I'm just surprised you haven't bullied your way into my head yet and seen for yourself."

A grunt of surprise accompanied Hiei's vicious snarl. "How do you—?!" One hand lurched up, touching the bandana covering the Jagan. Through clenched teeth he told me, "It doesn't work like that, you fool."

"Wait—it doesn't? But you read my mind earlier, didn't you?" Curiosity flooded me, chasing away the fear like a cat scaring a mouse. I leaned toward him, staring at his forehead in confused wonder. "Do you not know how to use it very well yet?"

I didn't ask that to mock him, or to insinuate he wasn't skilled. For a moment I just forgot to be afraid, wondering at the differences in canon and trying to suss out Hiei's abilities at this early stage in the plot. How long had it been since he acquired the Jagan? How well could he use it, and what applications did it possess beyond what the anime described?

Too bad Hiei doesn't take kindly to anything that might even remotely wound his pride. Perhaps my question, voiced with innocent interest, irritated him more than any outright mockery. His foot lashed out a second time, sending the final crate between us toppling on its side. My half full bowl of ramen sloshed onto the pavement with a splash and flop of uneaten noodles.

"Do not insult me, you pathetic human idiot," Hiei said, voice rising into a snarling bellow. "You think you know me? You think you know _anything_?" He tugged the white bandage from his forehead and let it flutter to my feet. "I'll show you just what the Jagan is capable of, and if its might consumes you—so be it!"

It happened too quickly to be properly terrified.

The alley's cloying darkness did not allow me to glimpse Jagan directly. Hiei's eyes smoldered magma hot as an amethyst flash pierced the shadows above his forehead, and then the light cut a sharp path into my eye, and then through it, deep into the fabric of my consciousness—like an awl piercing a bolt of cloth and ripping, tearing through the threads until they tangled around my ability to even think. I cried out, clutching at the twisting stab threatening to rend my consciousness in half, but it was no use. The pain burrowed deep into my temples, drowning out my own thoughts with rising terror and light and pain and—

_Music._

_Music blares from the speakers of my car, bright synthetic pop keeping me awake on the long drive home. I sing along and try not to glance at the bouquet of white flowers bound with blue ribbon sitting in the passenger seat._

_I'd caught the bouquet at Denise's wedding._

_Tom will laugh when I tell him, I think. Tom will laugh and kiss me and say well, of course you caught it. Because we just talked about the future last night, and marriage, and how neither of us wants kids, and how we're perfect together, and how the future looks so bright when viewed side by loving side. The bouquet is too perfect, too perfectly timed to be anything but a sign from fate._

_A car with its brights on roars up the highway behind me. I adjust the rearview mirror. My face reflects back at me for just a moment. I see blue eyes, champagne-colored glasses, and loose brown curls falling against my red dress, cheeks flushed pink from a night of dancing. The moon reflects in the mirror, too, full to bursting next to my flushed face. Denise had gotten married on the night of the supermoon, and I'd caught the bouquet she'd thrown._

_I thought of calling Tom, to tell him._

_The impact came before I could pick up the phone._

_My spine undulates; my head snaps atop my neck. Soprano screech of metal on metal drowns out even my blasting music. A quick flash of dashboard illumination, sparks on the pavement lighting up my hands, and the world turns over and over again. I catch the barest glimpse of my terrified face in the rearview mirror again, features pale and glowing like that bloated moon—_

_Next comes darkness._

_Then a blinding light._

_A velvet couch, black and plush, cushions my body like a cloud. Blinking in the light of the warm lamp on the table to my left, I stare straight ahead. The pale grey wall in front of me is bare, except for three words painted in cheerful yellow letters._

Everything is fine _, they say._

" _Ah. Good. You're here."_

_I look to my left. There is a door. It is open. Standing in it is a little boy. He wears a red kimono, and his hair is pink. Who would let a child dye their hair that color? Eyes the same color as the ribbon in Denise's bouquet twinkle like living oceans._

" _Hello," says the little boy. "My name is Hiruko." He gestures behind him, through the door. "Everything is fine. Now won't you come with me?"_

_I look at him, wondering._

_I get up, because_ everything is fine _, and walk toward the boy named Hiruko._

And then the purple light came back, and Hiruko's face disintegrated into smoke.

I felt ground beneath me again. Cold, hard asphalt pressed into my cheek. I sat up, clutching at the ache still burrowing between my temples. I didn't think of Hiei just then. He was not nearly as important as the images he'd somehow, _somehow_ lured from the depths of my head.

What the hell had I just seen?

"Who— _what_ are you?"

I glanced up. Hiei stood over me, one hand clenched around the hilt of the Sword. I hadn't seen his eyes go so wide yet; he looked more like a kid than ever, if not one that could kill me in a blink.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I eventually rasped, when the silence threatened to break.

Hiei didn't like the evasive answer. He stepped close, torn bit of cloak brushing across my knee. "What was that?" he asked. "That face—that _wasn't_ your face."

Little did he know I'd worn more than one face in my lifetimes. Trying not to let on that I was freaking out inside, I brushed my shaking hands over my hair. "Again. Your guess is as good as…"

My throat caught on itself, sputtering, words trickling to a stop.

If that vision had been a memory, where had it come from? Because I most certainly didn't remember meeting Hiruko after I died.

Was I…was I missing memories?

_What had Hiruko done to me?_

"I see." Hiei made a harrumphing sound in his throat, oblivious (or perhaps uncaring) that I teetered on the verge of falling apart. "You're not keeping secrets. You're as lost as I am. You have no idea what that memory meant." His smirk was as wide as it was malicious. "You're no _lucky_ child at all. You're a _lost_ child."

Dumbstruck, I stared at him, because had _Hiei_ just made a _pun_? I didn't know how to handle the idea of Hiei making a pun, even if it was just a simple play on words.

"Kei-ko"—lucky child.

"Mei-go"—lost child.

They sounded a lot alike, probably shared characters depending on how you wrote them…but Hiei had started a pun war with the wrong damn girl.

"Well, that makes us a fitting pair, then," I said, voice still coming in a rasp. "A Meigo called out by an Imiko—a lost child called out by a forbidden one."

That was the wrong damn pun to use just then, let me tell ya.

Next thing I knew, Hiei drew the Shadow Sword and rested the tip of its blade against the hollow of my throat. Feet on either side of my legs, he glared at me with eyes on absolute fire, their color glaring like blood in the alley's gloom.

"How do you know of that name?!" Now his voice rose to a full bellow, face contorting into a mask that stripped all remnants of youth from his feral features. Sword millimeters from my chest, he demanded, "Tell me. Tell me, or I'll—"

Call it blind fury, call it stupidity, call it what you will—but I didn't give a shit that he'd threatened my life. I reached up and pinched the edge of the Sword between two fingers, wincing as its cold surface burned into my fingertips. I didn't let the pain deter me. Nervous energy from the shock of seeing Hiruko's face in my invaded brain surged, buoying me to the shore of recklessness.

"You'll _nothing_ ," I said. "I'm not scared of you. As much as you hates humans, killing a defenseless little girl isn't your style." I batted the Sword aside and rose to my feet, not bothering to look at him. "Or are you _completely_ without honor?"

Even my addled brain knew this was a gamble considering Hiei's early-canon predilection for violence—and it was not a gamble I should've taken. I'd just begun to think I was home free when Hiei blurred from view like a vanishing phantom. I gasped; he reappeared beside me, fist slamming so hard into the wall that a puff of dust flared up, stinging my eyes and rushing gritty into my nose.

For a moment I had the presence of mind to wonder if I'd overplayed my hand. If, finally, Hiei would just cut me and get it over with.

There was something very appealing about unconsciousness, just then. Perhaps Hiruko would show up. Perhaps sleep was preferable to waking, and would afford me the answers I sought.

Too bad Hiei isn't one for giving people what they want.

"I watched you," he said, voice crackling like leaves under lightning. "I sensed nothing but mundane human conceit from you, and yet you know things you should not. You know _me_ , when you should not." He stepped toward me; where his fist had been, a crater dented the wall of my parents' restaurant. Hiei walked into my personal space, face an inch from mine, but I did not dare to move when he snarled, "You speak in riddles. _I detest you."_

Like the fanfics had always posited, Hiei ran hotter than a human. I could feel the heat of him on my face like I'd walked too close to an open flame, eyebrows threatening to sear right off my skin…but that heat hurt far worse than his words. It's embarrassing how much being told he hated me stung. It stung so badly I sort of forgot how to talk, a fact that surprised even me. Luckily Hiei only searched my face for a moment before making a harsh _tch_ sound between his teeth.

"This is a joke," he spat. The Sword, still unsheathed, bobbed in his hand when he clenched his fist. "This _Sword_ is a joke. Perhaps I should give it back, or toss it in the ocean." His head inclined, sneer triumphant and spiteful. "Yes. I have underestimated myself. I need no Spirit World garbage to aid me. My own power is _more_ than enough to raze this entire world to the ground." He held out the sword as though it had begun to stink. "Yes. I will lose this Sword, duck the operatives of Spirit World, and I will leave this city with its teeming human filth—"

"Wait!" The word bolted from my mouth like a runner at the sound of a starting gun; I reached for Hiei as if to anchor him in place, only barely catching myself before I touched his ratty cloak. Tucking my hands behind my back, I tried to demure by saying, "They'll come after you. You—you can't just _run off_ , can you?"

Hiei stared, dispassionate—and then his lips spread in that maniacal, feral grin of his.

"Interesting," he said. "So you want me to stay?" He stepped close again. "What are you playing at? What is Spirit World planning?"

As heat washed over my face again, I realized it felt hotter than before—but not because of Hiei's fiery energy. My own face had heated with an embarrassed blush. Hiei had tricked me. This world-domination-hungry, edge-lord brat had _tricked_ _me_! That evil grin said it all. He suspected I knew something, so he'd baited me with the thought of him leaving and got me to admit he needed to stay, that there were plans in place I knew of despite my lowly human status. Threat of him leaving, of not allying with Yusuke, sent a shotgun blast of ice into my gut.

Of all the changes I could cause to canon, driving Hiei out of the picture had never even entered my mind.

Now he'd threatened to leave. Maybe he didn't mean it. Maybe it had only been a bluff to get me to talk. Maybe he still wanted the three treasures and wasn't going to leave at all. Still—could I take the chance? But just what could I tell him to get him to stay? I couldn't tell him that he was destined to become Yusuke's ally. Hiei would just laugh and leave, never to be seen again. Maybe I could tell him that he should join Yusuke to find his sister? No, that wasn't right. Yusuke's fight with Hiei helped Hiei overcome some of his prejudice toward humans. They needed to fight, not just team up.

"I want you to fight Yusuke," I said. The lump of nerves in my neck resisted being swallowed. "The Detective. I want you to fight him."

Whatever Hiei had expected me to say, it wasn't that. His brows shot up at once. "You _want_ me to fight him? Why?" A cruel laugh made the hairs on my arms stand up. "He can't beat a demon with _my_ power. No pathetic human can."

"Well—that's sort of the point." Hiei's laughter dried up. "I want Yusuke to get stronger, and fighting you will do just that."

"He fights me, he dies," Hiei shot back.

"Maybe," I said. I tried to wink. "But then again…maybe not."

His face hardened at once. "I don't believe you. You're a poor liar." Damn Hiei and those sharp eyes of his. He glowered in the face of my deception, not buying it for a minute. "There's another reason. I know you know more than you let on. Tell me why I should fight him or I will leave this sorry excuse for a human city within the hour."

Oh my god—what the heck was I supposed to _say_? Hiei and I stared at one another, his eyes on fire, mine likely colored with poorly-disguised terror. When I didn't reply right away—because what carrot could I dangle that he'd ever want to bite?—he growled at me. Like, he _growled_. The feral wild-boy in him came out in full force, a bloodthirsty animal frustrated at its stubborn prey.

"More silence. More lies." He turned his back on me, cloak fluttering around his calves. "I'm going. You can tell the Detective—"

My heart lurched into my mouth.

So did seven words.

"If you fight him, you'll find _her_ ," I said.

Hiei stopped walking.

"Her, who?" he asked. He didn't bother turning around.

My breathing hitched. "You…you know exactly who I mean," I said, even though it was a bad idea. Even though it was too early. Even though it gave away far too much too soon. But it was the only thing my wild brain could concoct on short notice, the only bargaining chip the uncaring, unfeeling Hiei might allow to make him _feel_.

Such was the hope. Such was the hopeless, doubtful hope beating frantic in my chest.

Hiei still did not turn to face me. "Her, who?" he repeated in a voice like wind off a wildfire.

My eyes closed of their own accord. Pressure in my temples pounded in time with my galloping heart.

"Don't make me say it," I murmured into the darkness behind my lids. "Please, don't—"

I felt the heat of him before the flesh-searing hand closed around my throat. Next came the rush of air and the feeling of flying, and then a firework of nauseating pain exploded in my skull. The hand clamped down, crushing my windpipe, neck and scalp scraping against cold brick as he pushed me inch by inch up the wall. My hands closed around his wrist, fingers desperately trying to push him away because _I can't fucking breathe, dammit!_ My flailing feet did no good. I managed to kick something, but Hiei did not move. Tears streamed from my bulging eyes and into my choking mouth; I could see only the stars above the alley, watching with cold, unfeeling light.

"You will say it if I have to ram this sword down your wretched throat and pry it from your lungs myself," Hiei snarled. Use his iron arm as leverage, I did a pull-up and tried to crane my face to see him. His eyes cut a swath of fire through the dark. "Do not toy with me you pitiful, _revolting_ girl. You have toyed with me more than enough this evening. _Tell me who you mean_ _or I will crush your throat in my hand_."

He meant it, too, and he tightened his forge-fire fingers to prove it. Amazing how hands smaller than mine could so completely cut off my airway. Something ground against something it wasn't supposed to touch in the column of my neck, but I couldn't draw enough breath to scream. Spittle leaked from the corner of my mouth; I fear my tongue lolled like a dog, likely purpling as black spots clouded my vision of Hiei's eyes. Wet clicking noises ticked like a clock inside my throat.

"Humans are so fragile," Hiei said, simpering with faux pity. "Pathetic." His fingers loosened enough or me to take a sip of cool, delicious air. "My patience wears as thin as your fading breath, girl! _Tell me_!"

"Y-your sister!" I choked out. "You'll find your sister!"

For a second I feared I'd damned myself to a second death, because Hiei's fingers stayed firm. Then, slowly, his fingers slackened a little further; I gulped air that time, still hanging onto his wrist with my hands so the weight of my suspended body didn't snap my neck.

"Th-that's why you got the Jagan—s-so you can find h-her?" Every word struggled like a battle despite his loosening hand, throat screaming with pain, eyes still swimming, black spots still dancing. "If you fuh-fight Y-Yusuke, you'll find her." Still, he did not let me go. Desperate, I tightened my grip on him and did my best to meet his eyes, to show him the sincerity in my own (and I was feeling quite sincere right then, I assure you). I told him, "Not n-now. You won't find her _now_. But, eventually—"

Hiei let me go without ceremony. I landed on my boneless knees, shock of impact sending lances of arthritic pain into my hips. Immediately I clutched my throat, coughing and gasping, wiping the spittle and tears off my face with my sleeve.

"Does the Detective know where she is?" Hiei asked—calmer now, though I knew not why.

"No," I managed to grate out. "And neither do I." Hopefully he could read the honesty in my face, though I didn't dare to look at him just then. Between ragged breaths I said, "All I know is that if you fight Yusuke Urameshi, a chain of events will lead you to your sister. Eventually." I swept out a hand, as if pushing something over. "Dominoes. It's all dominoes, falling in a line."

Hiei considered this. Asked, "When?"

"I don't know. But it _will_ happen." Incapable of smiling, I settled on a pained grimace. "Fate has its plan. You'll see."

Hiei watched me struggle to my feet, not bothering to offer help. I leaned against the wall and tried to breathe away the agony still sitting in my neck.

Maybe I should've let him kidnap me. Not put up a fight at all. Why had I even decided to fight him? Oh, right. My damnable pride, loathe to play the role of damsel in distress. Loathe to admit it though I was, I knew the notion of not accidentally becoming a demon thrall was just an excuse to validate my petty pride. This night just kept getting worse. I should've just let him—

"Fate."

I opened my eyes. Hiei regarded me from beneath his lowered brows, gaze hooded and inscrutable. He'd put the bandana back over the Jagan at some point, but I couldn't tell you when.

"You have an ear for Fate, or some power like it," Hiei said. "Demons have killed for such a power, to know their own futures before they live them." He stepped toward me once more, teeth showing behind curled lips. "Humans are weak. Powerless. You should be grateful for what little power you've been given." Frustration colored his tone blood red. "Why is the power of Fate not enough for you? Why did you want to become a demon?"

Why, indeed. Memories of my long-ago conversation with Genkai gave me momentary pause. She'd asked a similar questions when I asked for psychic powers: Why did I want them, and why did I think I deserved them? The answer was twofold. Nothing in this lifetime could ever be simple.

"I just wanted to know if I could…get stronger, I guess." I shrugged. "You're not the only one with a code."

His lips pursed (it looked for all the world like a pout, not that I'd ever tell him). "Explain," he demanded.

"There's…something I need to protect." Maybe Hiei would understand that, given his relationship with his long lost sister. "To do it, I have to get stronger."

"And that something is?" Hiei asked.

This time, I managed a small, rueful smile. Hiei frowned.

"That something is my pride," I said. And my friends, but he wouldn't be impressed by that, so I kept the twofold truth to myself.

Hiei didn't say anything for a moment. Eventually his tossed his head with a bark of mocking laughter. "Ha! What a revolting human has to be even _remotely_ proud of boggles the mind."

I pinned him with a dry glare. "That's racist. You're human-racist. A demon supremacist." When he didn't deny it, looking smug as a cat picking its teeth with canary bones, I shook my head and sighed. It sounded more like a shriek in my abused throat, though. "All right. I think we've danced the night away long enough. Time to get to business." I presented him with my upturned hands. "I'm your hostage, right? That was your plan earlier, at least." I eyed the sword (he'd sheathed it at some point, sneaky). "So are you going to cut me with the Sword, still? Or just conk me over the head and hope I don't get brain damage?"

"I haven't decided." He smirked, gesturing at the weapon at his side. "To cut you, or not to cut you. Giving you what you want isn't exactly in my nature, after all."

The laugh came bright, peppered with stinging pain. I'd only just thought that sentiment a few minutes prior. Was Hiei somehow reading my mind again? Too funny.

"True," I said. "You're not very giving."

"No," he said, "I'm not."

I felt like a cowboy staring down a rival on the main street of a boomtown. Hiei's hand drifted inch by inch toward his Sword. Mine drifted inch by inch toward my keyring, where my pepper-spray dangled on a metal hook. He'd dodge it, of course, but it was the only thing at my disposal that could possibly surprise him (plus it was an eye irritant, and he had more eyes than normal, so in theory pepper spray was his worst enemy). Licking my chapped lips, I met his eyes and tried my best to look unimpressed. _You don't intimidate me, Hiei_. And I had the open mouth of the alley at my back, so I could make a run for it—not that I'd get far if I tried.

Especially not with Botan in the way.

Like a cheerful bomb going off in the tense silence, I heard her call my name.

Hiei's eyes popped wide open. Mine did, too, as the call of my name repeated. Feet slapped the pavement at my back; hands touched my shoulder, pulling my wooden body around to face her.

"Keiko! Thank goodness I found you!" Botan said. Magenta eyes, muddy brown in the alley's poor light, peered worried and frantic into mine. "You need to get inside right now! Yusuke found an imp, a little demon spy that most assuredly works for Hiei—and it was _stalking_ his _mother_! We think Hiei is about to strike, perhaps attack Yusuke's family and friends to draw him out, and that means _you_!"

"Botan," I said.

"There's no time to argue!" Botan hooked her arm through mine, tugging me toward the restaurant door. "You need to—oh." Her feet stilled; her arm around mine tightened, eyes the size of plates, horror creeping over her features in foul waves. "Oh. _Oh_!"

She'd spotted Hiei, of course. He'd blended into the dark in his black cloak, cherry red eyes pinpoints of feral light in the gloom.

Botan thought she'd gotten to me in the nick of time, but now she faced a shadowed nightmare.

When Hiei took a step toward us, light dripped along the edge of the Sword like water.

Without thinking, I put myself between Botan and Hiei. Sher tried to protest, brave and caring Botan telling me to get away from him, get behind _her_ instead, as if she could somehow protect me from that Sword, but I could barely even hear her. This was my destiny to face, not hers.

Not hers.

_Botan wasn't even supposed to be here._

"Don't hurt her, Hiei," I said, voice shaking uncontrolled. "Please. _Please don't hurt her._ "

He paused.

He said, "Don't tell me what to do, Meigo."

Hiei disappeared. A wind stripped by, sudden and hot enough to force my eyes closes. When I opened them again, I was still standing—not in pain, not bleeding, not unconscious. I slapped my hands over my chest and legs, searching for a cut, staring wild-eyed into the dark where Hiei had been just a moment prior.

Behind me, I heard a thud.

I turned as in a dream.

Botan lay on the ground, hair fanning like spilled paint across the pavement.

From beneath her bangs a single, thin cut leaked bright red blood.

"It's just like you said," came Hiei's voice, from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "I'm not one for giving people what they want." Red flashed in the corner of my vision. "And two hostages are _infinitely_ better than one."

A weight smashed into my skull.

Darkness enveloped me like the folds of Hiei's threadbare cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RUT ROH, BOTAN. RUT ROH, KEIKO. We're three for three with these cliffhangers, y'all! Don't hate me. :P Gotta keep y'all coming back somehow. 
> 
> Early-canon Hiei is trouble. Having to balance his Maniacal Evil Edgelord side with the honorable demon that he becomes later is sort of the worst? Writing his character progression will be a trial. And Hiei now has an idea that Keiko isn't a normal human, though of course he doesn't know exactly what's going on, so that's fun. Also, Hiei's Jagan powers are not very consistent in the anime/manga. The scope of his mind-reading abilities doesn't feel fully explored, but in this moment, I think he's still new to the Jagan and hasn't gotten full grasp of its abilities. More on that later.
> 
> Originally there was going to be this big action chase scene instead of her using words/wit to knock him off his game, but there's no way she could ever outrun him unless he let her, and he wouldn't do that, so here we are. A whole chapter of Hiei being dramatic. LOL.
> 
> The flashback scene references a man named Tom. He and I were dating when I started this story. We're still dating now. Been holding off on describing our relationship because…well, it's not in the past. It's my present. But I'm going to be bringing him into it more often, I think, for reasons you'll see later. 
> 
> We had some AMAZING art drawn for Lucky Child this past week, because y'all are far too good to me. ThatArtistWithAPen drew an absolutely stunning image of Hiruko puppeteering NQK, and I'll be posting images of NQK, Hiruko, and Cleo all looking like absolute DREAMS drawn by the glorious 431101134 very soon. They are fabulous artists and I love them. SO MUCH LOVE.


	43. Buying Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko must improvise.

The dark lifted, eventually, but it lifted merely into gloom.

Mouth dry, temple on fire, I woke coughing and spitting on a cold concrete floor. I tried to sit on reflex, but when I tried to push myself upright, my hands stayed firmly behind my back. The rough cords biting into my wrists told me why. Ankles had suffered similar treatment. For a minute I didn't know what was happening, why it was so dark, why I could pick out only the barest silhouettes of boxy-looking shadows with my hazy vision.

Then I remembered Hiei.

_Then_ I remembered Botan.

Clarity sliced through my sleepy brain like razor wire. Rolling onto my back (a feat that painfully squashed my fingers and wrists) I sat straight up and tried to get a look around. My head pounded like artisans kneading mochi with wooden mallets as I craned my neck, but luckily it only took a moment to find her. Botan lay on her back, unbound, mere feet away. Although I could barely see the outline of her body amidst the shadows, I knew at once the figure on the ground must be her. Scooting on my butt brought me closer, but with my hands bound as they were, I couldn't do much to help her. If I _could_ help her, that is. That Evil Eye had to be opening on her forehead even now—

My breathing hitched.

In the anime and the manga, Botan had kept the Eye from opening on Keiko's forehead with her white magic (or pneumatherapy, as the manga dubbed it). Now, though, it was Botan who'd been cut. How long had I been out? How long had that Eye been left to grow and open, inching Botan closer and closer to mindless demonhood?

Panic tried to slip in, then, hissing accusations of Keiko being a useless waste of space into my ear, but I clenched my nails into my palm and the cuts I'd carved there the night before. Now was no time for panic. Not when Botan's life hung in the balance thanks to my carelessness.

I was sharp enough, now, to know this change of canon was—once again—entirely my fault.

Which meant the burden of making things right fell squarely on my shoulders.

I took a deep breath and rolled forward onto my feet. I didn't stand, though: I hooked my hands down and under my ass, sliding my bound wrists below my thighs and behind my knees (my shoulders groaned at the strain of this, given how far up Hiei had tied my wrists, but I grit my teeth and refused to feel that pain). Then I rolled backward, extended my legs, and slid my hands up past my calves and ankles and feet. My house keys jangled in my pocket, one of them pressing sharp against my side. Getting my hands in front of me did wonders for my mood. Made me feel just a touch less helpless in this terrible scenario. My brain raced like a freight train as I picked at the knots binding my ankles. The tall, square shapes looming above us were certainly boxes or crates of some kind—a warehouse, then, just like in the anime.

There was only one warehouse district in all of Sarayashiki. Unless Hiei had spirited us away to Tokyo, we probably weren't too far from Hideki-sensei's dojo. At least I knew where we were, even if I had precious little else to go on.

Next to me, Botan groaned. Leaving the knots alone, I cupped her feverish face in my bound hands. Another groan bubbled in her chest. Panic rose in harmony within mine.

"Hiei?" I called aloud. "Hiei, are you there?"

He did not reply, not that I expected otherwise. Thick silence complemented the warehouse's gloom like a fashionable purse. Once more I wondered what time it was, and how long Hiei had left me sleeping—and why he hadn't cut me the way he'd cut Botan.

Had my plan worked, even in part? Did he see me as a person enough to spare me the fate of becoming a demon thrall? Or had he simply needed only one hostage to get cut by the Sword?

Truth be told, I was afraid to find out.

I resumed clawing at the knots around my ankles. Bit by bit they relaxed, letting my fingers worm into their innards, until they at last came loose. I rolled my ankles, trying to coax the return of circulation.

"OK, Botan," I muttered as I stood up. "Let's get you out of here."

Just as I grabbed her hand and began planning the logistics of carrying an unconscious humanoid while my hands were bound (because that feat would definitely take a bit of planning to get right), a shaft of light cut the gloom above my head. The sound of a rattling door shattered the cloying silence.

"All right, scumbag!" Yusuke bellowed. "Come out! I'm here for Keiko and Botan, so show your ugly-ass face!"

I was screaming Yusuke's name before I could even think to stay quiet. Yusuke yelled mine back, but his feet slapped the concrete floor a mere three times before I heard him skid to a halt.

"Well, well, well," Hiei drawled. "You actually showed up." I could practically see his supervillain sneer. "You're the Underworld's Spirit Detective? Up close, I see you're a weedy _nothing_. It makes me furious to think how much _trouble_ you've been."

"Oh, shut up!" Yusuke snarled. "Let's get down to business. Here're the stupid Treasures—now gimme back Botan and Keiko!"

"Why, sure. No problem," Hiei said. Inside I cringed at his obvious, simpering lies. "The game's only worth playing if you follow the rules."

There came a jangling noise, metallic and thin, and a bell-like resonance as two objects hit the floor. Yusuke said, "There. Now where the hell are they?"

Hiei let out a low laugh; I heard another jingle and another chime as he picked the Treasures off the floor.

"They're the real thing," he said, sounding almost ( _almost_ ) impressed. Tone snide, he said: "You _really_ care so much for these two? You'd trade priceless treasures for the lives of two mere girls?"

"Kid, the fact that you think they're 'two mere girls' shows how much you know," Yusuke snarked. "You better not have touched them, or I swear I'll—!"

"Interesting," Hiei said. "So they _are_ that important to you."

Yusuke started to speak, but a foot slid over the pavement like a whisper and my friend fell silent. Hiei must have pointed or something, because then Yusuke's feet pounded the ground in a mad dash. He skidded around the corner of a tower of crates a second later, eyes alighting on me with a flash of relief.

"Keiko, Botan—" he said, but I shook my head.

"Yusuke, we need help." I gestured at the blue-haired reaper. "Hiei cut her with the Sword. Look—"

Yusuke all but did a power-slide on his knees to get next to us, ripping the bonds off my wrists with a single yank of his powerful hands—hands which proceeded to flail impotently around Botan's sleeping face. Yusuke had power, but not the kind Botan needed. In this light I finally got a good look at her pale cheeks and sweating face, blue bangs limp and slick around the black line bisecting her forehead. I'm not sure Yusuke understood what he was looking at; he seemed worried, sure, but he didn't say much until after Hiei's voice slunk toward us through the shadows.

"Did you _really_ think I'd give them back in a straight swap?" Hiei asked. "You _idiot_! Take a look at her forehead!"

On cue, the line on Botan's forehead twitched. Something wet gleamed between the flaps of her pale skin, rolling beneath her flesh like a marble under thin rice paper. Beside me, Yusuke tensed.

"I returned her, as promised," Hiei said, tone dripping with malice and sadistic glee, "but her fate is in my hands. She'll have the honor of being my first slave. Once that Eye opens fully, she'll be a demon under my control!"

"What happened to 'playing by the rules'?" Yusuke growled before throwing his head back with an enraged roar. "How _dare_ you? She wasn't a part of this!"

"Did you really think I'd let you off that easily, or trade without a little _insurance_?" Hiei cackled. "No. I'm going to _take you down,_ Detective!"

Behind us, metal scraped on the floor. Yusuke and I turned as one as Hiei stepped around a stack of towering crates, tip of the Shadow Sword dragging the ground with a thin metallic scream. Hiei wore a maniacal grin as he approached, scarlet eyes wide and wild when Yusuke stood up and faced him.

"Why?" he asked. "Why do you want to fight me? You've got the Treasures." He lashed out an arm, frustrated and confused. "What the hell do you want now?"

Hiei's eyes flickered in my direction, I thought, or perhaps I just imagined it. To Yusuke Hiei said, "To fight Spirit World's latest stooge, of course. To test my power against the errand boy handpicked by the geniuses in Spirit World." He raised the sword, glaring at Yusuke down the length of the dark blade. "And when I take you out, it will be one less Spirit World _dog_ tracking my scent."

Yusuke grunted, glancing my way. "Keiko," he said, voice ragged with adrenaline, "you have to get help. You have to _take Botan and get help_."

I couldn't help the sarcasm, humor fighting for control over rising panic. "Help? Help from _whom_?" I groused. "Do _you_ know anyone who specializes in _third eye removal_?"

"All right, fair point," Yusuke said, looking back at Hiei with a grimace. "Isn't there anything we can do, though?! I'm not letting my assistant turn into a fucking demon without a fight!"

Neither was I, I wanted to tell him. Neither was I.

Only no words came out— _because what the fucking heck was I supposed to do to help?!_

Hiei's laughter cut the air like he'd swung his sword. "That reminds me," he said, holding up the Sword again. "The hilt of this Sword contains an antidote to the poison's effects. Fight me and you might just save your friend…so long as you can give her the antidote before that Eye opens all the way." He threw back his head and laughed, long and hard like he'd heard the funniest joke in history. "As if you could ever hope to match _my_ speed and actually take it from me in time!"

The words slipped out on a frightened gasp. "Once the Eye opens, the effects are irreversible," I said with a glance at Botan, fingernails cutting into my palms again. Botan had held the Eye closed for Keiko with _reiki_ in the anime—but Keiko had no such powers to use on Botan. Nails pressing even harder into my fragile skin, I said, "Oh, _fuck_."

Yusuke muttered a low curse, but then he tossed his slick hair and pounded a fist into his opposite palm.

"Fine," he declared, swinging his arm in a baseball stretch. "I don't wanna touch your slimy ass, Hiei, but if it's to save Botan…" He assumed a Bruce Lee pose, curling his hand as he spit defiantly at Hiei's feet. "Bring it on, asshole!"

Hiei's feral grin widened.

"Let the life-or-death game of cat and mouse begin!" he said—and then he disappeared.

Hiei flickered in and out of sight like a ghost, landing a solid punch to Yusuke's cheek in the time it took for me to inhale. Yusuke skittered backward before pelting off between a stack of crates and out of sight. Hiei followed, of course, tailing my friend into the warehouse with nary a peek in my direction. The slap of fists and the indistinct din of shouts rang inside the warehouse's echoing innards, but I tuned them out and turned to Botan.

I'd leave Yusuke to Hiei. Botan was my battle.

And she was a battle I'd be hard-pressed to fight and win.

As if responding to Hiei's ferocity, the line on her forehead flickered, and then it widened. Pale purple with striations of black stared up at me through a thin, slitted lid.

Bile invaded my throat. I choked down the urge to vomit. Fingers trembling, I pushed my fingers against the eyelid, trying to pinch it shut manually, pushing so hard I feared I'd breach the Eye and plunge my fingers straight into Botan's soft brain—but beneath my hand I felt it writhe and twist, hard like a stone, as if the Eye itself knew it was being closed and meant to rail against my efforts.

"Oh, fuck," I said, trying not to think about the absurd futility of holding a magic Eye closed with nothing but my fingers. "Oh, oh _fuck_!"

The shouting and sounds of battle drifted far, then near again, as the two combatants chased each other through the warehouse—Hiei taunting and laughing at Yusuke all the while. But as they neared me, Hiei let out a strangled cry; Yusuke's voice rose clear as the sounds of fighting paused.

"Are you done yapping yet?" he said—quoting the anime almost verbatim, I realized with a nostalgic jolt. "See Hiei, that's what I'm talking about! Yap, yap, yap, like you're some crappy pro-wrestler. Then what happens? You have to eat up all your words. You and that pimple you call an Evil Eye are pretty dumb!"

" _Dumb_?" Hiei's growl echoed through the room. "My Evil Eye, _dumb_? You won't be saying that when I use it to rip your spine from your body," he said—and then Yusuke yodeled something about freaky eyes and bad haircuts, and the fight was back on. Hiei had transformed, it seemed. Was the fight nearly over?

Beneath my fingers, the Evil Eye squirmed, and wetness seared my fingers as it opened another centimeter.

Yusuke's pained shout grated against my skin like sandpaper. "Please, just keep fighting," I said even though he couldn't hear me. Babbling released some of the tension building in my gut. "Please, please, Yusuke, please keep fighting—please fight _fast_ —please beat that son of a bitch Hiei black and blue, I don't care that he's my favorite, we have to save Botan, dammit, _please Yusuke_ —" I drew breath like an outlaw drawing a revolver. "Kurama's supposed to show up and disable Hiei's Evil Eye but I'll give you my goddamn pepper spray if that'll make things easier, it'd blind Hiei even better than the blood probably, please—!"

I stopped talking.

My hands, my body—they froze. The Eye under my hand moved again, but this time I barely felt it. Eyes fixed on Botan's face, mind racing, breath held, an epiphany seized my brain like a grasping hand.

Oh.

OH.

_That's it!_

I didn't have to stop the Evil Eye completely.

I just had to buy time for Yusuke to get that antidote.

Letting go of Botan's eye took every ounce of my courage, but I did it, and I reached into my pocket for my keys. The bright red canister dangling from them almost sparkled in the warehouse's thin light, a beacon of hope amidst this terrible, hopeless situation.

The warning label on the side read: _CAUTION—Eye irritant._

"It had fucking _better_ _be_." I flipped the cap off my pepper-spray and took aim. "Sorry in advance, girlfriend."

And then I pepper-sprayed Botan right in the fucking face.

The rope of yellow goop shot out of the canister faster than I expected, but it hit Botan's new eye right between its spreading lids. Unfortunately my shaking hands and the surprise of the moment sent the stream off-track, accidentally splashing down and onto the rest of Botan's pale face. The skin around all three of her eyes (not to mention her petite nose) puffed up and reddened almost at once; I winced as Botan groaned even in her sleep, head jerking as pain cut through her unconscious haze.

Upon her forehead, the lids of her third eye swelled completely shut, swollen and red like she'd been stung in the face by a hundred bees.

"Oh man," I said, pepper-spray falling to the ground with a clatter. "I am so, _so_ _sorry_!"

Oblivious to the time I'd bought him, Yusuke raged on against Hiei's advances, but seconds turned to minutes faster than they had any right to. The fight dragged on, and on, waging war against the time borrowed by my pepper-spray. The Eye had closed, but even my panic-stricken brain knew this was just a stopgap measure, at best. No way could something as mundanely human as pepper-spray halt the progression of the supernatural Evil Eye—not for long. I needed to buy _more_ time, dammit! The Eye would force its way open without that antidote or pneumatic healing to slow its progression. I could picture the scene from the anime in my head, envision the way Botan's hand had crackled with electric light as she healed Keiko and—

Memory of a hand suffused in warm light filled my brain to bursting…only it wasn't Botan's hand, this time. It was rougher. Older.

Because today was a day for epiphanies, something else occurred to me. Or, more specifically, some _one_.

There was only one person I knew of, aside from Botan, who could possibly help us now.

"Yusuke!" I hollered toward the ceiling. "I have an idea!"

His frantic response echoed through the gloom. "Little busy, Keiko!"

"Just hold him off, dammit, OK?!"

Yusuke grunted again, but the crunch of a connecting punch silenced his reply. Grabbing Botan's arm, I levered her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry, stumbling under her weight toward the light streaming in the warehouse's open door. I didn't see Hiei and Yusuke (although I didn't try to look for them since I was, y'know, busy as all hell) and managed to exit the warehouse in one piece. The night air outside lapped cool and clean at my face, a far cry from the musty store room, but I couldn't afford to take a moment to appreciate it. Warehouses towered tall above me, grey and forbidding in the dim streetlamps lighting up the lot.

The lot I recognized—because I'd come here many, many times before.

Help was close. So close I could taste it.

My relief was short-lived, however, because just then a cold hand closed tight around my wrist.

I'm sorry to say I dropped Botan like a sack of potatoes, but the indelicate handling was necessary considering the circumstances. With a quick snap of my elbow I flung the hand off my wrist, spinning to face the five men standing behind me in a knot. Eyes vacant, mouths slack, they walked with a shuffling gait in my direction, hardly seeing me even as they reached in my direction. None bore extra eyes on their foreheads, to my immense relief.

So these were Hiei's thralls, then—humans whose minds had been swayed by the Jagan to do their master's bidding. I'd almost forgotten that particular ability of the Jagan's in all this madness (Hiei only ever used this power during this story arc, anyway), but now that the thralls had appeared, it was a wonder I'd forgotten them in the first place.

"OK," I said, raising my fists and settling into a low strike-stance, "so he's not going to go easy on me." My nails cut once more into my palms. "Bring it on, you little goth _punk_."

The thralls lunged, quite ignoring Botan in favor of subduing me. Maybe they were like T-rexes and could only see movement or something; who knows? I danced backward out of their way, ducking low beneath an outstretched arm to sweep a leg at the nearest thrall's ankles. He fell on his back with a yelp before going silent. I launched over him, jabbing an elbow into the throat of the man behind the first. He fell, too, careening into a third thrall. The pair went down in a heap, groaning and then quieting as their eyes fell shut.

Huh. Weird. I hadn't even hit them too hard. Oddly delicate, these thralls—or perhaps the influence of the Jagan just robbed them of the willpower to stand back up again.

But this is no time for quiet contemplation, Keiko. A pair of arms circled my torso, pinning my hands to my side as the fifth goon came at me from the front. I curled my knees to my chest and donkey-kicked him as hard as I could in the face, grimacing as I heard his nose crunch under my heel. The one holding me stumbled backward and fell; I rammed my elbows into his gut as he hit the pavement, force of the fall hitting him from one direction as I assaulted from another. With a flex of my core muscles I rolled backwards over him, landing on hands and knees above his head to scan for another foe.

The five men lay on the ground, unmoving.

A smile touched with hysterical humor crested my weary face. I started to stand, but a foot brushed the concrete at my back; my muscles tensed, igniting adrenaline into a bonfire. I thrust out a leg and spun, launching myself off the ground with a war cry at the goon I must have missed.

Kurama caught my fist as casually as he might catch a crisp high-five.

I froze stiff.

"M—Minamino?" I said, blinking at him.

"Yukimura," he countered as I stood up straight. His hand slid over my fist and onto my wrist, bringing him into my personal space; the scent of mint and evergreen wafted close, as verdant as his vivid eyes. He demanded, "Why are you here?"

I didn't bother answering, of course. There wasn't time, and I was too relieved to play 20 Questions. My neck went boneless, head lolling until my forehead brushed his chest. Kurama made a sound in his throat, surprised and confused at this sudden display of closeness—but I couldn't help myself.

Kurama was here.

_Everything was going to be OK._

"Oh, thank _god_ you're here," I said, not bothering to wonder why he'd shown up or how he'd known where to go. No way was I looking this gift horse in the mouth. I yanked my head up before I could get too comfortable, let my guard down in his comforting presence. There was more yet to do, and Kurama couldn't help me do it—Yusuke needed him more than I did. Glaring, I wrenched my wrist from Kurama's hand and said, "There's no time to explain. You have to help Yusuke!" I flung a hand at the warehouse behind us. "He's in there fighting Hiei and I don't know if—"

"So you _do_ know the Detective." His silken voice held only the barest trace of surprise. "I suspected when you appeared with the Mirror. But you know Hiei, too?"

"Yeah. I'm really, _really_ popular," I snarked; Kurama snorted, barely phased by this development since apparently I knew everyone in his life already, somehow. "But there's no time to discuss who I'm taking to prom, dammit! My friend, she's—"

Kurama glanced at Botan, eyes narrowing as they locked onto her forehead. He was too smart to need an explanation. "Hiei cut her." His eyes narrowed further. "But why is her face so swollen?"

"I doused her in pepper-spray."

That actually managed to surprise Kurama, for whatever reason. His lips parted and his eyes widened, looking at me as if I'd declared myself the new fairy empress of Japan.

"What?!" I said, defensive. "It's an eye irritant and it makes things swell and I figured the Eye couldn't open if it was swollen shut!" Throwing up my hands, eyes rolling with frenzied humor, I told him, "It's called _improvising_. I don't have fancy magic powers like _some_ _people_."

"No. I suppose you don't," he deadpanned—but in his eyes sparked the barest glint of humor. Was he impressed? It hardly mattered, damn my pride to hell. "Where are you taking her?"

"To a friend who can maybe help." I rattled off the address of my nearby destination, which made Kurama's eyes widen once again. "But she needs that antidote from the Sword. It's in the hilt. My friend can only slow it down a bit, you understand?"

"I do." He repeated the address. "I'll send Yusuke to find you once we get that Sword."

I took a shaky breath. "Thank you, Minamino."

I turned to go, but something struck me. Kurama wasn't arguing, wasn't trying to get me to sit it out, was cooperating during this dire situation despite how much he must distrust me—and that was huge.

He didn't know it, but his cooperation—his _trust_ in the girl who probably didn't deserve it—was literally saving lives.

"Thank you," I repeated, bowing low at the waist in the biggest display of gratitude I could muster. "Thank you, Minamino. Thank you very, _very_ much."

I straightened up, barely glancing at his stunned expression before heading to grab Botan—only Kurama's hand closed around my wrist again, before I could get far.

"Keiko," he said. He stepped close, that cool, dark scent of his wrapping itself around me in the most comforting hug I could imagine just then. Green eyes glittered when he looked into mine and commanded, "Keiko—be _safe_."

"You, too," I murmured.

We held each other's gazes for moment—but there was no time to make promises or hash out the truths that lay between us.

Turning as one from each other's sight, we parted, because we both had jobs to do.

* * *

Each ring seemed to take a millennia, but luckily Hideki-sensei only kept me waiting for three thousand years before answering. I didn't give him time to ask who was calling. I launched right in.

"Hideki-sensei, it's Yukimura," I said, not bothering to modulate my desperate tone. "I need you to meet me at the warehouse dojo, and I need to meet you there _now_."

Something rustled against the receiver, maybe a sheet or a blanket. I had no idea what time it was; the phone booth at the edge of the lot of warehouses, which I'd used to call my mother and Kagome a million times, didn't have a clock.

"Yukimura? It's late." He sounded pissed, not to mention groggy. "What are you—?"

"I don't have _time_ , dammit!" My voice broke; Hideki fell silent. I swallowed and tried to remain calm as I said, "There's no time. I need your _reiki_ healing, or else my friend, she'll—"

Apparently requesting healing was the magic word (or maybe it was my dramatic trail-off, or my inability to voice a terrible fate aloud that did the trick). Hideki's voice cut through my panic like a sharpened blade.

"I'll be there in three minutes," he said, and the line went dead.

Hiei, bless that little asshole, had kidnapped me and Botan and taken us to the only warehouse district in town, only a block or two away from Hideki's dojo. I lugged Botan's comatose body there in a fog, feet moving automatically toward the warehouse I'd walked to many times before. Hideki had left the door to the dojo unlocked (he didn't have anything valuable in there aside from practice mats and a minifridge, after all). I lay Botan on the sparring mat in the middle of the room and turned on the lights, inspecting her swollen face as my heart climbed into my mouth.

Despite the swollen flesh around it, the Eye's violet iris stared up at me through a small, but visible, slit.

I was on the cusp of dosing her with more pepper-spray when Hideki finally showed up. My body sagged when I heard the door open at my back, lips parting so I could breathe a thankful, " _Sensei_!"

He didn't reply (because of course he didn't). He just joined me on the mat, kneeling and examining Botan's face with both his eyes and the tips of his questing fingers.

"I need cool water and a towel," he said, tone low and rough. "Hurry."

I grabbed a bottle of water from the minifridge and a towel off the rack above it. Hideki wet the towel and mopped at Botan's face, cleaning the sticky gloop from the spray off her skin before setting the towel aside. He laced his fingers together and held them over the Eye with a grunt.

"How did you get yourself into this mess?" he said as his hands adopted their telltale, almost-invisible glow. The glow suffused Botan's face, her skin luminous like a paper lantern covering a bright flame.

I swallowed, unable to look away. "Spirit World shenanigans."

Hideki grunted again. "So you know about them, eh."

"So _you_ know about them?" I shot back, just the littlest bit stunned. "My best friend is the Spirit Detective."

The words just spilled out; I regretted them at once, but Hideki said nothing. I looked up, away from Botan, and found him eyeing me askance.

"That friend of mine who died," I said, by way of explanation. "The one who came back? Spirit World helped with that. Now he works for them."

Hideki eyed me a moment longer. When his eyes slid away to Botan, a tension I hadn't before noticed melted from my shoulders.

"I see," he said, seemingly unperturbed—but Hideki was a tough man to read. The tip of his tongue wet his thin lips. "Think Spirit World has a cure for this? Because I can't keep this Eye closed forever."

"Friends are coming with an antidote."

"Ah. Hope they hurry." His lips curled in the leanest of smiles. "That pepper-spray of yours slowed the Eye's physical manifestation, but it didn't stop its spiritual development. This dark energy is clawing at your friend's brain, sinking into her like rusty fishing hooks. I'm doing my best to get it out, but…"

Hideki winced. A bead of sweat gathered on his temple, just below the edge of his grey hair. I put a hand on his back. To say I'd give _anything_ to have Spirit Energy to lend him would be an understatement.

"Don't talk," I murmured. "Just heal."

Hideki's lips curled again. "Yes, ma'am."

Minutes crawled by. Hideki's pale face turned waxen the longer we waited, huddled over the unmoving Botan like watchful gargoyles. At some point I gathered one of Botan's hands in mind and stroked my thumbs over her fingers. I don't believe in a deity, and I never pray, but I offered a silent plea to the universe anyway on her behalf: Please don't let Botan—what, become a demon? What were specifics of this atheist's prayer, exactly?

Luckily I didn't have to find out. Just as Hideki breathed his shakiest sigh yet, hands spasming atop Botan's burgeoning Eye, the door to the warehouse burst open.

"Yusuke!" I said, not bothering to check and see if it was really him—because there was no doubt in my mind that he'd arrived to save the day. "Yusuke, over here!"

He darted over and slammed onto the mat next to me, Shadow Sword held awkwardly in his arms—like he was trying to hold a baby with very, very sharp teeth. He started to say something but stopped, looking Hideki up and down. "Who's this?"

"My _sensei_." Yusuke looked mystified; I said, "The guy who taught me to dodge."

Yusuke made a low 'oh' sound. Hideki grunted, "Pleased to meet you, but can we save the introductions?" He jerked his chin toward his hands. "This is taking a toll."

Quite the understatement give his ashen features and sweat-slick skin. Yusuke let out a low whistle. "No shit." With a twist of his wrist he separated the hilt from the Shadow Sword. "Here. We have to give her—"

The hilt functioned like a cup, hollow interior brimming with a pale amber liquid I swear Yusuke compared to the color of piss under his snarky breath. I propped Botan up and Hideki pried open her mouth so Yusuke could splash some antidote on her tongue. The effect was immediate: the Eye closed as soon as the drops passed Botan's lips, and then the black line of its lid thinned, all but disappearing amidst the swollen folds of Botan's pepper-sprayed face. Yusuke sat back on his heels, staring at the reaper with held breath.

"Is she all right?" I asked—mostly to myself, mostly rhetorically, because clearly she _wasn't_ all right. Not after all of this.

Hideki answered the question anyway. "Her energy is chaotic," he said. He pulled his hands from her and flexed his fingers as if seeking circulation. "I've never felt anything like her energy, and that's _without_ the demonic Eye infecting her." He shot Yusuke a sideways glance. "She's not human. Is she from Spirit World?"

Yusuke blinked. "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess." Something told me that wasn't the whole story, but I wasn't about to argue with my _sensei_. He favored Botan with a sour look, mopping sweat from his face with an unsteady hand. "And if I had to make another wild guess, someone from Spirit World needs to get here, quick, and tend to her."

The question escaped my lips at once: "Why hasn't she woken up yet?"

"No idea," said Hideki.

Cursing, Yusuke shot to his feet. "I'll—I'll try to get in touch." His hands tangled in his hair, conflicted. "But Botan usually is the one who— _no_. No excuses. I'm going to figure this out." He pivoted on a heel, toward the door. "I'll be back."

"Yusuke, wait!" I said. "What about Kurama and Hiei?"

His expression turned smug. "Hiei's out like a light so I just left him there. Kurama—shit." The smug look vanished; my stomach dropped into my pelvis. "He got hurt, and bad. Said he'd be OK, though, so that's something." Then he blanched. "Oh, and I need to get those Treasures. I just left 'em there on the floor!"

"Go," I said, unable to keep from laughing at his stricken expression. "Go get the treasures. I'll watch Botan."

Yusuke nodded. "Yeah, and if anything happens—"

Beside me, Hideki drew in a breath.

Yusuke stopped talking.

Something in the air shifted, then, like changing the color palette on an old TV set, turning Hideki and Yusuke's faces a strange shade of blue I perceived more with my mind than with my vision. I gasped and shut my eyes, but the odd not-color only lasted for half a second before the sense of _otherness_ disappeared. When I opened my eyes, I gasped again—but louder, gasp mixing with a startled shriek.

In the scant time my eyes had closed, Botan had vanished.

Hideki growled, face swinging toward Yusuke, and mine followed suit. Yusuke didn't look confused, though, or even upset. He stared at the place Botan had once occupied with a resigned scowl, shoving his hands in his pockets with a sigh. For the first time I noticed the bruises gathering on his cheeks, the cuts marring the shoulder of his uniform jacket. Between Hiei and Gouki, Yusuke was in need of new school uniform.

"Sorry about that," he said. "She's in good hands now." He waved toward the door absently. "Spirit World has Kurama. He came willingly. They got Hiei and the Treasures already, too." A brief pause, then a bitter chuckle. "Seems my work here is done. Talk about anticlimactic, though I guess they spared me the utter _joy_ of cleanup duty." He rolled his eyes. "Remind me to write Spirit World a thank-you card."

I got the sense Yusuke wasn't telling us something—something that made his eyes look so hollow, all of a sudden, twisting his words into wry jokes despite the situation at hand (though that's also just how he coped with stress; perhaps I was tired and reading into things). I tried to catch his eye, but he looked away.

Hideki rose to his feet, graceful despite the fatigue I knew he must be feeling. He asked, "That presence—who were you talking to?"

"Koenma. Lord of the Underworld." Yusuke shrugged as though he hadn't just admitted being on speaking terms with a demigod. "He drops in sometimes. Whole world goes quiet when he does. Dunno if you sensed it, old man."

The insult didn't faze my _sensei_ in the slightest. "I did," said Hideki with surprising calm (I, meanwhile, wasn't capable of speaking at all, and stared at Botan's previous spot with my mouth hanging open). "What did he tell you?"

"They were watching the whole time, apparently, and just waiting for things to settle down before swooping in to take credit for me busting my ass." Yusuke's eyes widened; he looked at me, fidgeting, hooking at finger at Hideki where only I could see. "Oh. Um. Is it safe to tell—?"

Hideki scoffed. "I've been aware of Spirit World for some time now, kid. You won't surprise me."

When Yusuke remained unconvinced, staring at Hideki like the man might actually be three opossums in a trench coat, I forced myself to speak. "He's cool, Yusuke. Promise." I joined Hideki on my feet, bowing at him low and long. "Thank you, _sensei_ , for your help tonight."

Tone dry, he said, "You owe me a bottle of _sake_ , Yukimura."

"Yes, _sensei_."

Not one for pageantry, Hideki walked away and out of the warehouse without another word. Yusuke watched him go with an expression that seemed almost impressed. Yusuke didn't have too many father figures in his life; Hideki's collected, capable, and grouchy demeanor probably held some appeal. I lurched forward on wooden legs and hooked my fingers into Yusuke's sleeve.

"So…I guess this is it," I said.

He looked as surprised as I felt to have reached the end of this case so soon, and without loss of limb. We stared at one another for a moment, neither quite believing our good fortune (Botan's uncertain fate notwithstanding), until he shook his head and cupped my hand in his.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's go."

Despite my worry for Botan's wellbeing after tonight's breach in canon, Yusuke's suggestion held enormous appeal—appeal that overrode my desire for closure, for questions, for clarification. Home, bed, a hot shower…those were just what the doctor ordered after this terrifying day.

Leaning on one another like rickety scarecrows, we turned our tired feet toward home.

* * *

Neither of us spoke until we reached the restaurant. As I fumbled with my key (and recovered my schoolbag from where Hiei had apparently left it lying abandoned in the alley), Yusuke said, "Hey—are you OK?"

"I'm fine." The keys slipped through my fatigue-weak fingers; I cursed as they clattered on the pavement. "Why?"

"Just…it's been an exciting few days, that's all. And you're quiet." He smirked, nudging me in the ribs with an elbow as he wheedled, "Normally I can't get you to shut up. Maybe a little trauma's good for ya, huh?"

I swatted his hand away, bending to grab my keys. "Very funny. I guess I'm quiet because I'm processing. It's been a busy past few days, is all."

Yusuke hummed. I found my house key and fitted it to the lock. The windows above the restaurant remained dark as I disengaged the bolt. My years of asking to sneak out had paid off. Mom and Dad rarely waited up for me. They trusted me to come home…meaning I could stay out late after being kidnapped by demons and leave them none the wiser. Sometimes being a goodie-two-shoes had its perks…

I grasped the doorknob, but I didn't turn it. "Say, Yusuke?"

"Yeah?"

"Did Koenma say what will happen to Botan?"

Yusuke shook his head, much to my dismay. "No. He said something about her having a unique physics—"

"Unique psyche?"

"Yeah, that. He's not sure how the Sword affects people from Spirit World." He tried to hide his troubled expression, but I knew him too well not to notice. "He'll let me know, though."

"OK." I paused, but eloquence escaped me. I opted instead for, "I hope she's OK."

Thank my lucky stars Yusuke wasn't one for flowery language. He merely replied, "Me, too."

I started to turn the knob again, but I stopped. Hesitated. Decided one final question couldn't hurt, and would probably help me sleep better, anyway. Even after today's exhausting excitement, I didn't doubt my anxiety's ability to keep me awake at night.

"What will happen to Kurama?" I asked. "And Hiei, too?"

It was Yusuke's turn to hesitate, rubbing at the back of his neck with one uncertain hand. "Hiei'll go to jail, I guess," he said, managing to crack a sadistic smile at the thought. The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "As for Kurama…I hope they go easy."

My heart skidded. "Oh?"

"Yeah. He jumped between me and Hiei tonight. Really put his life on the line to help me earlier. Took the Sword through the gut, in fact, but said he'd come out of it OK." At that he delivered unto me an acidic glare. "And I trust him when he says that, so you shouldn't worry too much, _got it_?"

I held up my hands in obvious surrender. Yusuke rolled his eyes.

"Telling you to worry is like telling fish to stop swimming," he said. "You just look at me all stupid and keep doing it anyway." Before I could retort, he changed the subject. "Anyway. Kurama gave himself up to Spirit World after I left. Didn't make them chase him at all. He's not a bad guy. He really did just want the Mirror to save his mom." Yusuke shook his head with a pronounced grimace. "And now that his mother is better, it's a waste to put him in jail. Right?"

He looked for my confirmation and agreement with odd hope, as if seeking validation for a theory he himself did not believe. I nodded at him, trying to look sure of myself.

"Yeah. I think so, too," I said. "Spirit World will be lenient with him, for sure."

They'd been lenient in the anime and manga, after all.

I just hoped I hadn't made some mistake in this life that threw those versions of fate out the fucking window, and that I'd escaped falling into deep shit despite the wrong I'd done.

* * *

Sleeping like the dead after multiple brushes with death and dismemberment is _not_ conducive to getting to school on time, lemme tell ya.

After sleeping through all three of my alarms, my mother had to rouse me from my bed and practically shove breakfast down my sleepy throat. Being on time meant jogging most of the way to school, but the run woke me up a bit, so I didn't much mind.

Returning to school after weathering Hiei's attempt at kidnapping felt, in a word, surreal. As I ran past students, parents, businessmen, and kids that morning, I felt like I'd stepped out of one world and into another, where demons and ghosts didn't exist and people most certainly didn't spend their days worrying about getting kidnapped by psychotic goth midgets. Not a single one of the people I passed that morning even knew demons existed, probably. My perception was singular, marked by colors of reality most humans didn't even know they could perceive.

Or maybe I was just being pretentious.

Wouldn't be the first time I'd been accused of such.

Truth be told, the events of the previous night—no, the events of the _previous three days_ felt like they'd happened months prior, memory of said events hazy and dull even though they'd only just transpired. Adrenaline will do that to one's recollections. Best not to dwell on the past (and one's past mistakes), therefore, and focus instead on the future.

Not that that was any more pleasant than dwelling on my recent fuck-ups, mind you. The past wasn't going to change, but the future? Now _that_ was an unpredictable beast all its own.

I spent the commute to school wondering about the weeks to come. We'd cleared the Artifacts case, which meant next came Yusuke's trip to Genkai's compound and her successor tournament. But when would that happen, exactly? Next week, next month? It was only barely springtime, and if my memory of the manga served, he stayed with Genkai for a minimum of six weeks after winning her competition. How the hell would Yusuke justify missing that much school if the tournament took place during the school year? Hopefully the tournament didn't happen until summer break, or else Yusuke might doom himself to repeating the eighth grade…

Soon Meiou's gates appeared on the horizon, way down at the end of the road. Taking in a deep breath of the sweet spring air, I picked up my pace and trotted forward, glancing at my watch to check the time. I'd kept up a good clip that morning, better than expected, and had fifteen minutes before the first bell rang for homeroom. Awesome. Thank you, Mom, for waking me up soon enough to—

A woman stepped out of a doorway and into the sidewalk in front of me. My feet stuttered on the pavement, but I managed to dip around her and regain my footing without knocking her clear off the road. Ugh. That's what I got for running on the sidewalk like some silly child—

"Yukimura Keiko-san?"

My feet stilled at the sound of my name. Pausing, I turned to look over my shoulder. The woman I'd nearly run over stared after me, hands concealed in the large sleeves of her billowing black kimono. Although her lovely face—pale and round with large dark eyes, glossy black hair pulled back in a traditional bun—seemed oddly familiar, I couldn't place her. And that was weird, because a kimono in the city, in broad daylight? Not unheard of, but certainly not something you saw every day.

"Yes?" I said. "Can I help you?"

The woman bowed low from the waist, sunlight glinting off the small white _obidome_ adorning the front of her grey and red _obi_. Her liquid eyes appraised me like pools of watchful ink.

"Yes," she said, "I believe you can."

Japanese Elvira did not elaborate. I lifted a brow. "Sorry, but I'm in a hurry. Do I know you?"

Pink lips curled in a small, understated smile. She bowed again.

"You do not, Yukimura Keiko," said the woman in black, "but as I am an associate of your friend Botan, I believe you will want to speak with me all the same."

For a minute, I couldn't react.

Then the black kimono, the formal speaking, the associate of Botan's—it all clicked.

Something told me that if _she_ was here, I was in deep shit, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set up Keiko's pepper-spray and the location of Hideki's dojo, plus his healing powers, in previous chapters. Was happy to have those details come full circle at last. I've been waiting for the scene of spraying Botan in the face since before I even started writing this darn story, haha. Hideki is also connected to things that'll become relevant soon. He's got more history than he's let on so far.
> 
> And SHE is here. Dun dun DUN. But why?
> 
> Those moments where Koenma talks to Yusuke and the whole world goes blue and freezes—tried to portray what that might be like for bystanders. Hope it made sense! But who knows what happened in that conversation Yusuke might not be sharing…
> 
> Showing the Yusuke/Hiei fight felt like a pointless rehash of events; hope nobody minded that it happened off-screen. We'll get plenty of fight recaps in later arcs, after all; don't want to overdo it too early. Also, PRACTICALLY ALL of Hiei's lines were pulled straight from the manga and anime. HE IS SO DRAMATIC; I'd almost forgotten his most egregious evil-overlord moments.
> 
> The Hiei-love last chapter was strong and bracing, a shot of whiskey for my battered soul! So glad you're here for his very, very belated introduction to this story. Don't worry: we haven't seen the last of him, though I'm going to have to pull some, um…weird tricks to keep him around consistently. You'll see what I mean next chapter. Many many thanks to all of you lovely humans!


	44. That Sounds Ominous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko loses control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultural Note: Yamato nadeshiko (やまとなでしこ or 大和撫子) is a term used in Japan to describe the personification of an idealized Japanese woman. She represents pure, feminine beauty, but also a mastery of classical Japanese manners and customs. Her smile is actually a carefully-wielded sword; she can kill you with good manners alone.
> 
> **Warnings: Depictions of disordered eating (binge and purge).**

Three blocks north of Meiou lay a park—seemingly standard, ostensibly mundane. A pastel playground sat at its edge. Rarely did I pass the playground and not find it full of children, but these children kept to the slide and the swings. Beyond the playground, left to run wild and untamed, the park turned from children's paradise to feral woods. Thick trees pressed close together as if guarding unknown secrets. More than once while passing this park, I'd heard a worried mother scold a child for wandering too close to the trees.

"Stay on the playground. I've heard monsters live in the deepest woods," they told their children. "You wouldn't want to get spirited away, would you?"

As I followed the woman in black into the shade beneath the trees, I wondered if that might be her intention: to spirit me away like a naughty child in a storybook, never to be seen again.

So much for being on time for school, huh?

The cool of the shade prickled at my skin, a contrast to the warm scents of earth, decay, and growing things. The woman in black did not speak to me as we picked our way over rocks and stones, until the forest opened into a small, empty glen. I wondered, vaguely, if this was the park where Yusuke had encountered Hiei and the others, but there was no real way to tell. As the woman in black walked to the center of the clearing, unnaturally graceful atop the slats of her traditional wooden sandals, I planted my feet and squared my shoulders.

"Lovely trees," I said.

The woman in black tilted her head to the coin of blue sky above. Dark lashes fluttered; she inhaled through the nose, smile crossing her full lips.

Inside my pocket, my index nail dug even harder into the cuticle of my thumb.

"It's been some time since I've visited Human World in a corporeal form," said the woman in the black kimono. "I forgot what joys it can bring."

She inhaled again, with obvious but dainty relish. I allowed her to enjoy the scenery a moment longer before cutting (politely) to the chase. "May I ask why you brought me here?" I said.

"Of course." Hands in the sleeves of her robe, she turned my way and bowed. "My name is Ayame. As I said, I am an associate of Botan's, and a fellow guide to the River Styx."

I bowed back on reflex. Internally I cursed. So I was right. She was Ayame—Koenma's personal assistant (at least according to late chapters of the manga), and Botan's apparent senior in the hierarchy of ferrygirls. Not that I knew much about ferrygirls themselves. The manga and anime hadn't given many details about them, nor about Spirit World in general.

Still. Even with my deficit in knowledge, the fact that Koenma had sent Ayame did not bode well for me. Everything from her kimono to her carriage spoke of gravity. This was not a social call. This was business…but of what nature I couldn't say. I had my suspicions, of course. They were suspicions I didn't want to entertain, not even for a moment, lest thinking of them summon them from conjecture and into the realm of truth.

Whatever the truth, I had to play this interaction very, very carefully—because one wrong move, one mere inkling that I knew more about Spirit World than Keiko was supposed to, and I could give the game away entirely.

"I come on behalf of Koenma, Lord of the Underworld," Ayame said. "And I come with a proposition."

That sent my stomach bucking. Keiko had had no dealings with Spirit World in _Yu Yu Hakusho_. This was bad. Really, really bad. I didn't let my unease show on my face, though, instead crossing my arms and pasting on a puzzled expression.

"Really?" I said. Ayame's smile was as beatific as it was inscrutable. "A proposition for _me_?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" she asked.

"I can't imagine that an organization as powerful as Spirit World calls schoolgirls such as myself out of class too often." Too bad for me Ayame didn't seem at all pleased by my flattery, allowing no emotion to slip through her well-practiced smile. I sighed and waved a hand. "Please continue. I'm curious as to what Spirit World could possibly ask of me."

The reaper jumped right into it, speaking with all the pleasant dispassion of a phone operator. "As you are aware," she said, "Botan, Yusuke's former handler, was injured in the line of duty."

That got my attention better than any so-called proposition. My hands dropped to my sides. "Is she OK?"

At last Ayame's expression flickered, though with worry or annoyance I wasn't sure. "There have been…complications, regarding her condition." She smoothed her smile back into place. "However, she is receiving the best of care available for Spirits, and will be able to resume her duties after a period of convalescence. Which brings—"

"Wait." Her wording caught my ear; my interjection slipped out unbidden. "'Spirits'? What do you mean by that?"

Ayame had used the word _shinrei_ —not _yurei_ for ghost, or _hito_ for person, but _shinrei_ , an archaic word for the soul or essence of person I had never heard used outside of myths and fables (the ones that existed in this world, anyway). An odd word to use, one I didn't hear often, and one that sounded too intentional for a random slip of the tongue. This was a capital-letter-word for sure.

Ayame didn't say anything for a moment, but eventually she nodded, coming to some unspoken conclusion she didn't care to share.

"This is not common knowledge, I suppose, so I understand your curiosity. Allow me to explain." She placed one ivory hand on her chest. "Much the way humans are born in and occupy the Human World, so too do Spirits occupy the Spirit World. Unlike humans, we are not born with physical bodies, existing instead in a purely spiritual state. Spirits are much longer lived than humans, and we reproduce at a much slower rate than both humans and demons." At that her cool smile warmed, if only slightly. "In fact, Botan is one of our youngest citizens, though even she dwarfs your age by a considerable degree."

"Interesting." And I didn't say that in jest; this information felt valuable, a little canon nugget lost to _Yu Yu Hakusho_ fans revealed at long, long last. "So Botan is new to her job, then?

"As the guide of souls to the afterlife, no. But as assistant to the Spirit Detective, yes." She placed her hand back in her sleeve. "Yusuke was her first such assignment. Such appointments are rare in general, as Spirit Detectives are not often selected. As such, we have no other operatives trained to replace her at this time. I am afraid Botan's absence has left the ferrywomen short-staffed, even for our regular duties as guides to Spirit World."

"Sorry to hear that," I said. I tried not to wince; that staff shortage was in no small thanks to me.

Ayame nodded. "Thank you. We look forward to her return, as we will not be able to assign Yusuke a replacement assistant for some time. In fact, Botan will likely be healed before anyone else can be trained."

"I see." But that was a lie, because my involvement in this scenario didn't make sense. "Pardon me, but I'm confused. What does all of this have to do with me?"

Eyes dark and composed, Ayame looked me up, then down. I fidgeted under her watchful gaze, painfully aware of the hair I hadn't had time to style that morning and what were sure to be deep bags beneath my eyes. Ayame's aristocratic features and porcelain skin made me feel like a Cabbage Patch Kid that had seen one too many dives into the sandbox, and here she was, a collector's edition Barbie that had never left her packaging. She had that same unsettlingly luminous skin as Botan, though thanks to her darker coloring and boxy kimono, the airbrushed quality of her pores and proportions wasn't quite as obvious. Were all ferrygirls this gorgeous?

"You are close to Yusuke," Ayame intoned after another moment's scrutiny. "He trusts you, and judging by your file, you are a responsible, intelligent young woman. You have already been made aware of the existence of both Spirit and Demon world, and you are acquainted with the demon Kurama, who has been masquerading for fifteen years as the human boy Minamino Shuichi."

She stopped talking. I waited. Ayame looked me over once again, as if searching for something I didn't know how to see.

"…and?" I said when the silence grew uncomfortable.

Ayame met my eyes with frank confidence.

"And," she said, "we would like for you to act as Yusuke's temporary assistant during Botan's absence."

At first I thought I hadn't heard her right. Blinking, I opened my mouth. Closed it again. Gaped at Ayame like a beached fish until her head listed gently to one side—a question, asking if I'd heard her at all.

"Me?" I said.

Ayame nodded.

" _Assistant_!?"

"Yes." Her mouth lifted at the corner, amused. "Don't look so apprehensive. You would not be expected to investigate cases in any capacity. That remains up to Yusuke. We would merely ask you to keep an eye on him in Botan's absence, and write reports of his activities for our records."

My eyes dropped to her feet, to her wooden sandals and the wild grass beneath them. Ayame's words danced through my head so fast I could barely keep up with their tilt and whirl. I grabbed her speech and wrestled it to stillness, picking the words apart one by one until a single, vital bit swam free and into clarity.

"Records," I repeated. "Write reports for our records." I looked at her for confirmation. "So. Not an assistant at all, really. You want a record-keeper."

She considered this before nodding. "The title of 'record-keeper' might be more accurate, yes."

My hands slipped into my pockets. My index nail slipped back into my thumb's cuticle, pain arching tinny up my finger. What was the angle, here? There was no way Spirit World would ever ask a normal human to—

"Spirit World has eyes and ears everywhere," Ayame said, answering my unspoken question, "but even we are not omnipotent. We cannot monitor the Detective at all times. Having a contact in the field is crucial to maintaining control of the Spirit Detective."

My brow furrowed, blood running chill inside my chest. "Control?"

Ayame's head lowered. "Pardon the phrasing. I imagine that sounds ominous."

"It does. You're right. It sounds _very_ ominous." Thinking of Sensui and Spirit World's complicated relationship with their former Spirit Detective, I asked, "Has Yusuke done anything you disapprove of?"

Her reply was as immediate as it was certain—too certain. Too rehearsed.

"No," Ayame said. "He has been a model detective." Before I could pry, she changed the subject, action as deft as a swordsman swinging a blade. "We would also ask you monitor the Kurama in a similar manner."

I blinked. "Kurama?"

"Yes. He will be returning to his human life in short order." My breathing hitched at the relief flooding my heart; she lifted a hand from her sleeve and gestured at the forest. "We ask that you monitor his habits as a teenage boy and report back to us if you observe any suspicious behaviors. Koenma decided leniency was appropriate, but Kurama will nevertheless remain under strict observation until his parole period expires."

Her phasing cooled my joy somewhat, because here lurked even more buried bombshells. Lips moving as I repeated her words in my head, I parsed Ayame's meaning phrase by phrase until a scowl hardened both my heart and my thinning mouth.

"He's on parole," I said, "and I'm his parole officer."

Ayame tittered. "That's a rather crass term for it."

"Probably so. Doesn't make it any less accurate." Shaking my head, I crossed my arms again. "I apologize, but I think you have the wrong girl for the job."

Ayame's brow lifted with maddening sincerity. "Oh?"

"I'm a normal girl, not gifted like Yusuke. And furthermore, I'm _loyal_ to my _friends_ ," I said, emphasis deliberate and biting. "What makes you think I'd spy on them for _you_?"

Another maddening, close-shuttered smile. "I did not ask you to spy on them."

"Sure. Maybe not in so many words," I snarked, "but the implication is pretty clear."

There followed what can only be described as a standoff: my willful glare versus Ayame's benign smile. A rock and a hard place, an unstoppable force and an immovable object, I glared and she smiled as a wind whistled by, bringing with it the far-off sound of children laughing on the playground. Neither of us budged an inch, until finally Ayame's head tilted a centimeter to the left. Still her smile did not waver.

"Do you hold ill will toward Spirit World?" she asked.

My first instinct was to deny it—to play coy and hold Spirit World in polite reverence, the way any normal human might when dealing with a powerful supernatural organization. I opened my mouth to do that, eyes cast down with humble denial…but then I stopped. Keiko was polite, sure. But she and I had something in comment…and that was a protective street a country mile wide.

I raised my eyes to Ayame's, instead, and did not allow myself to flinch.

"Not ill will, exactly," I said, every word the truth, "but I admit Spirit World isn't on my Nice List."

Ayame's eyes widened. "Oh?" She lifted one dark sleeve to her mouth, covering her dainty laugh with silk. "Interesting. Your file did not indicate you possessed a rebellious streak."

"Your file needs to be update," I said, blunt tone causing her hand to fall at once. "I'm a contrarian, and this contrarian resents the fact that Spirit World sent a _child_ who just so happens to be _my best friend_ into battle against a homicidal demon." My patience and politeness evaporated completely when she tittered as if to object. "And _then_ they sat oblivious on their asses watching as one of their own was nearly turned into a mindless demon slave, which didn't do my opinion of them any favors whatsoever."

To her credit, Ayame did look away when I said that, but I did not allow myself to gloat. I'd had these feelings even in my old life, back when I watched a 700 year old demigod send a teenage boy into battle with bloodthirsty monsters from my nightmares. I'd had these feelings even when I observed not from the sidelines, but from the other side of a TV screen. Koenma had been a real dick in the early episodes, so far as I was concerned.

"To say I disapprove of your methods is putting it lightly," I said. "Asking me to spy on my friends just lowers my estimation of you further." I let slip a wry laugh. "Assistant. Record-keeper. Call a spade a spade, Ayame. You want a _spy_. Don't shove a fancy title at me when all you want is a _mole_ for Kurama and Yusuke."

I expected Ayame to act cowed. Perhaps she would demure, and change the subject as adroitly as she had before. Instead, she surprised me. She lifted her sleeve back to her mouth and laughed like a swinging wind chime, light and airy and musical in the early morning sun. The sunlight caught the dark orb of her eye, onyx glittering with astonished mirth.

Pretty as her laugh sounded, it set my teeth on edge.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

It took a moment for Ayame to compose herself. She lowered her hand, but her smile—it didn't look the same as before. A tightness around her eyes spoke of steel beneath silk, the unyielding gaze of a true Japanese _yamato nadeshiko_ who had finally decided to snipe back.

"Your file described you as an intelligent young woman, and I am inclined to agree with that assessment," Ayame said. "However…it's interesting that you don't see all the ways Spirit World benefits from this arrangement." Another musical laugh. "But I suppose wisdom and intelligence are not mutually exclusive."

I bit back a joke about Dungeons & Dragons categorizing the two traits separately. Something told me the prim and proper Ayame wasn't into tabletop RPGs, and besides—her words made my stomach sink into my ankles as if it had been filled with frozen lead. A horrible, rising suspicion filled my throat. It was all I could do to grind out the words, " _What_ other objective?"

Ayame paused. Intention colored that pause: the intention of an actress wielding silence like a sword, a targeted strike to grab the attention of her audience. I'm ashamed to say it worked. My breath hooked on the suspicion in my throat and lodged there, suspended on a point of sharp anxiety. Only once she saw she had my rapt attention did Ayame choose to speak.

"Kurama and Yusuke," Ayame slowly intoned, "are not the only ones this arrangement allows Spirit World to keep its eye on." At that she fixed me with a look as pointed and dangerous as her silence. "You are an interesting girl, Yukimura-san. Spirit World isn't as…how did you put it?" She pretended to think, then laughed again, this time with the sound of breaking glass. "Ah, yes. Spirit World is not as _oblivious_ as you assume."

And there it was. My suspicions made clear. My unspoken, unwanted predictions made explicit, undeniable, and clear.

Spirit World _knew_.

How much they knew, I couldn't say.

But Spirit World _knew_ —knew enough to know they needed to keep me close, under their watchful eye.

Denying it was useless. I wasn't a good enough liar to pull it off, anyway. I just stood there, silent, sweat beading on my oily skin, until Ayame bowed low and long in my direction.

"Have a good day, Yukimura-san," she said. "We would like an answer by the end of the week."

Ayame did not wait for my reply. She merely turned. She walked away. Her black kimono melded with the dark trees, and she was gone—leaving me alone, cold and hollow, emotions spiraling inside me in an unending, uncontrollable whirlpool loop.

At school, no one seemed to notice my late arrival. Whether this was a gift from Spirit World or just happenstance, I can't tell you. Kurama wasn't there. Hotaru caught me in the hallway and threw her arms around my neck. She'd gotten word from her nurse cousin that Minamino's mother had made a full recovery. A miraculous recovery, in fact. I smiled at her, hugged her back, and tried to look as thrilled as the rest of Minamino's fangirls.

At lunch, I scarfed my mother's home-packed bento. When it was done, I excused myself from Kaito's presence and bought more food at the cafeteria. Crème buns, a pork roll, onigiri, seaweed chips. I ate every bit until swallowing hurt and my tongue sat thick with saliva in my mouth.

Then I went into the bathroom and forced my fingers down my throat.

* * *

The next day, in the evening, Kagome intercepted me on the sidewalk on the way to _aikido_ practice. Her ponytail bounced as lightly as her heels when she came my way, a rabbit skipping over stones. She took one look at my face and blanched, lurching forward to tangle her fingers in the hem of my shirt.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "You look like _death_."

I forced a polite smile even though the sight of Kagome's small, adorable face filled my gut with dread. Mom and Dad had bought the story of stomach flu without quibble and hadn't questioned my refusal of dinner, my refusal of breakfast, or my claim I'd had a late lunch and didn't need dinner before attending 'study group'—my weekly lie for my whereabouts during _aikido_. Somehow I got the sense Kagome would not be so easily fooled, however. And since she was pretty much the last person I wanted to talk to that night—swallowing a fucking needle sounded more appealing than having to explain everything that had gone wrong in the past few days—I had to put her off the scent in short order.

"I'm good." I shook my head when she started to argue, brow knit into concerned creases. "I'm _fine_ , OK?"

"You don't _look_ fine, Eeyore." Blunt as always. She stepped close, peering up at me with wide, gleaming eyes. "What's wrong?"

What was wrong was that I'd binged and purged for the first time in this new, precious life. What was wrong was that apparently that destructive behavior hadn't died with my old, disordered body. What was wrong was I hadn't eaten in 18 hours, stomach roiling with hunger, brain raging with unnamable rebellion that made the sight of food nausea-inducing— _that's_ what was wrong. But I couldn't tell her that purging had given me a hot, fluttery adrenaline spike rivaled only by my recent run-ins with angry demons, or that it had given me a fleeting feeling of relieved control amidst the chaos of my decidedly out-of-control life.

I couldn't tell her that, though—just as I couldn't tell her that by listening to her advice regarding Kurama, his mother had nearly been killed. In all the excitement with Hiei and Ayame, I hadn't had time to think about her indirect involvement with that situation. It wasn't Kagome's fault, per se, but resentment festered. I needed more time to get over it before I could confide in her again.

Time. That's what I needed. Time to percolate and think before having to commit to the explanations she's surely wanted.

Time to regain _control_.

"It's a long story," I rubbed the back of my neck, shooting wary glances at the warehouses around us. "We need to get lunch at some point, probably. Now's not the time, but…"

She glanced at the warehouses, too, then ducked her delicate chin. "Meanie. Secrets, secrets are no fun—"

"Sorry, Kagome. Now's not the time."

She stopped talking at once, mouth flapping open and closed at the sound of her formal name—her name spoken in tones more brisk than she'd probably ever heard from me. Not 'Tigger', not 'kiddo'…just 'Kagome.'

"Wait. What?" she said. Kagome smacked my arm, gently but firmly. "C'mon, Eeyore. Talk to me. What's been going on? I haven't heard from you in days. What have you—?"

The woven rug of my nerves could only sustain so many snags before disintegrating. Every one of her questions snarled into a strand of my anxieties and yanked, yanked, _yanked_ until the edge of my frayed patience fell apart entirely. My teeth ground together like cotton paddles tearing at stubborn burrs.

"Drop it, Kagome," I snapped. "Just _drop it_."

I wasn't proud of snapping at her. I wasn't proud, and immediately my face began to burn. She searched my scorching face with a frown, then seemed to settle on something. Her eyes hardened, rosebud mouth thinning into a pout.

"We'll talk later," I told her. "Right now, I'm not in the mood. OK?"

Kagome drew herself to her full, if not diminutive, height. "Oh. Well." She tossed her head, hefted her gym bag a little higher, and turned up her nose. "I guess we'll talk later, then."

We didn't talk later, for which I was grateful. Perhaps Kagome sensed I just wasn't in the right headspace for it. Perhaps I'd really hurt her, denying her the way I had. I wasn't sure. We spent that evening's lesson avoiding each other's' eyes, watching Hideki- _sensei_ and following his directions in near silence. Hideki noticed, of course, dryly remarking on the stark atmosphere with a pointed look at the two of us, but we avoided his gaze the way we'd avoided each other's all night. Poor Ezakiya looked bewildered; we spent most lessons tag-teaming the big guy, whom we always needed to double-team to take down, but now we left him uncharacteristically alone.

Dread and lightheaded, wobbly nausea after the day's workout were the only things that kept me from apologizing to Kagome when the lesson ended. I watched with my head hanging as Kagome grabbed her bag without even saying goodbye. She latched onto Eza's belt and demanded he walk her, the vulnerable young lady, to the train station since it was so late.

"Vulnerable?" I heard him mutter as they walked out the door. "You could probably beat up a _bear_." But then they were gone, leaving Hideki and me alone.

Hideki wasted no time. "Yukimura. What's wrong?"

I didn't reply, sitting at the edge of the mat and pulling on my shoes without looking at my _sensei_. The last time I'd been here, in this warehouse dojo, Botan had nearly been turned into a mindless demon thrall. That had led to Ayame approaching me on behalf of Spirit World, hinting that they knew…something. And now here we were, Hideki gearing up for an interrogation I _really_ couldn't handle right now.

"Your friend. The reaper," he said. "How is she?"

I yanked my shoelace a little too hard. "She's being healed."

"That's a good thing, and yet you're anxious."

Suppressing a curse, I looked up to find Hideki standing with hands in pockets, face as impassive as a statue carved from marble. Lucky for me he didn't ask any prying questions—just voiced that one statement and waited for me to take the lead. Given my mood, that was about all I could handle. He was either ridiculously perceptive or just lucky.

"Spirit World wants me to work for them," I said, keeping it simple. "I now find myself in an ethical dilemma. That's all."

Hideki's head rose, like a nod that went up but never came down. He pulled a hand from his pocket and swiped it over his mouth.

He asked, "What are you doing this Sunday?"

I frowned. "What? Why?"

Grey eyes rolled, impatient. "Are you free this Sunday?"

"Yes. But what—"

"Meet me here at noon." He stepped backward, toward the door, but then he stopped and lifted one warning finger. "Don't wear your practice uniform. Dress…professional."

"Professional?" My voice rose a cracking octave as he turned and walked away, leaving me in a state of suspense I utterly hated. "That sounds, uh…ominous?"

"Shut up," he said, throwing a glare over his shoulder. "There's someone I think you should meet. See you here, at noon. Sunday."

"Oh—OK?"

He left me alone in the dark, both metaphorically and figuratively—and I felt my control on my life slip just a little further.

* * *

The next day at lunch, I stood in the cafeteria line alone, surrounded by a hundred of my classmates.

I didn't want to be there.

I'd been thinking of lunch since I woke up and slipped out the door with only a cup of miso soup for breakfast. Between the turn of every page and every word spoken to my teachers, I'd thought of the bento in my bag. If I'd eat it. If I'd _not_ eat it. Calculating calories and wondering how many grams Mom's egg omelet precisely weighed. I thought of if I'd eat it, and then eat more food from the cafeteria until it became impossible to keep everything down, like it had the day before. I wondered if I should just skip meals altogether for a few days until I grew too faint to go without. If I should eat a bite now, and a bite later. Eat a bite every hour until I felt better—or if I should purge again, feel that buoyant body high and the sense of overwhelming, numb-edged, shake-handed _relief_ that followed.

No, I told myself below the buzz of planning and plotting and purging. No. No. Bad idea. Do not do it. Do not ruin Keiko's poor body with your neuroses. She doesn't deserve that. If you can't refrain for your sake, do it for _hers_.

I gazed up at the cafeteria menu for nearly three minutes before finding the courage to turn away and head for the library stairs. Focusing on one step at a time, focusing on nothing but the feel of my feet against the stairs, I ignored the gnawing hunger in my stomach and the burning acid in my throat. I hoped Kaito was in a talkative mood, because I sure as hell wasn't. I offered a silent plea to the universe that he'd distract me as I hit the stairwell landing where he waited.

"Sorry I'm late," I said, walking straight to my window sill. I didn't bother to look at him until I said down. "I got held up—oh. _Oh_."

Next to Kaito, clad in a pink uniform that showed no sign of the duel he'd fought with Hiei, sat Kurama.

I'd been too caught up in my own drama to think about Kurama. I knew he'd be coming back soon, but I hadn't expected to see him _today_. The sight of his garnet hair, his brilliant eyes, his delicate features, his long legs splayed over the step he sat upon—

"You're—you're back," I blurted.

Kurama…he didn't react.

There followed a moment of silence. Kurama stared with those deep, crystalline eyes of his, boldly meeting my gaze with an expression that betrayed nothing but polite awareness...and beneath it, the razor edge of calculations I couldn't begin to name. Kaito looked between us in silence, a longsuffering, annoyed kid at the dinner table wondering why his parents were fighting.

I tore my eyes from Kurama's and smiled at Kaito, instead.

"Hi." I swallowed, hands freezing around my bento. "Hi, Kaito."

"Nice of you to join us, Yukimura," he said. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his thin nose with his middle finger—I wasn't sure if he meant to flip me off, or if that was just a happy accident. "I was beginning to suspect Minamino and I would be dining alone. But you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

"Never." I forced a smile I'm sure looked broken and tried my hand at teasing. "Or maybe I'm sparing Minamino from yet another lecture on solipsism."

Kaito huffed, snatching his book off the step next to him and lifting it before his face. Kurama's maddening stare didn't waver, not even a tick. I felt it on my skin like burlap, itchy and tight and hot and thoroughly unwanted. But because it would be even odder if I _didn't_ talk to him, especially since he'd been away from school for days, I forced myself to meet his eyes once more.

Despite their cool color, looking at them almost _burned_.

"H-how are you?" I asked.

His head tilted to one side, motion barely visible. His hair fell over his shoulder, caressing the length of his long, white neck.

"Feeling rather _free_ , at the moment," he murmured.

The innuendo was too specific to ignore. He felt free from Spirit World. I nodded, hoping he knew I'd understood—because I didn't want to say anything more on the matter. Not then. Not so soon.

"Good to hear. I'm glad." I shifted my knees, pointing my body and my attention straight at Kaito. Tone stuffed full of artificial breeze, I asked, "So, Kaito. What topic with you regale us with today?"

"Really?" he intoned. "You don't want me to _spare_ you and Minamino my conjecture, after all?"

"Not at all," I said. I pinned him with the most understated version of a glare I could muster. "Please, Kaito. Talk to us."

His thin lips opened, perhaps to argue—but then our eyes met, and I happened to be pleading with mine very, very hard. Kaito's glasses gleamed, a glare from the window obscuring his darkening look of understanding.

"Very well," he said—and he began to talk.

If my _sensei_ Hideki hadn't been perceptive of my needs, Kaito did not follow suit. He launched into a discussion of his latest literary theory paper with far more gusto than usual (and that's saying something), lobbing just about all of his questions in Minamino's direction. The fox had to look away from me to pay attention to Kaito, sparing me from the lunchtime activity I truly feared: Kurama's demands for answers.

If I wasn't even ready to talk to Kagome about all of this—if I wasn't willing to talk to the person who already knew of my situation—no way in _hell_ was I ready to talk to Kurama.

I didn't eat that lunch period. I didn't have the stomach for it. All I could do was make a few small jokes, some futile attempts at participating in the conversation as I avoided looking at Kurama. Kaito filled the hour with aplomb, only shooting me a concerned glance when Minamino briefly turned his back to access his school satchel. I just shook my head at him and mouthed the words, 'Not here.' Acid splashed inside my gut with every passing moment, burning like fire until the bell rang. I hopped off my windowsill and headed for the stairs the second the chime began to sound.

"See you guys tomorrow," I said.

"Wait."

Minamino's voice cut the air at my back. I stopped walking, but I did not turn around.

"I need to get the reading pages from you before Tsukame's class," he said. His low, musical voice held nothing sinister—just a reasonable request for the study material he'd missed from a shared class. "Can I get that now?"

"Do you need me to walk you to—?" Kaito began, jumping in to save me…only I was not to be saved today.

"I can walk her, if she needs it," Kurama cut in. "See you later, Kaito."

My eyes fell closed.

Knowing Kaito could not save me from this, I nodded, hoping he could see even if I didn't turn around.

I got my wish.

"…very well," he said—but he did not sound happy, and every beat of Kaito's retreating feet rang like a war drum in my ears.

In the silence that ensued, all I could hear was the sound of my thumping heart—until a shoe slid across the tile toward me. I flinched away on reflex; the shuffling stopped, Kurama keeping his distance from his wary, bolt-prone prey.

"I didn't expect you back so soon," I said. The words came out in a whisper.

"Nor did I." All traces of his earlier civility had disappeared into hard, cold steel. "We need to talk."

I swallowed, still not looking at him. He waited for me to reply. He did not know I was incapable. My knees nearly buckled 'neath the weight of that horrible silence, until he finally got the picture.

"After school," he said when he realized I was not going to reply. "Greenhouse."

That was all the instruction I needed, not to mention all the suspense I could take. My feet move of their own panicked accord for the stairs.

"Oh. And Yukimura?"

I froze.

A low, velvet chuckled skittered up my spine like the hand of an amorous ghost.

"Don't try to run," Kurama told me—but I disobeyed.

Unable to stop myself, unable to command my traitorous feet, unable to stop the surge of nausea that set me immediately to terrified dry-heaving, I sprinted away from Kurama and down the library stairs—into the nearest bathroom.

I ate all the snacks in my bag, not to mention my mother's bento, but could not keep them down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NQK as record-keeper is literally just a ruse to give Spirit World an excuse to monitor her. She literally gets no positive benefits from her (mostly honorary) appointment whatsoever, and in fact only accrues negative side effects. And you, dear readers, will wind up getting one GOOD side effect, so just hold on a tick and let me work this out.
> 
> Re. pushing away Kagome: I tend to withdraw when I'm at critical stress levels. Not a good habit. But it's me. Binging/purging is (in my situation) all about power and control. NQK has no power here, so she has suffered a relapse (or has developed a new habit, depending on your POV). This chapter was an emotional battle for me; thanks for abiding it. NQK is on her last mental leg and desperately needs a break.
> 
> Thank y'all so much for coming out last week and reading NQK's pepper-spray adventure. Next week we get the Kurama Confrontation. Stay tuned and many thanks to all of you!


	45. Ringing Endorsement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko gets a style update (in more ways than one).

When Shizuru answered the door of Kuwabara's house, I almost started to cry. If she noticed, she didn't say anything. Clad in pleated slacks and a boxy suit vest, she leaned against the doorframe, took a long drag off her cigarette, and aimed the resulting exhalation of smoke above my head. Even if she refused to quit smoking around me, she was always careful to keep the worst of it out of my face.

"Keiko," she said, not bothering with an honorific. I'd hung out at Kuwabara's house (and had had my hair trimmed by her) enough times to make the practice feel unnecessary. "Sorry, but as you're _probably_ aware given you should be in school, it's the middle of the school day and my baby brother isn't at home right now—"

"Doesn't matter. I'm here to see _you_."

Her well-manicured brows rose at once. She had no way of knowing that after the altercation with Kurama, I'd binged, purged, and skipped school to come straight here, riding my adrenaline high on a mad quest to wrest back some small modicum of control. After I'd purged, I'd rinsed my mouth at the bathroom sink and caught glimpse of myself in the mirror. Red nose, flushed cheeks, eyes glaring fever bright with fear, knuckles of my right hand gashed from where my teeth had hit them when I purged—and my _hair_. My shaggy, oh-so-Keiko _hair_ , pieces hanging by my face streaked with flecks of bile.

I hadn't allowed myself to think too hard about what happened next.

"Well, that's rare," Shizuru said. She leaned against the door frame, eyes intent on my face. "What's up?"

I put a hand to my head. "I need a change."

She nodded, made a small 'ah' sound, and took another drag. "Rough day?"

My eyes pricked, but I tried desperately not to let tears fall. I told her, "You can't even _imagine_."

One more long, slow, appraising drag, followed by a dry chuckle. "Yeah. You've had a rough day." She stepped back. "Come in."

Shizuru led me straight to the kitchen, where she pulled a stool up to the sink and draped a thick towel over the counter's edge. I watched in silence as she grabbed a bag off the kitchen table; from it she removed shampoo and conditioner, plus a rolled-up cloth caddy of brushes, scissors, and a hair dryer. She tossed her cigarette into the disposal and ran the water, finger held under the faucet to test for temperature. A sullen curl of smoke drifted from the drain before it drowned and disappeared. Still, the scent lingered—but I didn't mind. It masked the bile lingering on my tongue.

"Sorry it's not padded," Shizuru said, gesturing at the sink and stool, "but that's what you get for not coming to the salon. Sit down."

I did as she asked, letting my head loll back over the sink, towel's softness under my neck protecting me from the cold counter. Shizuru's hands, firm but gentle, washed my hair with her typical efficiency, using the sink's spray nozzle to reach the top of my head and around my ears. My eyes fell shut as she massaged my scalp. That was always my favorite part of a haircut: having someone play with my hair, more or less. Felt comforting. My mother had given me head massages in my past life whenever I had nightmares.

The wash ended too quickly, but I didn't complain as Shizuru towel-dried my hair and put a smock around my neck. The woman stood in front of me, dragging her hands over my hair as she combed it this way and that.

"So right now we're working with a bit of a shag," she said. "How much shorter are we thinking?"

I swallowed, mustered my courage, and declared: "Very short. Go nuts."

Her brow shot up again. "Careful. I'll shave you bald."

That got a fearful chuckle out of me. Shizuru walked away and pulled a magazine out of her bag. It was obvious what she wanted when she handed it to me. I flipped through it in silence until I found a short hairstyle I liked—punky, with asymmetrical bangs that framed the face, lots of lift at the roots on top, and one side trimmed shorter above the ear. It was the kind of hairstyle I'd always toyed with getting in my past life, until I hurt my arm and stopped being able to reach my head with my dominant hand. Tough to style a short 'do with just one hand, I reckoned…but now I had two good hands.

It was time. And if it turned out bad, it'd just grow out again soon.

"This," I said, pointing. "Give me this."

"Well, you have the cheekbones for it." Instead of reaching for her scissors and getting started, however, she slipped a hand into her pocket and held out a little green packet. "Gum?" she said, pulling forth a strip of silver-packaged candy.

I held out my hand. "Sure."

We chewed our gum and Shizuru cut my hair in silence. The mint coated my tongue and throat, climbing into my sinuses and clearing them of the last of the vomit smell. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the subtle weight lifting from my head, hyperaware of every piece of hair brushing my cheeks as it fell. The clip-clip-snip of the scissors filled the silence like a chattering telegraph machine. Every click made me feel a little better, a little more in control.

"You know, you don't need to lose weight."

I eyes shot open. Shizuru—in the middle of combing my hair forward to snip at my bangs—didn't meet my eyes. She'd placed a cigarette between her lips at some point, but it remained unlit.

"I'm sorry?" I said.

Without looking, she tapped my hand where it lay curled atop my smock—right on the backs of my knuckles, and the duo of small gashes above my index finger. I curled my hand under the smock on reflex.

"I know what that means," she said, bringing the scissors to my bangs. "I'm a stylist. I've worked with enough models, actresses to read the signs." Her eyes flashed momentarily to mine. "And don't think I gave you that gum just 'cause I like to share. Your breath gave you away, too."

Cheeks burning, I ducked my head. In my old life I'd employed a cadre of gums, breath mists, perfumes, and flosses to combat the telltale scent of vomit. Hadn't had a chance to amass said tools in this life. I'd only been indulging in this terrible habit for a day, after all.

"It's only been a few times," I mumbled. "I just—"

My words died. Shizuru waited. When I didn't talk, her lip curled with wry understanding.

"You just had a rough day," she surmised. "So it's not about weight, huh."

It wasn't a question, and it was the truth. I almost shook my head, by the threat of scissors near my eyes encouraged verbalization. "No."

"And the haircut is part of it." She stood back to look at her handiwork, hands on hips as she surveyed my hair. "Getting control, are we?"

"I know you're psychic like your brother," I grumbled, both annoyed and impressed by her deductions, "but can you read minds or something?"

Shizuru's eyes widened. "So he told you about that."

"Oh. Um. Yeah." Was it bad that I'd called Shizuru out on her powers? Kuwabara had seemed so shy of his. Maybe I—

But Shizuru remained stoic. Placing her scissors on the counter, she reached for the hair dryer and plugged it in.

"He must really trust you," she observed. Her eyes strayed to my lap, to my hidden hands. "You could trust him with _that_ if you wanted to."

The thought of it—of the shame of revealing what I was doing to myself—instantly made my head hang, avoiding Shizuru's watchful gaze. She let out a low, warm laugh.

"He'd be awkward and not know what to do," she said, affection coloring every word. "He might say the wrong thing. That's my baby bro. But he's there for you if you need anything." Her hand alit on my shoulder, heavy and present. "So am I, believe it or not."

Sincerity drew my attention like a lodestone. Shizuru's eyes were the color of amber, flecks of gold and green touching her iris with luminous variation—but despite their cool expression, I felt comforted. I felt…not _understood_. Not really. But I didn't feel judged, the most horrible of all sensations when dealing with a budding fixation like mine. That counted for more than Shizuru knew.

I put my hand over hers and squeezed. Her lips crooked, an inviting pirate smile.

"Thanks," I told her.

The word came out in a near whisper. Shizuru didn't reply. She just fired up the blow dryer and chased the water from my hair, smirk satisfied. Then she made a few more stray clips with the scissors before rubbing styling product between her palms and running her fingers through my hair. The product smelled of sandalwood, earthy and strong—not to mention gender neutral, mimicking Shizuru's impeccable slacks and suit vest.

"All done," she said. A mirror availed itself from the depths of her boundless beauty bag. "What do you think?"

I took a deep breath before holding the plastic, pink-framed mirror before my face. The inhale turned into an outright gasp when I saw Shizuru's creation. Punky, maybe a bit nerdy, with tousled layers and an edgy asymmetry, the haircut had transformed my features into…well. I still looked like Keiko, of course, but with the haircut came an odd _shift_ that revealed angles of Keiko's features I hadn't noticed before.

In a way, I felt I looked more like _me_ even if I had never—never in this life nor my past—worn this cut before. The change came from within, from a sense of poise one only feels after a new, much-needed haircut.

"It's," I said, and stopped. My lips twitched with an uncertain smile as my shoulders slid back, spine lengthening in a burst of sudden, cut-wrought confidence. "It's—I look—"

Shizuru chuckled. She took a lighter from her pocket and ignited the tip of her cigarette, speaking around the yellow filter like a gangster from a mobster film.

"You look like a bad bitch," she told me, cigarette bobbing with every syllable—and as smoke curled around my shoulders, I felt inclined to agree with Shizuru's ringing endorsement.

Hopefully this confidence followed me back to school, where Kurama waited in the greenhouse.

* * *

Voice muffled by the stillness of the greenhouse I called, "Minamino?"

"Over here," he said.

His voice came from the depths of the building, blocked by ivy, flowers, and herbs. I picked my way through the maze of planters and trellises toward the middle of the space, deeper than I'd probably ever been before. I didn't see Minamino anywhere—not until I stumbled upon a small sitting area in the center of the greenhouse, a grotto hidden amidst the plants like a fairy's secret retreat. A few chairs and a bench littered the space; to one side sat a bubbling fountain. Peaceful, secluded, lush—just the place I would suspect Kurama favored.

Despite the pretty scene, my mouth went immediately dry.

"You weren't in class."

I gasped, spinning to face Kurama as he appeared behind me. He stood with hands loose at his sides, gaze appraising and cool, color of his eyes livid in the jade-tinted light.

"And you're late," he said. His lips curled at the corner. "I suspected you might not even—wait. Your _hair_."

I put a hand to my bare neck on reflex, stammering, "Th-That's where I was. Not running. I just needed a confidence boost." I heaved a dramatic shrug, flipping the end of my bangs. "Nothing like skipping class and getting a fancy haircut to make a girl feel powerful, am I right?"

Too bad Kurama didn't seem nearly as pleased with my new haircut as I did. He remained silent, looking between my hair and my face for almost a minute. Soon he swallowed, touching his own hair to smooth it from his delicate features.

"It looks—different," he said.

My brow arched. "Wow. What a ringing endorsement. You sure know how to make a girl feel pretty." Laughter bubbled like the fountain in the corner, drawn to the surface by sheer absurdity. "Wow. Seriously, just _wow_. I go out of my way to—"

"Yukimura." The sound of my name stopped my words at once; his look of cool appraisal had returned. He asked, "Are you nervous?"

"Who, me?" I said with faux innocence. "Why would I be nervous?"

"You babble when you're nervous. You're babbling now."

I started to deny it, then decided it didn't matter. "OK. So I _am_ nervous." Holding up my hands, I said, "You caught me. Sorry, Minamino, I—"

One more, he cut me off. "You know my true name, and yet you still call me Minamino. Why?"

For a moment the only sound came from that burbling fountain. Kurama watched as I weighed my options, calculating a response that would tell him what he wanted to know without jeopardizing our secrecy.

And we had need for secrecy, even if Kurama didn't know it yet.

"I just never know who might be listening." I gestured above us, at the glass roof, hoping my expression said everything my mouth could not. "That's all."

Kurama understood almost at once. His eyes widened, but just as quickly they narrowed again.

"Spirit World?" he asked.

Well, yeah—but that was too direct, wasn't it? Spirit World wanted to keep an eye on me, on _us_ ; it wasn't wise to discuss them so openly. Lucky for me, Kurama had that covered.

"You needn't fear their eyes or ears," he said. "Not when you're with me."

My fear collapsed, making room for embarrassment. Of course he had it covered—but how? "What, you got a magic anti-listening device or something?" I muttered.

"One can disrupt their methods, if one knows how," he archly replied, as cryptic and annoying as ever. Kurama then pinned me with a look of darkening humor. "You should know: they asked me about you while I was in custody."

My heart near 'bout burst, at that. "They _what_?" slipped out of my mouth unbidden. Taking a breath to compose myself, and halfway hoping he wouldn't tell me, I asked, "What did you tell them?"

"I told them you were a classmate, human and nothing more." He spoke with clipped assurance; I sensed no lie from him. "I told them I knew nothing, because that is the truth. I know _nothing_ about you."

Although his words gave me some comfort, I didn't like the emphasis of that final sentence, nor his look of intense, razor-edged inquiry. I stammered a thank-you, dropping into a habitual bow of gratitude—but Kurama held up a hand, skin tinged like new leaves in the greenhouse's odd light.

"Stop," he said. His eyes burned into mine like flares. "This is a warning, Yukimura. Spirit World suspects you, in some capacity or another. They suspect you of the same sin I suspect you: of being far more than you seem." He stepped forward; I stepped back, foot crunching over a bit of fallen foliage on the concrete floor. "Tread lightly if you intend to keep your secrets."

I said, "Thank you, Kurama."

He stopped moving, head listing to one side as if pushed by insistent wind. Amusement—dangerous, silken amusement I didn't understand—slipped over his face like a veil.

"You keep thanking me," he said, "but you need not do that."

He took another step closer; I backed up again, rabbit retreating under the predator's glare. Every step he took, I matched with one of my own, until we circled each other around the clearing like wolves fighting over scraps…only I knew there was only one wolf here. Or a fox, rather. Fear lapped at my veins, prickly and rough. Metaphors did not come easily.

"Allow me to be clear," Kurama said, each word as smooth as his gliding steps. "You saved my mother's life. For that, I owe you a boon. I will keep what I know of you from Spirit World. However…" At this his eyes narrowed; he walked faster, just enough to make me flinch, and in his mouth my name sounded like poisoned silk. "Do _not_ mistake my gratitude for weakness, Yukimura. I intend to learn everything you know about me, just as I intend to learn everything I can about you. Now that my mother is well, I will not have my secrets jeopardized. Not by _anyone_ , even if they've saved her life."

"I understand," I said, practically stumbling on my wooden legs. "I do, really—but you have to know I don't want to hurt you. Neither you nor your mother." I shook my head so hard it's a wonder I didn't give myself whiplash. "That's the last thing I'd _ever_ want. _Ever_. You have to believe me."

Kurama stopped walking. I did, too, but only after putting more distance between us. Kurama watched as I rounded the nearest bench, hands clenching around the backrest like it might shield me from Kurama's wrath…only he didn't look like he wanted to attack. Not like before. The tightness behind his eyes had slackened like the unfurling petal of a flower. The demon looked me up and down, long and slow, as if searching for a detail in my uniform that would tell him everything he needed to know.

I did not delude myself into thinking he had become harmless. Kurama was many things. Harmless was not, and never would be, one of them.

"In spite of myself, I believe you." Even he seemed surprised by that admission, pausing as I reeled. Then he shook his head. "Still. I must be certain. How much do you know about me, and how did you come to know it?"

I inhaled; held the breath like a stone inside my chest. Kurama waited in silence. Dark hair curled over his shoulders, glossy and muted in the tinted light like ink spilled along the curve of his pale throat.

"That's…a very long story," I eventually admitted. Because it was the absolute truth, I added, "I'm afraid I don't know where to begin."

"Start with my name," Kurama said. "How did you know that name?"

"Yusuke told me." I shrugged. "You were part of his case. He saw your uniform and asked me to make introductions."

Although the lie slipped easy off my tongue, because I'd rehearsed it enough times before (and because there was some truth to it), Kurama wasn't fooled. At once his eyes narrowed, feet shifting below him as if he meant to pounce. At once I recoiled; Kurama saw this and smirked.

"Based on your behavior when we met, you knew about me long before Yusuke did." His jaw inclined above his broad shoulders, a regal king regarding an unworthy commoner. "You're lying to me, Yukimura."

Because it was pointless to argue, I didn't even try. I just said, "Yeah. I guess I am."

A moment of silence followed. Kurama's lips pursed.

"But…some of what you said was true. Partly so, at least." He hated feeling confused, and channeled the emotion into another imperious stare. "Sit down."

I didn't want to sit. Staying on my feet, where it was easier to start running, felt infinitely preferable to the vulnerable state of sitting—but how far could I even run when it was Kurama who would give chase? If I hadn't been so completely freaked out, I'm sure I would've found the futility at least partially amusing. Certainly ripe for puns, commentary, or mockery, if nothing else.

I clamped my teeth around my tongue to hold back the laugh, rounded the bench, and sat, instead.

Kurama waited for me to get settled before moving. He grabbed a chair and dragged it, metal legs squealing, over the concrete floor to the space in front of me. There he sat with leg draped over knee, hands laced together and hooked over his thigh. The urge to scoot away to a safe distance was difficult to ignore, but somehow I stayed still.

"Now," he said. "Tell me how you knew my true name."

"Well." My fingers tangled in the hem of my skirt, fighting with fabric the same way my mouth fought lies, truths, facts, and fears. "Well. You see. I—"

Something brushed my wrist.

Light, feathery, like a dragonfly alighting—I didn't think much of it until I tried to shift my hand away. A pressure looped around my arm; I gasped, and this time I yanked my arm toward me. The tension pulled taut, cutting into my flesh like a policeman's cuff, and I tried to stand, to wrench my arm away, but when I looked down with a cry of fear, my body numbed.

A leafy vine had lashed itself around my wrist.

Somehow, over the rapid beating of my heart, I heard Kurama chuckle.

I don't know how I managed to stay calm as the vine—thick as my index finger, festooned with deep green leaves that shivered despite the calm greenhouse air—tangled around my wrist and crawled up my arm like a creeping snake. Watching plants move boggled the brain, a lifetime of associating plants with stillness rendering my perception of a moving plant totally unbelievable. I watched with my mouth open as the vine moved of its own accord up to my shoulder before stopping, one leafy frond just brushing my cheek.

It goes without saying that this was Kurama's doing…and despite the way my heart throbbed in my mouth, a spark of glee lit up inside me. A fangirl to the end, that's me.

"Oh," I said. "Oh, _wow_." I flinched when another pressure looped around my ankle below the bench, vine wrapping around it like a manacle. Kurama's cool eyes betrayed nothing when I looked at him. My breathing hitched; my mouth twitched; Kurama's assertion came true when words tumbled nervous from my mouth. "Um. So. I know I should be scared, but this is _really_ cool to see in person."

His brow lifted, skepticism apparent. My hysterical smile widened—but when something brushed the nape of my neck, my grin crumbled into a horrified gasp. More vines tumbled over the back of my bench, pooling in a writhing mass next to me on the seat, rattlesnakes balling up for the winter. The hiss and shiver of the leaves even sounded like the warning signal of those venomous reptiles.

Too bad for me those plants homed a monster infinitely more dangerous than a mere snake.

From the center of the mass of vines rose a single, curling stem. Like a video played at high speed, the stem grew, and grew, rising above the vines and unfurling broad leaves edged with sharp tines. A bud formed at the tip of the stem, small as a fist at first, but with every second it swelled larger and larger, growing weed-like until the bench's metal legs groaned with the strain of its great weight.

"Interesting," Kurama said.

I glanced his way, a monumental task given how the flower had transfixed me. "What is?"

He chuckled. " _You_ are."

"…y'know, in some cultures, calling someone 'interesting' is a grave insult."

He blinked with manufactured innocence. "Is it? I merely meant that it's interesting you aren't screaming," he said—and he smiled like the fox he was inside. " _Yet_."

A ripping sound tore my eyes from the fox (who looked much more like a wolf, just then, but _oh holy shit now is not the time for pretty metaphors_ ). Brilliant vermillion cracks formed over the surface of the massive bud, green leaves twisting and splitting until they unfolded with a trembling heave of sweet, woody aroma. A flower bloomed, heart a bloody red, petals edging into yellow at their serrated tips—and then those serrations grew longer, folded inward, thickening until they resembled pointed teeth more than the accoutrements of any flowers.

Because they _were_ teeth.

It wasn't until I saw the violently violet tongue undulating in the center of the flower, and noticed the ropy saliva dripping off the petals to puddle on the fabric of my skirt, that I realized what Kurama had summoned.

"OK, so this isn't cool to see in person anymore," I babbled, voice like a cat's frightened whine. "This isn't cool _at all_."

Atop its stem, the enormous carnivorous plant listed forward, more of its saliva dripping onto my bare knee. Its tongue wriggled and squirmed in the depths of its goopy maw, petals snapping together like eager jaws. I gave a little shriek as spittle flecked my face, hauling my leg up onto the bench so I could use it as leverage to put some distance between myself and the thing that probably, _definitely_ wanted to eat me.

"I could think of no better company to include in our soiree," Kurama remarked. He hadn't budged from his spot, lounging as if he hadn't just summoned a plant that could probably bite my leg off if it wanted. "It can sense deceit. It has a taste for it, in fact." His eyes narrowed, dangerous but amused. "Pray you don't provide it any food."

"Right," I said with a vigorous nod. Fuck my petty pride; just then I was willing to do whatever Kurama asked to save my sorry skin. "No lying, or else Mr. Chompy has a snack. I got it. Crystal clear. Mm-hmm."

"Good. Let's try again." Now Kurama moved, uncrossing his legs so he could brace his elbows upon them and stare me down with eyes that were somehow far more threatening than any carnivorous demon plant. "How did you know my name?"

Well. Shit.

Before the addition of Mr. Chompy, I could lie to my heart's content. Now, though, if what Kurama said was true (and I definitely didn't feel like putting Mr. Chompy's lie-detection skills to the test) lying wasn't an option. I hadn't counted on this. I knew Kurama could probably tell when I was lying—being a horrible liar wouldn't help—but I at least figured I could bend and stretch the truth. Now, though, a bend too far might leave me with fewer limbs…or, y'know. Dead.

I couldn't get out of telling the truth, unless I wanted to test Kurama's bluff…and I really, really didn't want to do that. But just how much could I risk telling him without ruining _Yu Yu Hakusho_ entirely?

Kurama watched, patient and silent, as I analyzed my options. Eventually I lifted my eyes to his and tried my best to seem brave. Did a shit job, I'm sure, but at least I tried.

"I heard a legend," I said, every word careful—and then I held my breath. Luckily Mr. Chompy didn't move. Relaxing, I continued: "This legend told the story of the renowned bandit, Youko Kurama the fox demon, and his death…including the day he became Minamino Shuichi."

Minamino would win the gold medal and the Brow Arching Olympics, especially for his efforts when he replied, "Are you _serious_?"

Words failed me. Instead I pointed my free hand at Mr. Chompy, who hadn't murdered me, and gave an emphatic nod. This story had worked on both Genaki and Mr. Chompy—hopefully Kurama would get on board, too.

Kurama scowled. "Even if my plant hasn't bitten your head off, you must realize that is hard to believe. Only the demons who met me in this life had any inkling I had ensconced my soul in human skin." His lip curled, so subtly I wouldn't have noticed if not for the telltale gleam in his eye. "Most who discovered the truth have been _rendered unable_ to spread rumors."

There could be no mistaking the implication—that Kurama had killed all who'd found him in this new life. My breathing sputtered, but Kurama merely smirked. He knew his attempt to intimidate had worked, damn him, and he wasn't so humble as not to show it.

"In any case," he said, "how did you hear this so-called legend?" When I didn't reply right away, his lips pursed. "You hesitate. I would hate for 'Mr. Chompy' to become impatient."

On cue, the horrible plant swung close again, fanged petals swirling around that fat tongue. I aimed a kick at the thing, tailbone planted firmly against the armrest on the opposite side of the bench, but the creature pulled away and I missed.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, I'm just trying to—" I shook my head, a strangled 'urgh!' humming in my chest—and then I pinned Kurama with the most pathetically sincere look I could muster. "Look, I'm sorry, but I don't know what I'm allowed to tell you. I don't know what I'm allowed to do or say. Because the last time I let my guard down, bad things happened." Squeezing my eyes shut, I shook my head so hard it hurt. "I want to tell you everything. I figured this day would come eventually—if not with you, then with someone else. But after what happened with your mother—"

"My mother?" Kurama said.

I opened my eyes. Kurama's shoulders had tensed, hands clasped tight where they hung between his knees.

"I…I'm _afraid_ ," I admitted—and I hated that it was true. "I'm afraid telling you too much could hurt you again."

"I don't understand," Kurama said…not that I blame him. I'd been less than forthcoming so far, with all my panicked prattling. I drew in a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts despite the fear pulsing like mercury through my chest.

"Have you ever heard of a changeling?" I asked—and Kurama's eyes widened. Smile tight, I said, "You and me, we both know a thing or two about stealing children from their mothers."

"Keiko." His eyes bored into my like drills forged of unbreakable jade. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that before you were Minamino Shuichi, you were someone else. So was I."

Because it was logical—because what I was saying sounded impossible—Kurama looked at the plant. When Mr. Chompy didn't lunge for me or rip out my throat with hungry teeth, Kurama directed his attention to me again.

"We're a lot alike, in that way." I attempted another smile, but I probably just looked sick. "Only unlike you, I didn't choose this for myself."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean that when I died, I didn't elect to take on a new form. This was _done to me._ " When Kurama's eyes widened, I placed my free hand on my chest. "I am Yukimura Keiko not by choice, but by design."

He considered this, face betraying nothing. He asked, "Who did this to you?"

"A boy." But that wasn't right. I frowned. "Only, he's too old to be a boy. But he _looks_ like a boy." I searched Kurama's face for any flicker of familiarity. "His name is Hiruko."

"Hiruko," Kurama repeated.

Hope burbled like the fountain in the corner. "Do you recognize…?"

"No." My hopes deflated. "Why did he do this to you?"

"I have no idea." My lips pressed tight together, displeasure and annoyance and rising apprehension making my words come fast. "I have no idea what he wants, why he did this to me, or what he's planning. He hinted he wants me to change things about this legend I'm living. To break the rules, in a sense." Atop my lap, my fingers trembled; I tried not to telegraph my discomfort on my face, but it was difficult. "But the last time I broke those rules, things went bad."

"'About this legend I'm living,'" Kurama repeated. "What do you mean by that?"

Although I'd already fed this story to Genkai, telling Kurama felt…different. Genkai, so near the end of her life, wasn't as ambitious as the still-youthful fox demon before me. There was a chance telling the truth might set into motion certain scheming on his part—but at the same time, he was smart. Too smart to fall into the trap of trying to outsmart fate, surely.

Too bad I couldn't afford to be wrong.

"Yukimura Keiko…she was a character in the same legend from which I learned of Youko Kurama," I said, every word picked with utter care. Kurama sat up straight, face schooled into an impassive, yet attentive mask. "When I died in my first life, I was reborn as a character from this legend. From _our_ legend." I swallowed to compose myself. "The events happening now, to you and to her…I knew they were coming, because of the legend."

Apart from the trickling of the fountain and the low hissing of the Mr. Chompy's undulating leaves, silence reigned. Kurama searched my face for almost a minute. His green eyes traced every line of my features, hunting for deception that even his plant could not sense.

"If not for that plant," he said at last, "I'd think you insane."

"I rather like Mr. Chompy, in that case," I said—and then I held my breath in case the toothy plant took my sarcasm for a lie. Luckily Mr. Chompy seemed to have a sense of humor, because he didn't so much as nibble at any of my limbs. This did not escape Kurama's eagle-eyed notice.

"Against all odds, you speak the truth. Or you _think_ you do, anyway." He leaned forward again, frown returning. "You died, somewhere else in space and time, and an unknown boy placed your soul in the body of a character you thought was fictional." A wry laugh escaped him. "It's _preposterous_."

"And yet," I said.

"And yet," Kurama solemnly concurred.

With a flex of long, lithe leg, Kurama stood. He walked away, hand mopping his face as he turned his back, feet propelling him toward the fountain in the corner. With hands clasped behind his back he stared at the bubbling water, trying to read the truth in its ebb and flow.

When his shoulders sagged, tension leaving them in a rush, a knot in my chest loosened in tandem. Kurama's eyes held cool serenity when he faced me once again.

"Against my better judgment, I will suspend my disbelief." He held up a finger at the sight of my giddy smile. " _For the time being_. If what you're saying is true, then in some odd, sideways capacity, you know the future by virtue of knowing this…legend, of yours." He hesitated. Amended: "Of _ours_."

I winced. Here we came to my greatest fear: my knowledge of the future, and Kurama's potential willingness to capitalize on it.

"Here's the thing," I said. "It's true, that I know what is _supposed_ to happen. But that doesn't mean what's supposed to happen _will always happen_. Ya feel me?"

"No." His lip twitched at my colloquialism, though, which had to count for something. "Explain."

"When I act in ways that don't correspond with the legend, the legend changes. Or it becomes inaccurate, maybe. It's hard to parse, like chickens and eggs and their respective origins." I shook my head to banish the urge to get metaphorical. "I've tried so hard to be like the real Keiko when it counts, but…I'm beginning to suspect that even if I acted perfectly according to legend, things would still change." His eyes asked questions his mouth did not articulate. I said, "How's your physics?"

"Decent."

"Do you know about the observer effect?"

Of course he did. Kurama practically quoted the textbook when he recited, "The act of measuring an outcome can change the nature of an outcome."

"Right. You try to measure the temperature of a glass of water, but the heat of your hand around the cup can change its temperature slightly." I nodded to myself, trying to quote the textbook, as well. "The observer effect is meant to explain the small variations in scientific outcomes caused by contamination induced during the measuring and recording processes, but…"

Kurama was far too intelligent to require further explanation. Eyes like lanterns with skins of backlit leaves, he said, "You think your very presence in this world has the capacity to change it, no matter how in line with the original, legendary Yukimura Keiko you behave."

"You're so smart." Although I was too anxious to try an actual attempt at flattery, the words slipped out regardless. Laughing, I said, "I honestly can't believe I kept my secret for this long. How did you not see it before?" When his eyes darkened, I hastily added, "But to your credit, you clearly knew something was off about me. You were just too distracted by your mother to invest energy into figuring out the specifics."

The darkness left when I soothed his pride. "Perhaps," he said, eyes now merely curious. "But _why_ do you think your presence can fundamentally change the plot of our shared legend? Was Keiko and important player in events to come?"

"Not really," I said, shrugging, "but big things often claim small beginnings."

Kurama accepted that without comment, gliding back to his chair. He didn't ask what I meant by that, for which I felt grateful. Although I'd mentioned Hiruko, hoping Kurama with all his advanced age had perhaps heard of him, I was not eager to hash out Hiruko's role in this any further.

I still had not had time to truly wonder at the vision—or perhaps the memory—Hiei had recovered in me. Until I obtained answers for myself, I did not wish to reveal more to anyone else.

After a moment's silence, Kurama rested an ankle on his opposite knee. Hands lying flat along the chair's armrests, he asked with all the gravity of a presiding judge, "Which events of the legend, precisely, have changed?"

Now I winced for a different reason—because this was about to get personal. Voice quiet with regret, I said, "Your mother wasn't supposed to come that close to dying. You were supposed to use the Forlorn Hope, ready to give up your life to save her." Kurama's eyes flashed, but before he could ask whether or not he was supposed to be dead instead of sitting across from me in a school greenhouse, I said, "Yusuke was supposed to help you use the Forlorn Hope the same why I did, only on impulse. You and your mother were both meant to live, without all the suspense and drama of me flying in at the last second to save the day." I ducked my head, remembering the dread and fear of the moment I learned Kurama hadn't saved his mother's life. "When Yusuke met me at the train station and told me you hadn't used it at all, I—I panicked."

"So _that's_ what the Mirror meant."

Of all the things he could say, that was not what I had been expecting. I blinked as he smiled, seemingly satisfied with whatever conclusion he'd drawn from my garbled explanations.

"'You seek to mend what has been broken and align destiny on its proper path,'" he said—and with a start I realized what he was getting at. "That was your wish, as described by the Mirror. I've been wondering for some time what the Mirror meant. Now it all makes sense." Smile brimming with understated triumph, he concluded: "Your wish was meant to fix the plot of the legend you've changed, by saving my mother's life."

"Yes." I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat, one summoned by the look of loving affection in Kurama's eyes as he spoke of his mother. "I knew using the Mirror for her would lead to this, to the revelation of my secrets, but…I couldn't stand the thought of you losing her."

Something about my words struck Kurama. He looked up, affection giving way to shock, staring as if I'd suddenly sprouted antlers. I hardly noticed, though.

"I'm sorry, Minamino," I said, voice gummy with emotion—with the guilt I still harbored for nearly ruining everything about Kurama's life. "I'm sorry I interfered. I'm sorry I nearly cost your mother her life." Now my throat hurt outright, eyes pricking and nose stinging as I tried desperately to hold back tears. "I caused this. It was my fault, but I swear to you, I never once meant to—"

"You didn't cause anything," Kurama cut in, tone smooth…and bemused. "I did not renege from my plan with the Mirror because of _you_ , Keiko."

I stopped breathing. Started again, shaky and unsure. "You...you _didn't_?" I asked.

"Of course not." His lips quirked, tone chiding. "Do you _really_ think me so easily swayed by the words of just one person?"

"W…well," I said, articulation fleeing in confusion's wake. "Well, I mean—isn't it _logical_ to assume I caused this?" When Kurama merely chuckled, I leaned forward as much as the binding vines would allow. "That night at the Lindy Hop, when you asked me about the kidneys, I was honest with you because I didn't think I'd change your mind. But your mind _did_ change." I shook my head, not understanding, not believing, because _obviously_ this was all my fault, and _obviously_ I was to blame for everything. "You mind changed, but I'm the big foreign factor, and if not because of me, then why—?"

I think he took pity on me, because by then I was obviously babbling with nerves, guilt, confusion, and desperation. When he held up a hand, I bit back my words and waited on a bed of nails for him to clarify.

"I should rephrase," he said. "I am not so easily swayed by the words of just one person…except when that person is my _mother_."

Kurama stood up as I digested that, trying to pull meaning with a brain too frazzled to think straight. He walked to the fountain again, once more turning his back on me.

"Before they took her into surgery, she asked a favor of me," Kurama said. "My mother said, 'Take care of yourself, my son. Live a good, long life. Be happy. Promise me.'"

His tone rang softer than perhaps I'd ever heard it—like petals calling on a gentle wind, perfumed and delicate. When he turned around he wore a smile to match. A slow, aching smile, filled with regret and love I could not begin to fathom.

"How could I deny a dying woman her final wish?" Kurama murmured. "In that moment, staring into her eyes, so full of love for me despite the pain of her illness, all my planning, all my intentions—they crumbled." He shut his eyes, lips thinning into a pained line. "We went to the roof. I held the Mirror in my hand, wondering what to do. I revealed the cost of the wish to Yusuke. But then Yusuke told me about his own mother, who had so mourned him when she died, and I…" Kurama's eyes opened, the pain in them edged with sardonic humor. "He's passionate, your Zombie-kun. Passionate, and persuasive."

It took a minute to remember how to speak. "When he sets his mind to it, yeah," I said. "He is."

Kurama smiled a moment more, but then the expression sank into solemnity. "After he spoke, my determination crumbled," he said. "I gave the Mirror back to Yusuke. I resolved to live the long life Shiori had made me promise to live." Though brittle, his voice held rough, ironic conviction. "I vowed to bear the weight of her death upon my shoulders every day of my long, happy life, until death claimed me, too—when I would see her, and apologize for all I had done wrong."

"You _martyr_."

The word came out like a lash of sharpened claws. Kurama's eyes popped wide, but his startled expression cooled when he saw the tears on my cheeks. They rolled unchecked, my breath coming in short, hard gasps as the utter Kurama-ness of his intentions sank home.

"You martyr," I repeated, but through my tears I managed an affectionate, broken smile. "You martyr. You masochist. You were planning to be _miserable_ on _purpose_!" I shook my head, laughing, sniffling, shaking at Kurama's dramatic convictions, born of such unwavering love for the woman he called mother. "That's so _you_. You're such a…!"

Kurama slipped a hand into his pocket. I tensed, expecting a seedling that could do me harm, but instead he pulled forth a folded handkerchief. I took it when he offered, dabbing at my cheeks until they felt chapped and dry.

"I'd be lying if I said your words didn't affect me," Kurama said. He stood no more than two feet away, gaze rife with soft regret. "But I'd be lying if I said they held a candle to my mother's dying wish. Perhaps you and Yusuke both softened me, so I could hear her wish and honor it, but…you did not cause my hesitation." At that his eyes hardened, though not at anything I'd done. "I did not enjoy that feeling of uncertainty. I promise you it will not happen again. You need not fear changing fate by speaking with my frankly; this I swear to you."

One final hiccup banished my tears. I handed the handkerchief back to Kurama with a nod.

"I admit it's tempting to know my own fate," he said. My heart lurched, fingers crimping the handkerchief into a wad at the sight of his eyes—calculating and cold, wheels behind them spinning with possibility. "I want to know more. I want to _ask_ more."

My breath trembled in my chest. "I—I know. It's tempting. But _please_ don't ask that of me."

His eyes shut, lips a hard line. For a moment I wondered, terror rising, if he'd force me to tell him what I knew. If I'd underestimated his _wisdom_ , even if he was just as intelligent as I knew him to be.

Luckily Kurama is as wise as he is smart.

"Don't worry, Keiko," he said. "I won't as that of you."

My hand unclenched, relief cooling my hot muscles. Though I could scarcely believe Kurama's words, this was what I'd hoped for: for Kurama to agree not to use my knowledge of canon for his own ends. But did he mean what he said? Mr. Chompy hadn't gotten, well, chompy…but would it dare take a nibble of its own creator if its creator attempted deception?

"If the future can be changed, telling me the details my future brings with it certain risks," Kurama said. His eyes shut again, smile doleful. "The observer effect."

"Yes," I said—because Kurama's intelligence was his own worst enemy here, and for this I felt grateful. "Yes. The observer effect."

"If I know I am meant to be victorious in battle, will I fight with all my strength to survive?" Kurama said. "Or will I count on fate to guide my victory, and lose thanks to my own hubris?"

"Yes." I nodded until I feared my head my fall off. "Yes, exactly."

"When you yourself don't even know why you're here, or for what purpose this puppet master Hiruko has manipulated your fate…it's too risky. The less I know of my own fate, the better." His smile took on a different quality, inquisitive and small. "Though I admit I am still curious about _you_."

I inhaled sharply. "Oh?"

With another small smile, Kurama resumed his seat across from me. "In light of my vow, tell me," he said as he settled in, "and tell me the truth: Who are you? Or rather, who _were_ you?"

"A writer, mostly," I said, because it was true. "Human," I added, because I thought Kurama would want to hear it. And I said, "No one of consequence," because it felt like the right thing to say.

But Kurama remained unconvinced. "That seems unlikely."

"And that's what makes this so _strange_." I shrugged ruefully. "I wasn't important. I wasn't special. I wasn't… _anything_. I was just normal. And now I'm here, with no idea why me."

Kurama's eyes darting toward the plant (which of course didn't move, because I was definitely telling the truth about all of that). He asked, "Where were you from?"

"Texas."

"…like John Wayne? Cowboys?"

My eyes rolled of their own accord. "That's such a _stereotype_. But yeah." Ticking off stereotypical you're-from-Texas questions on my fingers, I told him, "I knew how to ride horses, yes. I had an accent, yes. I owned cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, sure. No, I was not a Republican." Sitting back in my seat, I offered him a cheesy smile. "There. That should cover everything."

"That explains your proficiency with English," Kurama muttered after a moment's consideration. "Your accent is flawless." He paused, then asked, "How old were you when you died?"

"26," I said.

"You're 14 now. So, 40 years of collective experience."

"Math isn't my best subject, but that sounds right, yeah."

"Speaking of. You said were a writer."

"Yeah. No books, but I'd published short nonfiction and fiction a bit in journals. Some poetry here and there. Even got some award accolades for the nonfiction." I laughed, self-deprecating and dry. "Too bad I died before I could do anything of note, right?"

He scowled. "Publishing stories isn't 'nothing.'"

I tittered, disagreeing without saying why. My paltry publishing experience had been so far from my eventual, lofty goals that it hardly felt worth mentioning, let alone extolling. Luckily Kurama didn't want to argue the point. Eyes roving over my face, he took a deep breath—as if bracing himself for a tough question.

"Were you a woman?" Kurama asked.

The question caught me quite off-guard. "Um. Well, _yeah_. Why?"

"You don't seem married to human gender roles," Kurama explained. "It's difficult to explain, but in your carriage…" He managed to half-bow even while sitting. "I apologize if I've offended you."

"Oh. Don't worry. You haven't." I managed to deliver the first genuine smile of our entire conversation. "In my old life, I wore men's cologne every day. Some men's clothes, too. I don't _now_ because it would freak out Keiko's parents, but…" I tossed my short hair with a comically snooty huff. "Gender is performative, and I'm afraid I do not have the patience or temperament to always perform as others expect, sorry-not-sorry."

Kurama absorbed that with a smile of his own. Another moment passed; he met my eyes with trepidation, as if he regretted his questions before even voicing it.

"Did the legend… _our_ legend," he said. "Did it have a happy ending?"

Define 'happy', I wanted to say…but in the end, _Yu Yu Hakusho_ was not a story a story of darkness. Far from it. If anything, YYH had only ever brought me light.

"There were hardships along the way, many of them," I said, "and the journey was very long, but…yes." This was one bit of truth I could give him, I thought, that wouldn't jeopardize anything. It was too nebulous, too vague, to hurt. I told Kurama, "At the very end, it did have a happy ending."

Although he looked relieved at first, the moment passed. Brow knitting, he asked, "Were you and I—were _Keiko_ and I meant to meet?"

I wasn't sure if I liked the way he differentiated between Keiko and myself, although I often did the same; perhaps I had no room to complain. I admitted: "They knew _of_ each other. Acquaintances, more than anything. Getting transferred to Meiou is another part of the legend I broke." I shrugged, embarrassed. "I was supposed to go to Yusuke's school. Keiko and Kurama definitely weren't meant to be close friends or have conversations like this one. You and me—you and _Keiko_ —" (there I went, disconnecting us) "—that's new."

Kurama absorbed this, face inscrutable. "Yusuke is a part of this legend?"

"Yes. He was a main character." I didn't care to tell Kurama Yusuke was _the_ main character—didn't want to give too much away.

"I see," Kurama said.

I almost thought he was done asking questions, then, because Kurama fell silent, looking at his clasped hands without expression. An experimental tug on the vines holding my wrist and ankle told me we weren't done, however, a suspicion confirmed when Kurama raised his eyes to mind again.

"Do you regret meeting me the way you did?" he asked.

I couldn't reply right away—mainly because the question was so stupid it rendered me incapable of thinking. "W- _what_?" I eventually managed to grate out. "Do I—do I regret—?"

"Do you regret meeting me?" Kurama repeated, as if asking a question no more insidious than 'how's the weather?' "It's a simple enough inquiry."

"Wuh— _no,_ I don't regret meeting you!" My voice slipped out high and reedy, incensed and flummoxed and angry all at once. "How the hell could you ask that?! Of _course_ I don't regret meeting you! Not one bit, mister sir, and I'm mad you'd even ask such a thing." My tone dropped; I wagged a reproaching finger. "Now, I regret that close call with Shiori. Lemme tell ya, that's brought me _quite a bit_ of anxiety, my good, good buddy…but _meeting you_?" I threw back my head and laughed. "As _if_! Can you imagine meeting a character from a book you love? It's _amazing_."

Kurama's brow arched yet again, but this time it wasn't with skepticism—it was with a pleased sort of surprise, mouth curling into the barest of smiles that warmed me to my toes.

The warmth vanished under the weight of his next question, though.

"What is your name?" Kurama asked, innocent and curious and ignorant of all the ways that question tortured me. "Your _true_ name, I mean."

I didn't reply.

I couldn't reply.

Something told me that no matter how many times this happened, I would never be able to answer that question swiftly, or without emotion. Kurama frowned, a look of displeased thunder darkening the leafy color of his eyes.

"You know my name from my past," he said, all traces of humor vanishing. "You know details of my life, I presume, that I would otherwise prefer kept secret." What maddeningly fair logic; what horrible, hurtful, _correct_ logic. Tenor silken, delicate, and dangerous, he said, "It's only fair you level the playing field for me, isn't it?"

Wishing I could honor him the way he deserved, I said, "I'm sorry, Minamino—"

"Kurama." The harsh rebuke cut me to the quick. "Call me Kurama."

"Right. Sorry. Force of habit. I trained myself to only say Minamino, and, ah—never mind." The darkness in his eyes told me he wasn't interested in hearing my excuses. I snatched a breath like a net snatching fish from water, quick and merciless. "Sorry, Kurama. But I don't remember my name."

Now he was the one at a loss for words. Fragile surprise coated his features, threatening to shatter if he moved too swiftly. His throat worked when he swallowed. I swallowed, too, trying to banish the lump building in my neck.

"I'm sorry," Kurama said.

And it sounded like he meant it, too. I wanted to tell him not to apologize. I wanted to say it was OK. It wasn't his fault, and I was just fine without the memory of my first name. I wanted to deliver unto him a valiant, sunny smile and shrug it off, make some breezy, dismissive comment and change the subject like changing the TV channel.

I wanted to, but I could not. Instead my eyes watered; I pressed Kurama's handkerchief to my lips, eyes locked on my bare knees where they curled before me, still providing a barrier between myself and Mr. Chompy.

In the long, awkward pause, that followed, I tried very hard not to cry.

It wasn't easy.

"Keiko," Kurama said. "Are you all right?"

"My name was short."

My words surprised even me, as apparently they did Kurama. I looked up at his sharp intake of breath, matching that breath with one of my own. Our eyes met; Kurama had straightened, back ramrod erect as he waited for me to continue.

Continuing wasn't easy. It meant speaking things I hadn't yet had the heart to admit, even to my most private self.

"Sometimes I dream about it." Voice no louder than a whisper, I spoke the truth I'd avoided uttering my entire second life. "I dream about my parents, or a lover, or a friend saying my name—and I can't remember the sound, but it was a short name." Kurama didn't react when I smiled, a quivering ghost of a smile that didn't feel like a smile at all. "It was simple. Just a few letters, maybe just one syllable. It might have been a small part of a longer name. I think maybe it was a boy's name, even though I was a girl." I waved the handkerchief like a tentative flag. "Like Chris, short for Christina, or Al, short for Alexandra. Or maybe it wasn't either of those." When Kurama said nothing, I sighed. "It's just a feeling. But that's all I remember."

Silence descended like snowfall.

Kurama broke it to say, "What should I call you?"

I shrugged. "I've gotten used to Keiko. So that's fine."

But Kurama wasn't buying it. Jaw firm, he said, "Being accustomed is not equivalent to active preference." His mouth softened. "We could shorten 'Keiko', if you'd like."

I didn't say anything—because I didn't know what to do, what to feel. Shorten Keiko's name? I didn't have a name of my own anymore, but changing _hers_? I already had a nickname with Kagome. Hiei had called me Meigo. What would changing Keiko's name a third time bring to…?

"Kei," Kurama said. "I went to school with a boy named Kei." His confidence wavered; diffident, he suggested, "Would that make you feel more…?"

He trailed off. I turned the shortened name—a boy's name, one syllable, just two characters when spelled phonetically—over and over in my head the way a river tosses stones.

"Kei." It was simple. Cute. Boyish. A memory stirred, coaxing a small laugh. "I had a roommate named Kay in college, actually. She was nice." Bashful, I ducked my head, rubbing the back of my neck with one uncertain hand.

"Kei," I repeated with a glance at Kurama. "I think…I think I might like it."

Kurama's smile felt like a warm spring wind against my face. He stood, walked toward me, and extended one pale hand.

"Well then, Kei," he said. "It's nice to finally meet you."

I reached for him. His large hand enveloped mine and held it fast, American-style handshake reminding me inexplicably of home, of my old life, of America—but perhaps he intended that.

He knew the truth about me, after all—as much of it as I was willing to share.

"It's nice to meet you, too," I told him.

Beside me, Mr. Chompy shivered—but he did not bite, even though a part of me shrank at the notion I'd lost another facet of control alongside the privacy of my secrets.

* * *

We walked home through the early night in silence, neither quite sure what to say. What does one say after an evening like that, anyway? I had so few secrets now. Kurama had no secrets, either. Neither of us, in either of our fourteen years of living, had been honest with another person—but there we were. Exposed, together.

Granted, it was probably harder for Kurama than it was for me. He still knew so little about me, and I'd at least had the comfort of Kagome in the past few months, plus the fleeting moment of confession with the distant Genkai. My secrets were likely larger than Kurama's, true, but I did not envy how he must have felt on that walk home through the dark.

I did not envy how he'd feel when I revealed Spirit World had asked me to spy on him.

Luckily our conversation, presided over by Mr. Chompy, hadn't veered in a direction in which confessing Ayame's proposition had become necessary. I hadn't agreed to her offer yet, after all. Why tell Kurama about the contract before it had even been signed?

Perhaps I was deluding myself. Perhaps confessing just then would have been better…but I needed this last secret. I needed to wait until I had made my final decision.

I needed this last shred, this final _scrap_ of control over my own life, lest I lost control entirely.

"This is me." We'd reached the end of my street, stopping under the watery illumination of a streetlamp. Bowing, hands clasped around my bookbag, I said, "Thanks for the walk home. See you tomorrow."

Before I could go, however, Kurama's hand curled around my elbow—not a grab or a hold, but a gentle, encircling pressure meant to keep me without force.

"Kei, wait. I have to ask," he said, low voice imploring and insistent. "There's just one thing I don't understand."

I held my breath. Kurama searched my face until I felt I'd suffocate.

"Why the _puns_?" he asked.

I blinked at him. "The puns?"

"The references. The veiled innuendo." When still I did not react, he explained, "Calling me a demon and a fox to my face. You can't tell me that was unintentional, knowing what I know now." The fox in him had never been more apparent than when he said, eyes glittering all the while, "For someone who wanted to maintain secrets, you walked a fine line with me. It would have been smarter to simply remain quiet about what you knew. And yet—you nearly _flaunted_ your knowledge of me to my face." He shifted, coming deep into my personal space, looming over me even though I knew he meant me no harm. Not anymore. He asked, "Why did you do it?"

All I could do was laugh, eyes rolling with the absurdity of my own actions—and to cover the swift heat invading my cheeks. Before my courage could fail me, I told him: "Can you imagine meeting a character you've treasured your whole life, in the flesh, and then realizing that character would want nothing to do with you?"

He almost recoiled, remorse flashing across his features. "I didn't say I wanted nothing—"

"Oh—no. Don't misunderstand. You didn't do anything wrong." Curling my strange, new hair behind my ear, I regarded him from beneath my lashes, trying not to look as awkward as I felt just then. I mumbled, "Just…I wanted to get to know you, y'know?"

He didn't understand, bamboozled by my sheer weirdness. "So you made _puns_?"

"Well…yeah. I suppose I did." I shifted on my feet, looking anywhere but at him, because the truth of this hurt to admit. "I didn't think I was interesting enough to get your attention on my own, so…so I _made myself_ interesting. I turned myself into a puzzle to get your attention, so you'd see me." At that I grinned, big and cheesy, accompanied by an exaggerated, cartoon wink. "And it _worked_. Just look at us now."

Kurama's jaw dropped—just clean _dropped_ —and it was probably the most hilarious thing I'd ever seen in my life. Slipping from his grasp, I couldn't suppress the giggle building in my chest.

"Night, Kurama." I winked at him again before trailing off down the sidewalk. "I'll see you in school, OK?"

"Kei."

I turned. Kurama had shoved his hands into his pockets, staring after me with amusement mixed with…I wasn't sure. Not affection, surely, but something close to it.

"If it's any consolation," Kurama told me, musical voice carrying on the wind, "you are swiftly becoming the most interesting person I have ever met."

The blush could not be contained. It was atomic, enflamed, and thoroughly unwanted. I covered my face with a hand and spun, putting my back to him so I could hide the sign of my utter mortification—because oh my god, he had _not_ just said that to me. Not to _me_ , the totally normal girl in the body of another, totally normal girl. It was preposterous. It was unbelievable.

It was…nice.

But I sure as shit couldn't let on that it felt that way.

"Wow. What a ringing endorsement," I said, schooling my features into a scowl I could shoot like an arrow over my shoulder. "Remember what I said about that word being an insult in other cultures?"

His head tilted to one side, playacting the confused schoolboy. "Oh?"

"Don't 'oh' me." I stuck out my tongue. "And flattery will get you nowhere."

"No. I suppose it won't." He chuckled, the sound of wind through the trees. "I'll see you tomorrow, Kei."

"Yeah," I said. "See you."

I didn't turn back again. The night had gone well—better than I expected—and I was not about to tempt fate now. Given how many times I'd fucked up canon so early into the story, I would take whatever victories I could get, in whatever form I could get then.

Kurama no longer wanted my blood.

I counted that as a victory indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one thing I get a lot of is people calling me "interesting". But I think I'm really super boring? So I guess those last couple of lines are reflective of a comment I get sometimes, but one I have trouble believing. It's interesting the way my self-perception differs from how others (apparently) see me.
> 
> MANY HUGE EXHAUSTIVE THANKS to last chapter's readers! All of you were amazing and you made my week. The chapter came from a vulnerable place, and you made that infinitely worthwhile.


	46. Genre-Savvy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko makes a friend (or perhaps plural friends) and is given pep-talks (definitely plural pep-talks).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of eating disorder and associated topics.
> 
> Notes: "Senpai" is what younger students call older students. "Kohai" is what older students call younger students. Reminder the though they're in the same grade, Amagi is older than Yukimura by at least a year. Also, "reiki" is basically life energy.

My parents were working the kitchen, like always, when I walked through the door. Mom spied me from the corner of her eye and hummed, not looking up from the bowl of ramen she prepped with sure, deft hands.

"Keiko, honey," she said. "You're home late. Where have you—"

"What have you done to your _hair_?"

The interjection came from Dad, who had been stirring the big vat of broth in the corner. His hands slackened around the ladle as his jaw dropped; Mom's followed suit when she finally turned her head away from her work and saw me.

"I wanted to try something new," I said, tugging at my bangs. "Do you like it?"

Mom and Dad exchanged a Look. The bottom of my stomach turned cold, the hard surface of a skating rink.

"It's—well, it's very short, dear," Mom said.

"But you're still our pretty little girl!" Dad added, trying to be helpful.

"I just wish you'd told us about it ahead of time," Mom finished, with a nod of agreement from my father. "But we'll get used to it, I'm sure!"

My fist clenched at my side, nails scraping at the still-new wounds left there during the incident with Hiei. Although my parents didn't know it, they'd said the exact wrong thing: that they wanted to control me, even in a small way like knowing about my haircuts before I got them…and that would defeat the whole point of getting a sudden, for-me hairstyle.

Swallowing back a gummy sigh, I said, "Sorry. I guess I wanted it to be a surprise."

Dad cracked a wide, nervous grin. "Well, color us very surprised."

"Mission accomplished!" Mom chirped. "Now sit, and I'll make you dinner."

Mom delivered a rice bowl with veggies and shrimp to me, in the main dining room where I sat doing homework and occasionally waiting tables. Luckily my homework for the evening wasn't too strenuous—basic math, a history essay, a chemistry test to study for—and I could pick at my meal while I worked. Absently my chopsticks trailed over the rice, cabbage, and seafood, alighting on the sliced and marinated carrots before anything else. Their bright orange color appealed to me for some reason, drawing my eye and chopsticks like technicolor magnets.

I'd popped the first one into my mouth before I realized what my subconscious was getting at.

Horror surged, more uncomfortable than any nausea. Spitting the bright orange carrot into my hand, I slipped the uneaten vegetable back onto my plate and ate the more blandly-colored foods instead. Although Mom knew how much I usually ate and planned my portions accordingly, eating every last bite of her delicious meal felt like a battle, felt like my stomach had expanded past the point of fullness and was ready to burst by the time I'd finished the rice and shrimp.

When Mom came by an hour later to collect my dishes, she patted my head and tutted. "Keiko, you didn't even touch your carrots."

"Sorry, Mom—not feeling them today," I said.

There was no way to tell her I'd targeted them first, then avoided them on principle, because bright orange carrots were perfect for a binging marker-food.

Even though Kurama and I had put our feud to rest, and the stress of our dance along with it, it seemed I still wasn't past this…urge. This horrible act of self-loathing spurred into life by stress and fear. I went upstairs after dinner and paced across my room, feeling my stomach roil as sweat beaded between my shoulder blades. The urge to vomit was physical, yes, linked to the addictive adrenaline high triggered by purging, but it was more than that. I had only purged a few times now, but already my brain—conditioned as it was by the bad habits of my previous life—had linked purging with that high. The call of it tempted me, an addiction as difficult to describe as it was to kick. My eyes darted to the door, toward the hallway beyond and the bathroom waiting for me at the end.

My phone rang before the siren song could ensnare me. Halfway grateful, halfway angry, I snatched the phone off the cradle and snapped, "Hello?"

"Hello, Yukimura-san," said Amagi's cool, mild voice. "Do you have a minute?"

"Oh. Sure." Winding the cord around and around my hand, pulling it tight like an anchor line, I sat at my chair and propped my elbow on the desk. "What's up?"

"Just calling to check in." She paused. "How are you doing?"

"I'm OK." A lie, but she didn't need to know that. "Just got home. Everything all right?"

"Yes," care her smooth reply. "Everything's fine."

"Okay," I said.

Amagi hummed, placid. I expected her to speak, to tell me why she'd called, but she said nothing. My free hand tapped against my thigh, impatient for her to get to the point.

"So…need something?" I eventually said.

"Ah. Sure." There followed a pause so long, I wondered if Amagi had even possessed a reason to call in the first place. Eventually she figured something out, though, and said with conviction: "Right, then. I'd like your advice on a certain matter."

I blinked. "Mine?"

"Yes." She spoke with clipped assurance, confident and official. "Apart from the one incident with Hotaru, which resolved itself in short order, you have a way of avoiding social drama that I envy. I feel like you might have some advice for me."

Little did she know I stayed out of the teenage drama scene simply because I wasn't really a teenager. Smiling, I said, "It's weird to give advice to my _senpai_ , but sure. I'll try."

"If it's any consolation," she said, "you act much older than your age."

I would've laughed at the irony if I'd been in the mood. But I wasn't, so I just told her, "Yeah. I get that a lot."

"I imagine you do," she said—but before I could analyze her wry, knowing tone, Amagi launched into an explanation.

The scenario she described sounded typical of high school drama. Two of the fangirls were squabbling over a perceived slight, one born of miscommunication and pride, and as their _senpai_ , Amagi felt compelled to help them patch things up. Only in the course of trying to mediate, more miscommunication happened, and what started as hurt feelings had morphed into a full-blown fight.

The story took a while for Amagi to convey, explanation long and complex, attention paid to every small detail and word exchanged. The phone cord around my hand loosened with each word she spoke, tension in my shoulders abating as I listened to problems that weren't my own. Focusing on someone else's drama certainly had a way of taking my mind off my own, that's for sure.

"Well, it sounds to me like they just need to talk to each other," I said when she finished. "They've been communicating through other people and the rumor mill. Miscommunication is bound to happen when you're hearing things indirectly."

Amagi didn't sound convinced. "So you think they should just…?"

"Sit down and talk it out, yeah."

"I don't know if either of them is willing," she said. "Their pride hurts."

"Give them a bit of time to cool off, then. They'll come around." I injected my voice with as much stern gentleness as I could muster. "But before that, _you_ have to change some things, too."

I could almost picture her lovely mouth opening with shock. "Me?" she asked.

"You've been acting as their go-between," I said, trying to sound as non-accusatory as possible. "I know you have their best interests at heart, but it's their beef, not yours. Stepping in only makes things messier."

"But I'm responsible for these girls, aren't I?" Amagi asked. "Isn't it my job to mediate?"

"To an extent, maybe. But mediating isn't the same thing as handling it _for_ them." Leaning back in my swivel chair, I dragged a toe on the ground and rocked back and forth, back and forth, phone's spiral line stretching and compressing over and over again. "If you step out of the fray and stop facilitating them avoiding each other, they'll be forced to communicate directly."

"Ah," Amagi said. "I see your point."

"Yeah. Stepping out is the only way to get them to talk. Spread the word to the other girls," I told her. "Don't take sides, don't pass messages—just listen if they need it, and say 'I think you should go talk to her, not me,' whenever one comes to you about the other."

"You make it sound so easy. So simple."

"Simple, yes. Easy, no." I lifted a finger into the air, pontificating to an invisible audience. "It's human instinct to want to intervene when you see people hurting, but picking at a scab only risks opening it to infection. You can't baby people. You have to let them fight their own battles, even when they're your friends." Smiling to myself, I remembered all the fights between friends I'd mediated in my past life, and all the ways my good intentions had made things so much worse. "It's something you learn as you get older."

Amagi laughed. "Says my _kohai_."

"Old soul, remember?" I teased. "Anyway. Did I help?"

"I think so." She paused, and then she murmured, "Thank you for listening."

"Any time."

"And I'm here to listen, should _you_ ever need it."

Her words sounded pointed. Intentional. Like perhaps she knew I needed someone to listen to me, now more than ever—and maybe she did know that. She was psychic, after all, though in what capacity I couldn't say. It was too bad I wasn't ready to talk just yet. Not yet.

But maybe soon.

She didn't say anything more. Neither did I. We sat there, listening to each other breathe, in companionable silence until my chair let out an awkward squeak. That got Amagi to laugh again. She had a pretty laugh—not as pretty as Kurama's, but then again, nobody is as pretty as him. That _jerk_.

"Thanks," I said when I worried the line had gone dead. "I appreciate that." I stood up. "Well, anyway. I need to work on my homework, so—"

"Yes, it's late. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you."

The dial tone sounded like a bell, hollow and clamorous. I put the phone in the cradle and flopped onto my bed, massaging at the cuts gouged by my nails into my palm the day before.

A startled smile crossed my face when I glanced at the clock and saw the time.

I'd been talking to Amagi for so long, I'd missed the chance to purge.

* * *

The following Sunday, Hideki wore a charcoal suit and a black tie. I would've said the look _suited_ _him_ , but he would doubtless make me run extra laps for that terrible pun. Instead I walked up in my shiny leather shoes and blazer, gave him the once-over, and smiled my sunniest smile.

"Wow, _sensei_ ," I said, "you sure do clean up nice."

He harrumphed, tugging at his stiff collar. In truth, my suit pun wasn't even true. Hideki looked like he wanted to peel off the suit like a cicada shedding its skin, crawl out of the linen jacket and silk tie and leave them empty on the sidewalk outside the warehouse dojo. In fact, he nearly did just that. All the collar-tugging had set his tie askew.

"Here, let me," I said. Hideki tilted his head back, staring resolutely (or perhaps even awkwardly) at the sky as I tightened his Windsor knot and set it straight again. "You wanna tell me where we're going?"

Hideki shrugged. "You'll see."

Man of few words as he was, Hideki said little as I followed him through town, answering my questions with cryptic one-word answers or even mere grunts. From the warehouse district we passed through a residential neighborhood and then a shopping area, quaint and pretty with flowers in pots lining the brick sidewalks. I thought he meant to take me to lunch, give me a talking-to or dressing-down about my recent behaviors, but instead he led me straight to the front of a small bookstore. A sandwich board out front proclaimed that today a local novelist would be signing books and giving a reading—which was cool and all, but was Hideki a big reader? I hadn't heard of this novelist before (though his name was commonplace enough to sound familiar), let alone given Hideki reason to think I'd want to attend a reading by this "Sato Shogo" person.

Nevertheless, Hideki walked straight in the bookshop's open door, heading past rows and cases of reading material and straight to the back, where a large open space had been cleared and filled with chairs. Stacks of a blue-bound books burdened a table by the far wall, partially obscuring the man—whom I assumed was the novelist—sitting at said table. He hunched over one of the blue books, pen scribbling; a woman stood in front of him wearing a large smile. Probably a fan, if I had to guess.

Alas, she was the _only_ fan. Although the bookstore had cleared a space for this grand signing event, that woman was the only one present. Maybe the event was over, or hadn't started yet? I wasn't sure, but perhaps novelists (not to mention their novels) weren't so popular in this literature-bereft world.

My heart gave a little pang at that thought. My past life ambition had been to become a novelist. Was it even worth it in this world? Would people even read the books I still wanted so desperately to write?

Hideki didn't give me time to contemplate the matter, which was probably good for my nerves. He spotted the man at the table and waited until the woman collected her book and walked away from the writer before approaching. My sensei walked as silently as a cat to stand over the man, so quietly that at first our author didn't notice us. When he did lift his head and behold my sensei, he flinched—but then his eyes widened behind his rectangular glasses.

"Hide… _Hideki-san_?" he said.

"Sato-san," said my _sensei_ with a stiff, awkward bow. "It's been a long time. You might not remember me."

"Don't be silly. Of _course_ I remember you." Sato stood up, mouth moving between a smile and a confused grimace in turns. Eventually the smile won out; he looked Hideki up and down, shaking his head with pleased wonder. "I knew today would get a small turnout, but to think _you'd_ show up? My, my. It's been _years_." The man mopped a hand over his face, smoothing his thin mustache and the scruff on his chin. Almost as an afterthought he asked, "How are you?"

"Fine." Hideki glanced around, face as impassive and expressionless as always. "Where's Kuroko?"

Sato smiled at the mention of that name. I just stood there, because it meant nothing to me—not at first at least. But then:

Wait.

_Kuroko_?

"Ah," said Sato Shogo—the man whose name and occupation suddenly sounded all the more familiar, especially paired with the name Kuroko. "So this _isn't_ just a social call, or coincidence." He spread his hands, gesture supplicating. "I'm sorry, but she's at home with the kids. I'm afraid she doesn't come with me to book signings much these days."

"Damn." Hideki's lips pulled into a tiny, regretful smirk. "It was worth a shot, at least. But I suppose you'll do." Slate-grey eyes slid my way. "Come here."

Because my brain was busy piecing together clues, rapidly scouring the mental archives to make this all make sense, I did as Hideki asked without thinking about it. Sato looked at me as if noticing my presence for the first time. He wore his thick brown hair parted down the middle, looking for all the world like a nerdy writer.

Only there was more to him than that, wasn't there? A _lot_ more.

Sato's expression warmed when he saw me, father's instincts shining through. "And who might you be?" he asked.

"My student," came Hideki's curt reply. My sensei gestured between Shogo and I, face set in that same neutral mask I'd come to expect from him—and completely at odds with the bombshell he didn't even realize he was throwing me.

"Yukimura Keiko, this is Sato Shogo," my Hideki said. "Sato Shogo, this is Yukimura Keiko. Yukimura is best friends with the current Spirit Detective."

Sato's warm expression vanished—this time into remorse. Voice low, expression somber, he said: "Another one?"

"Yeah." Hideki glanced at me. "And Keiko—"

I knew what he would say even before he said it, because just then all the pieces clicked.

"This man is the husband of Sanada Kuroko," my sensei said, "the first Detective of Spirit World."

* * *

Shogo (as he bade me call him), was more than content to pause the book signing—"It wasn't very busy, anyway"—and go to a nearby restaurant to talk in private. We sat in a secluded booth near the back of an American-style diner, one with Formica counters and vinyl seats and very little American cuisine on the menu. This was both comforting and totally disconcerting, as Shogo (in a game attempt at casual small talk) made a comment about enjoying "foreign cuisine". I didn't have the heart to tell him the menu was mostly German.

I, of course, was _fucking flummoxed_ by the whole situation. How the shit did Hideki know Kuroko, for one thing, and how the hell hadn't I recognized Shogo's name the first time I saw it? Granted, he was a minor character in the anime who appeared for only one or two episodes, but still: I prided myself on my encyclopedic knowledge of _Yu Yu Hakusho_. I'd totally forgotten Kuroko's husband was a novelist in the first place! He would've been a great person to consult about the missing literature in this world. I'd have to pull my YYH-info-booklets from their hiding place and reevaluate all my notes just as soon as I got home. Had I even written down his name or remembered his existence when I made my YYH journals so many years ago? It had been nearly a decade since I made my journals, so there was a chance I'd jotted it down and just forgotten. Ten years was a long time to go without seeing the anime…

"I imagine you must be confused," Shogo said to me after a waitress (wearing a Superman costume, of all things) took our drink order. His smile seemed kindly, though it cooled a little when he turned to Hideki. "And to be honest, I am, too. It's been years since we've spoken."

Hideki—sitting with arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window into the street beyond—shot Shogo a brief glance, but he said nothing. I shifted in my seat, hands clasped tightly enough to impeded circulation.

"Can I ask how the two of you know each other?" I asked.

Hideki took a deep breath, though I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been sitting next to him. Eyes falling shut, he muttered, "I was just a kid when I discovered my spiritual powers. So was Kuroko. We liked to fight each other, and then we fought at one another's side when Spirit World recruited her."

Oh. Well, wasn't that interesting. Hideki was basically the Kuwabara to Kuroko's Yusuke, then?

"And somewhere along the way," Shogo cut in with a grin, "they met _me_. Never was as strong as Hideki or Kuroko, though I had my uses." He laughed, eyes on Hideki as if searching for confirmation. "We had a good time, the three of us."

Hideki grunted. But I knew him well enough to know that wasn't an actual agreement.

"Eventually Hideki went off to learn Reiki from some master in the mountains," Shogo went on. My ears metaphorically perked up at that. "What was her name?"

Hideki's mouth twitched the way it did when he was annoyed. "Doesn't matter." Shogo started to ask another question (as did I, actually) but Hideki didn't let us speak. He said, "By the time I got back, you and Kuroko were hitched."

"That we were," Shogo said—and his eyes turned sorrowful. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you first. Been meaning to say that for some time. But you didn't stick around long, and…"

"It's in the past." Shogo looked surprised at that, though Hideki wore the same cool mask as always. Eyes fixed carefully on the window, he said: "You're good together. She's happy. That's all I can ask for."

The two men lapsed into silence: Hideki staring out the window, Shogo trying desperately to catch my _sensei's_ eye, and failing. I, of course, was busy analyzing all the little implications hidden in the way Hideki refused to look at Shogo when he wished for Kuroko's happiness with the other man. History occupied the silences and avoided gazes, filled the nooks and crannies in Hideki's features and the pauses between his words. None of my business, obviously, but very interesting nonetheless. Eventually Shogo got tired of trying to crack Hideki's demeanor and heaved a sigh, pasting on a chipper smile as he shifted his body my way.

"So, Keiko," he said. "Your best friend is the current Spirit Detective?"

"Yeah." I swallowed, knowing I should probably be careful with how much I revealed—because Kuroko hadn't liked Yusuke too much when they met in the anime. "He is."

"That's why I brought her here," Hideki grunted.

Shogo grinned, eyes pleased crescents. "I suspected you didn't come to merely reminisce about the good old days." He looked directly into my eyes, then. "So. What can I do for you?"

"I apologize, but Hideki didn't tell me who we were meeting." Shogo's mouth parted in surprise at my blurted words. "I'm still getting my thoughts in order, and if you'll just give me a moment—"

Beside me, Hideki growled. "You're overthinking again." To Shogo he intoned: "Spirit World wants her to work for them."

Like a deer caught in headlights, Shogo looked from Hideki to me and back again. I sighed, simultaneously grateful for and annoyed with Hideki's blunt nature.

"Yes," I said. "That's right."

Before we could get down to the nitty-gritty, the Superman-server arrived with our drinks. I had a soda; Hideki ordered tea, and Shogo ordered coffee. He added cream and sugar in heaping dollops, contemplating the swirl of white into dark brown as he stirred with a silver spoon. The soda tasted like acid on my tongue; I pushed the drink away.

"I imagine you're reluctant to accept such a job offer," Shogo said once he took his first sip. "I don't blame you." He met my eyes with an expression of grave solemnity. "While Spirit World has the good of humanity at heart, they ask a lot of their Detectives. Sometimes too much. Spirit World won't hesitate to sacrifice one for the good of many." He pushed his glasses up his nose, smiling behind the light reflecting off the lenses. "They're quite utilitarian in that regard. Very Japanese. My wife gladly retired from their employ when we got married. She'd seen enough for one lifetime."

Gladly retired, huh. Interesting. I pretended to take a drink of my soda, hyperaware of Hideki's eyes as they fixed upon me, sidelong.

"What position did they offer you?" Shogo asked, leaning an elbow on the table. "Detective is taken already, so…"

"They want me to be the new Detective's record-keeper," I explained. This didn't feel like oversharing—not too badly, anyway. "The Spirit Detective's handler—"

"A ferry-girl?"

"Yes. She was injured, and they want me to keep an eye on the Detective in her place." I couldn't suppress a derisive snort. "They're calling it 'record-keeping,' but that's just a fancy word for spy."

Shogo's eyes narrowed. "You're reluctant to do it, I assume."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Since I couldn't tell him the real reason—that Spirit World wanted to keep an eye on me, too—I shrugged and demurred to his own explanation. "It's just what you said. They ask too much of those in their employ."

"But your age indicates you've only barely begun working with them," Shogo said, "so how could you know that?" He leaned forward, eyes intent on my face. "No. There's something more you're not saying."

Truth be told, I floundered—because I had not come here expecting an interrogation, and therefore I hadn't prepped myself to lie effectively. My mouth opened and closed a few times before I found the wherewithal to speak.

"I guess—I guess I don't relish the idea of spying on my friends," I said—but that was the wrong damn thing to say. Shogo leaned forward even farther.

"Friends _plural_?" he observed.

I froze.

"I thought you said they wanted you to monitor the Detective. So far as I'm aware, there can only be one Spirit Detective," he said. Tone oddly gentle, he asked, "Is there more to the story, perhaps?"

Beside me, Hideki shifted. "Who else did they ask you to watch?" my _sensei_ murmured.

There followed a long, tense silence—a silence in which I sat there, unmoving, because I feared drawing attention to myself might give the entire game away. I knew one day I'd have to reveal my secrets to the main _YYH_ gang, but that did _not_ include the husband of a former Spirit Detective and my martial arts master. Telling either of these people about my problems simply wasn't in the plan. What the fuck consequences would there be, and how the hell could I ever hope to anticipate them? And now that these two were sitting here staring me in the face, trying to drag out answers, I just couldn't—

Luckily, Shogo took pity on me.

"Hideki," he said. "I'm sorry, but could I speak with Yukimura in private?"

My sensei shrugged, but he didn't argue. "Suit yourself."

We played booth-shuffle so he could get up and walk outside. I watched him through the window as he went to the café's patio and sat down, ordering something else from a waitress dressed inexplicably in lederhosen. He shot me one blank look through the window before turning pointedly away to watch the cars pass on the street.

"Now," Shogo said. "Hopefully you can talk freely." He wore the smile my father wore when he had to talk to me about hard subjects, kind and firm and gentle. "I understand there might be things you hesitate to say in front of your _sensei_. But you have my word that anything you say will remain confidential."

It was all I could do to stammer: "Thank you."

"In light of that, will you tell me what's really bothering you?" When I hesitated, his smile deepened. "Perhaps this will help: I know you knew who I was before Hideki said my name."

The booth fell out from under me, then. It's a miracle I didn't flop in a shocked, boneless puddle to the floor. Shogo seemed amused at my fish-out-of-water gaping, the way my mouth opened and closed again as I tried in vain to form words. _Any_ words.

"Well," I said. "Wuh— _well_." I scrabbled for the only excuse available to my addled mind. "You're a novelist, so—"

"I'm not that famous. Not enough to recognize on the street, anyway." Another of those kindly, twinkly-eyed smiles. "And has anyone ever told you you're not a very good liar?"

It felt pointless to argue. I just stirred my drink and watched bubbles course over crystalline ice cubes, dejected and frankly too _tired_ of panicking to feel panicked. "It's a curse."

"And a gift," Shogo said. "Honesty is to be commended."

"Not when it gets me in trouble."

"Maybe so," he relented. "But the fact is, your face betrayed you as soon as Hideki said my wife's name." Once more he leaned forward. "You knew the name of the former Spirit Detective, somehow. Can I assume you're closer to Spirit World than even your _sensei_ assumes, to have learned her name?"

Ah, writers. Bless them for constantly looking for answers, and in this instance providing me with a handy excuse while doing so. Of _course_ he assumed I learned Kuroko's name through Spirit World. Passing a hand over my hair to gather myself, I gave Shogo the vaguest agreement I could voice: "That's one way of putting it."

But writers are more than just over-thinkers: they're observant, too, and Shogo was no exception. His eyes narrowed at my not-quite-admission, recognizing it for the dodge that it was.

"I see," he said. He took a sip of his coffee, set it aside, and placed his hands, palms up, on the table. "If you're reluctant to talk, perhaps I can do the talking for you," he said. "Give me your hands."

I started to do so—only a memory of the anime, of Shogo reading Yusuke's palms with alarming accuracy, popped like our superhero waitress into my head to save the day. My hands vanished back under the table almost of their own accord. At this Shogo merely laughed.

"Even in your silence, you reveal yourself," he said, bemused. "You already know I read palms, I see."

My cheeks burned, because _holy shit, this guy!_ There was no fooling him, was there? Of all the adversaries I had to face, him I had not counted on. Shogo, oblivious to my inner turmoil, curled and uncurled his fingers, beckoning me.

"Nothing more than a parlor trick, I assure you," he said. "You have nothing to fear, Yukimura."

Shogo's fatherly smile and laughing demeanor were hard to deny—and to be honest, the idea of having my fortune read was more tempting that I'd like to admit, safety of my secrets notwithstanding. After all, in this world there might actually be some validity to the practice. I'd been a staunch disbeliever of everything even remotely supernatural in my old life, from god to superstition to tarot cards. Here in the world of _Yu Yu Hakusho_ , however, the limits of possibility stretched beyond the scope of my small sight. Was I a fool to pass up a chance to have my fortune read by someone who knew what they were doing?

"Sorry," I said, hedging. "It's just—it's just that the last time I had my palm read, the psychic chased me off her front porch with a letter opener."

Shogo gasped, stunned at that admission, mouth opening to ask me just what the heck I meant (and I meant it quite literally; it was a great story to tell at parties)—but he shut his mouth when I lifted my hands. He let me lower my hands into his, probably figuring that he'd scare me off if he initiated contact. Surprisingly, he didn't immediately peruse my palm. Instead he studied the backs of my hands: the small gouge above my index finger courtesy of my teeth, the mole by my wrist, the scar on my middle finger where I'd cut myself slicing tomatoes as a kid.

"Interesting," he said.

He turned over my hand and coaxed open my fingers, next, tracing the inside of them one by one before opening up my palm with gentle pressure of his thumbs. I started to wince when he brushed the crescent moon cuts left by my nails, but his touch elicited no pain. One by one he traced the lines he found, eyebrows knitting together with ever swipe of his finger or thumb.

"Interesting," he said again. "Very, very interesting."

My pulse lurched. "Dare I ask?"

"Your lifeline." He pointed at the line, where it started between my forefinger and thumb, and traced its downward curve to the start of my wrist. "There's a distinct fissure." He frowned. "I've seen gaps in lifelines before, but your line fissures, then merges together again after the break. Can't say I've ever seen the like, to be honest."

'Sweating bullets' doesn't cover it. Shogo wasn't sure what he was looking at, but even with my limited exposure to palmistry, I had a pretty good idea of what that meant: one life ended and another began, soul travelling from one life and into the next. But there was no way I'd be clarifying that for him today, thank you very much.

But perhaps he didn't need my help to see the truth.

"But more than that…you aren't from around here." Shogo lifted his eyes to mine with a puzzled frown. "It's as if you earned one lifeline here, and another somewhere else. And this line is deeper than it ought to be given your age." His thumb traced the line again, as if to truly understand its unusual length. "You are more than you seem, Yukimura Keiko."

I didn't reply. Mostly because I couldn't.

"Truth be told, I suspected as much as soon as I saw you," Shogo said. His eyes lost their mystification, confusion giving way to frank appraisal. "Your carriage, your eyes, these lines…they belong to someone who has seen more stress than their youth would suggest. Far more. But not merely in the past." He tapped the cuts on my palm, but not hard enough to hurt. "You are under immense pressure. More pressure than perhaps you've ever experienced. And you have the urge to pull away, pull back, isolate yourself to protect yourself from harm—but it won't work."

My breath stuttered like a bad engine. "W-what do you mean?"

"I mean that you're thinking of running. Of turning down Spirit World's proposal." Shogo grimaced when I gasped; his words were so damnably true, it almost hurt. "However…pulling away, drawing back, hiding…it won't help your friends as much as you think. And it will help _you_ even less."

His hands slipped free of mine, then, but only so he could cup them from below, squeezing in a manner far more threatening than reassuring. Dark eyes bored into mine as if to peer straight into the coils of my reluctant brain.

"You're afraid of losing control," Shogo said, "and running will ensure you do exactly that."

Our gazes held for a long time—so long I lost the feeling in my hands, lost the sensation of the booth pressing against my thighs. My head seemed to float free of its skull cage as Shogo and I stared at one another, body nothing more than the far-away memory of a forgetful soul.

Shogo blinked, and the spell broke.

"Oh," he said. He reached for the napkin dispenser on the table and offered me a tissue. "Oh, I'm sorry—here, take this."

Confused, I took the napkin—and then a drop of water hit the back of my wrist. I hadn't felt myself start to cry, but tears stained my cheeks like I'd been biking through a rainstorm. Embarrassed, I wiped the tears away and tried not to look Shogo directly in the eye. Ugh. Why was I even crying, anyway?

"Palmistry lets me see many things," Shogo said with a mortified laugh, "but if I'd known it would make you cry, I wouldn't have done it!"

"I'm sorry," I said on reflex.

"Oh, don't apologize. It's my fault." He scratched the back of his neck, smile penitent. "And I hope you don't mind, but…while palm-reading reveals much, simple observation is a powerful tool."

As though afraid he'd send me sprinting for the hills, Shogo reached for my hand—my right hand, the one curled around the napkin. Instead of looking at my palm, though, he simply took my hand in his and held it…but his finger drifted to the mark on the back of my knuckle. To that little gash carved by my careless teeth the day before in the bathroom.

"The stress," he observed in a voice like a gentle wind through flowers, "affects you in more ways than one."

Shogo didn't judge me. I sensed nothing but concern from him, temperate and kind. The knowing look told me he knew what the mark was from, but that he didn't consider me weaker because of it. I pulled my hand away out of self-consciousness, yes—but not shame. Nothing in his eyes triggered shame in me.

Much as I'd been stunned to meet Shogo today, I was beginning to feel glad for it.

"You know." He leaned his cheek on his fist, expression distant but fond. "I knew a young woman, once, who could probably relate to you." My brow arched of its own accord; Shogo continued: "She was overweight at a time when young girls are their most cruel. She tried everything to conform to their standards, to claim control of her narrative." His eye drifted to my hands. "Including what you're trying now."

It took effort to suppress a gasp of recognition. Hadn't Kuroko been vastly overweight in the anime, before getting a huge growth spurt? Was _that_ who he spoke of?

"Eventually, though, she discovered something about herself," he said with obvious affection. "A special talent, you might say. She was noticed by people who could bring that talent to fruition." If those 'people' where those in Spirit World who had recruited her as Detective, Shogo didn't say. "She threw herself headlong into her work and found that despite its own stresses and dangers, she rather loved it. That's where she found her control." He tapped the table with the tip of a finger. "Tell me, Yukimura. What do you love to do? Any talents, perhaps?"

Because he was a published author, and because in this life I was nothing more important than a girl who kept exhaustive records of her life in journals, it was with pronounced reluctance that I told him: "I write."

"Ah." He didn't appear to care about my bona fides, grinning so widely he looked more like an excited schoolboy than a father of two. "Birds of a feather, then! I can say from experience writing is one of the _best_ distractions."

"Agreed," I said. I'd escaped from reality and into my work too many times to quibble.

Shogo lifted his coffee mug. "From one writer to another: may you find solace in your work, and may the words flow ever free."

At his encouragement, I lifted my drink, clinked his mug, and added my murmured ' _kampai'_ to his vigorous recitation of the same. We both drank; the soda tasted better this time around, though perhaps a bit too sweet.

The moment of levity ended soon enough. He drained his cup and set it aside, lacing his fingers together on the tabletop as he said, "But back to your more pressing matter."

"Spirit World," I surmised.

"Spirit World," he concurred. "Why _exactly_ don't you wish to associate with them?"

This man…though I hadn't factored him into any of my planning, I liked him, probably more than I'd have guessed had I remembered him ahead of time. The kindly father-figure with insight into the supernatural, not as gruff as Hideki, not as out-of-the-loop as my father by birth. Shogo had a unique window into what it meant to be close with a Spirit Detective, making him a valuable resource in this second life of mine.

Plus, he was a writer. I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that that endeared him to me somewhat. I obviously couldn't tell him everything, but he had already intuited so much…

"There are things I don't want Spirit World knowing about me." I shrugged. "You saw my palms."

"I did," said Shogo. "But I don't know _what_ I saw. Not really."

Shaking my head, I told him, "I can't tell you what those lines mean, and I'm sorry about that, but…you're a writer." At that I smiled. "You _must_ know the trope of keeping information to yourself in order to protect others."

His expression walked the line between smile and grimace. "I do, though I admit I find that trope rather inconvenient."

"I do, too, but in this case, discretion is warranted. Trust me on this. You're better off not knowing." I sighed and sat back in my seat, stirring my drink until the very last of the bubbles popped. "The long and short of it is that Spirit World…they can't read palms, so far as I know, but they know _something_ is off about me. That same _je ne sais quoi_ you sense, I guess." Shrugging, I tried not to descend into self-pity at the thought of Spirit World suspecting me despite how hard I'd worked to remain anonymous. "I don't know _what_ they suspect, or _how much_ they know, but they said they found me 'interesting.' And that's enough to get my hackles up."

This time Shogo full-on grimaced. "I can see why. 'Interesting' is a dubious word indeed."

"Yeah." Leave it to another writer to see why that single word had set me so on edge. "Keeping them informed of my friends' business is a way for them to keep an eye on _me_ , too. Ayame admitted it outright."

Shogo sat up straighter, pushing his glasses up his nose with one precise finger. "Ayame? She's still advising the Detective?"

"Oh. No. There's a new girl, but she's…on vacation." Better not get into the specifics. "Ayame is just her placeholder until she gets back."

"I see," Shogo said. "Well, I can't say I envy your position. Ayame is pleasant enough, but her manners hide a razor's edge."

"Yes— _exactly_!" Shogo was becoming more and more relatable with every passing moment.

"Truth be told, I've based more than a few characters on her." He laughed with the faintest hint of unease. "But, um. Don't tell her I said that."

"Your secret's safe with me," I said, laughing too. "But yeah—she's _smart_. Totally character-worthy. And since I'd be dealing with her if I said yes to Spirit World's offer, I worry about her noticing the things I'd rather hide."

"Associating with Spirit World closely would give them access to your life, I imagine," Shogo said.

"Yes. So the way I figure it, if I want to keep secrets, I can't risk giving them that access."

Shogo nodded, processing this…but he didn't speak right away. Eventually he crossed his arms, hooking one leg over the other as he lost himself in thought.

"Actually," he said after a minute, "I think you _should_ risk that."

Surprise rendered me momentarily speechless. Eventually I managed, "What? _Why_?"

"Control." Shogo spoke the word with a confident smile, hands clasping tightly on the table. "Spirit World is trying to manipulate you, Yukimura. That is Ayame's specialty in particular. And with just one comment, she's sent you into a tailspin…and that tailspin might confirm all that Spirit World suspects about you." He leaned toward me, smile adopting a mischievous edge. "Who says _you_ can't manipulate _them_ right back, by taking their job as though you don't fear them at all? Why not manipulate them _and_ her?"

Nonplussed, I stared at him. Shogo stared right back, waiting for me to get on board—but what he was saying was impossible, wasn't it? I couldn't play _Spirit World_ , could I? Taking the job just gave them an advantage. They were too powerful, had too many resources, knew secrets of the universe a lowly human like me could never—

But when Shogo smiled, suddenly I wasn't so sure.

"I sense doubt in you, Yukimura," he said, "but you should know one thing: the denizens of Spirit World are much more _human_ than you think." His head tilted to one side, a troublemaking schoolboy about to prank a reviled teacher. "The beings they'd like for us to regard as gods are far less powerful than they'd like us to believe…and _you_ , I suspect, are for more capable than you even realize."

"You can't play a player," I said, too stunned to keep from speaking in English.

His brow knit. "Beg pardon?"

"Nothing, just—you're _right_." Jaw slack with wonder, eyes wide with realization, I stared at Shogo as though he'd just turned to diamond before my very eyes. "If I take the job, I look fearless. I look like I'm not hiding _anything_." Shogo's eyes bugged a bit when I swore, colorfully and vehemently. "I mean, I've been assuming they were just too powerful to manipulate, but—"

"But they're not," came Shogo's simple, laughing reply. "Perhaps I'm too atheistic to take gods seriously, but I've Spirit World make too many mistakes to take their word for gospel."

Now that I was thinking about it…I should've felt the same way. I was an atheist, too, who had seen Koenma's incompetency and King Enma's unethical treatment of demons in the anime. What was I doing, revering them and fearing them this way? I knew they made mistakes. Sure, they had resources I didn't, but Koenma was far from infallible.

Ayame was far from infallible.

And that meant—

"If you want control, take it," Shogo said. He tipped a conspiratorial wink, fond and fatherly. "I think it's yours for the taking, if you just know where to look."

He did me the courtesy of not talking for a while after that. The waitress came and refilled Shogo's drink, topping mine off with more ice since most of it had melted. When she left again, I placed my hand flat on the table and took a bracing breath.

"You're right," I said, with a grin of my own this time. "And as an added bonus, if I take the job, I can protect my friends from whatever Spirit World throws their way."

His eyes glittered behind his glasses. "There's that plural again."

"That pesky plural," I concurred—but I said nothing more. Shogo ducked his chin with a smile.

"I get it," he said. "More of what you can't tell me. But I suppose you're entitled to your secrets. We did just meet, after all."

Holy hell, his man was a _treasure_. "Thanks for respecting that."

"My pleasure." He tipped back his second cup of coffee and drank it down in just a few gulps; I feared for his safety, but he didn't look pained when he set the cup aside and stood. "Well, I suppose that's all the advice I can offer."

I stood, too, dipping a bow from the waist. "Thank you, Sato-san. I—"

"Oh. One more thing."

He looked at me the way he had in the bookstore: like he had seen me for the first time again, eyes narrow and searching. I straightened up and touched my hair, ill at ease under the weight of that gaze.

"The final thing I read in your palm," Shogo said—and his intensity softened just the smallest bit. "You are a caring person, Yukimura. You're sensitive and kind, and you care deeply for those you love. Some might tell you that's a weakness, but it's not."

He lifted a hand. It descended onto my short hair in a gentle, fatherly pat. I blinked up at the man—he was taller than I'd realized, a towering string bean of tender smiles and stunning insight—as he patted my hair like a doting uncle.

"Kindness, in fact, is a strength all its own," said Shogo. The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Though Hideki's _aikido_ is definitely worth learning, too."

* * *

"Though unexpected, it was good to see you, Hideki," Shogo said. "And good to meet you, Yukimura."

The three of us stood outside the restaurant, having paid for our drinks and abandoned the booth shortly prior. Hideki had shed his suit-coat at some point, standing with hands in pockets of the slacks he probably didn't wear too often. I dipped a low bow, trying my best to look grateful. I owed Shogo quite a lot, I figured, and he deserved appropriate thanks.

"Thank you for your council, Shogo-san," I said.

"Any time. In fact…" He reached into his coat and pulled a small white card from his breast pocket. This he handed to me with a flourish. It bore a printed address and phone number, plus his name. "You're welcome in our home for dinner any time. I'm sure my wife would love to meet you and learn more about the new Spirit Detective." His chortle warmed me to my toes; it reminded me of my dad's laugh, earnest and heartfelt. "Just be sure to call and warn us first, or our guard dogs might attack!"

He didn't explain that he really meant his _children_ might attack, but I laughed at the joke anyway. "Thank you. I will."

Hideki put a hand on my shoulder. "We'll be going, now," he said to Shogo. My _sensei_ nodded at the author with a swing of grey ponytail. "Give my regards to Kuroko."

Shogo's mouth thinned, a smile that wasn't quite a smile at all. "You know, _you're_ welcome to come by for dinner too, Hideki." His voice dropped low and pleading. "Kuroko would like to see you, I'm certain."

But Hideki wasn't so convinced, grunting a short: "I doubt it. Come along, Yukimura."

I followed Hideki down the sidewalk while Shogo waved goodbye, his eyes dark, sparkling crescents in his craggy face. I waved over my shoulder until we turned a corner and lost sight of him—and once we'd walked a few blocks more, I nudged my _sensei_ with my shoulder. He eyed me askance and scowled at the contact, brow rising the barest millimeter.

" _Sensei_ —thank you," I said.

He hummed—or grunted, rather. But it was a question, I could tell.

"I can't imagine that was easy to do." I had my suspicions about the dynamics of Shogo, Kuroko, and Hideki, but they were just that: suspicions. When Hideki didn't reply, I clarified. "I can't imagine it was easy to go to Shogo. So thank you for doing that for me. Turns out, he was the perfect person to talk to."

My teacher swung his eyes forward, face a neutral mask again. "No idea what you mean," he said, tone bland—but he was _trying_ to be bland, to not give anything away, wearing that dispassionate mask to shield himself the same way I wore Keiko-face to school.

Unable to help it, I started to smile.

"No," I said—because he was entitled to his secrets, too. "I suppose you don't."

We walked in silence the rest of the way to the dojo. Hideki loosened his tie at some point, unable to keep its restrictive length around his neck any longer. Once we reached the dojo, I bowed to him and bid him goodbye—only Hideki had other plans. Before I'd even gotten the words out, he started speaking.

"I won't ask you to tell me what you two spoke about," he said, "but I hope you know I'm trustworthy."

Nothing in his expression spoke of jealousy, or of hurt, but it occurred to me he might resent my immediate trust of Shogo and not of my _sensei_ himself. Smile apologetic, I said, "I trust you. It's just easier sometimes to confide in a stranger, especially if what I'm confiding could hurt them." I swallowed a lump of emotion, throat stinging. "I just…I want to protect the people I care about. And you're in that number, now."

His eyes widened the barest fraction. For a second I thought he might meet my touching statement with an assurance of his own...but I was wrong. Hideki was not one for sentiment, no matter how heartfelt.

"Oh, please." Hideki rolled his eyes. " _I'm_ the one teaching you how to protect yourself."

"Doesn't mean I can't look out for you in my own way," I said, greeting his sarcasm with my own. I pointed, teasing. "Your tie is crooked again, by the way."

He pinned me with a glare. "I'm giving you extra laps at practice."

"Eep!"

At that point I basically ran away, lest I anger my sensei and incur further penalties next practice. Hideki actually laughed as I beat my swift retreat, scratchy like a tree branch scraping a window pane.

When I reached home, my parents insisted I eat lunch with them.

Afterward, I went to my room, pulled the drafts of my old novels from their hiding place, and set to work.

That afternoon, I didn't purge. The distraction of writing worked—and even if it wouldn't work every time, or if I ran out of material someday, it could at least help me cope for just an afternoon.

* * *

It came as no surprise when I found Ayame outside my school one week to the day after she voiced Spirit World's proposal. Without a word I followed her away from school and back to the park where we'd first parlayed, under the shadows of dark trees that kept our secrets concealed.

"So you've come to a decision, then?" she said when we entered the clearing.

"Yup," I said.

While Ayame watched, I searched for a tree that wasn't oozing with sap and leaned against it, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. The meeting with Shogo played over and over in my head, his advice given a few days prior thumping like a bass track through my consciousness.

_Who says you can't manipulate them right back?_

You can't play a player, as I'd told Kurama. And I needed to be a player now more than ever.

"Yes," I said as I got settled. "The answer is yes." I left unspoken the fact that being hands-on would give me the control I craved, and the ability to protect my friends. "I'll be the record-keeper for Spirit World."

Ayame's full lips curved into a beatific smile. She bowed, thanking me with her body language even as she said, "Very good. I'm looking forward to working together, Yukimura-san."

"However—I have some ground rules."

To my frustration, my demand didn't appear to rattle Ayame one bit. She merely stood up straight and cocked her head to one side, expression cool and curious and not at all confounded (dangit!).

"Structured communication," I told her, gesturing in the vague direction of my school. "No popping in and out of my life or showing up at my school. I'd prefer a set meeting time and place." I delivered unto her my most weighty glare. "And I'd _much_ prefer you don't spy on me during my private life, when at all possible."

Ayame didn't even take time to think about it. Her smile returned and she said, "All reasonable requests. Consider it done."

I blinked, because I'd been expecting to have to negotiate. There went all the flash-card memorization I'd done the night before…but perhaps this ready agreement was an attempt to throw _me_ off balance. Schooling my features back into a polite mask, I said, "Very well, then. I'm glad you're on board."

Her smile widened. "You're doing us a favor, Keiko. We're happy to accommodate your needs."

_If you say so,_ I thought, but I didn't speak the snarky words aloud. Instead I just looked at her down the bridge of my nose and said, "OK. Down to the nitty-gritty. How does this whole thing work?"

"As stated previously, you will be expected to monitor Yusuke and Kurama, and to assist Yusuke where needed in his duties, barring fighting or placing yourself in any form of danger." She spoke as though she'd had flashcards, herself, speech smooth and rehearsed and memorized. "Materials necessary for Yusuke's duties will be delivered to your desk in your home as needed." At that she cracked a pleasant smile, demure and droll. "Don't worry. We don't need you to leave the window unlocked."

"Cool." Trying not to get creeped out at the implication she could access my home at any time was a feat of acting on my part, let me tell ya. "Anything else?"

"Yes. We'd like you to establish a weekly meeting with the demon Kurama."

My brow furrowed. I'd figured they'd just let me keep an eye on him without a formal meeting, but it's not like this wasn't doable. I'd be seeing him more than once a week as it was—especially considering recent events and conversations.

"Whether or not you reveal yourself as his 'parole officer,' as you called it, is up to you," Ayame said. She hid her smile with the sleeve of her inky kimono. "Is that a problem?"

"I believe I'll manage," I said, polite and cool—and vague.

Little did Ayame know I was already way, way ahead of her in that regard. But it wasn't the time to think about that just then.

Taking my acquiescence in stride, Ayame nodded. "Spirit World expects a report of Kurama and Yusuke's activities in writing, delivered directly to me each week. Perhaps we should meet Saturday mornings, here?"

"8 AM," I said—but it wasn't a request. It was a demand.

I think she knew better than to argue, given my tone. "Perfect," she said. One slender hand reached into her kimono sleeve, pilling from it a small object. This she held out to me. "Here. Consider this a distress beacon."

Pushing off the tree, I walked to her and took what she offered. It was, predictably, a small compact mirror—only it didn't have miniature screens inside like Botan's communicator. It contained only normal mirrors, exterior free of embellishments aside from a small pink rhinestone on the compact's silver cover.

"Press the mirror inside should you have urgent need to speak with me before our scheduled meeting," Ayame said. "I will meet you here as soon as possible in the event the beacon is activated."

Turning the object over in my hands, I muttered, "Nifty."

How cool, to get a Spirit World gadget—but wait. Why didn't I get an actual communication mirror? The ugly truth hit me in short order. Could I even see the screen of a communicator with no spirit awareness? Probably not. This was likely all I'd be getting in terms of fun gadgets. Just my luck…

Ayame let me examine the mirror in silence. When I finished I slipped it in my pocket and faced her once more. "So…is that it, Ayame-san?" I asked with faux pleasantness.

"Yes, unless you have any other questions," she replied.

I tipped an imaginary hat, smile coy. "I'll let you know."

"Yes." She dipped a goodbye-bow, which I forced myself to return. "I expect you will."

"Ok. Then I'll see you Saturday, Ayame-san."

Turning my back on her pleasant smile, I headed for the trees—only as I began to step into their ranks, something rustled behind me. Spinning, I flinched as a flock of birds took flight on the opposite edge of the clearing, an explosion of cawing crows lifting from the forest as though shot into the air by a cannon blast. Ayame wheeled to look, too, moving faster in her kimono than I think I'd seen from her before. Her long sleeves fluttered around her thighs like the wings of a bird far greater than any mere crow.

When the birds faded—flight blocked by the dark canopy above our heads—Ayame stilled. Her feet slowly pivoted her my way again, but her eyes stayed skyward, cast to the small ring of blue sky above the shadowy clearing. Eventually her gaze lowered down to me; she wore no smile, merely a look of empty appraisal

When our eyes met, her smile returned. It looked oddly brittle.

"Oh, Keiko?" she said.

I swallowed, nervous though I knew not why. "Yes?"

"There _is_ something else, actually."

I almost rolled my eyes, the urge nearly slipping free of the polite Keiko-mask I wore like armor—because oh, look. A dramatic reveal at the end of our conversation. How predictable. Instead of snark I opted for a mild, "Yes, Ayame-san?"

"Since you're already monitoring one parolee of Spirit World," she said, every word a proclamation all its own, "we do not think it unreasonable to ask you monitor one more."

My chest hitched, breath catching like a snarl of hair around the tines of an unfeeling comb…because _oh my fucking god_. I was genre-savvy enough to know _exactly_ where Ayame was headed with this—but I wasn't sure if I liked it.

Hell. I wasn't sure if I'd _survive_ it.

But Ayame didn't need to know that.

Making a show of thinking about it, I put my hand to my chin and screwed up my eyes in thought, not allowing an ounce of apprehension to slip past my careful mask.

"I could _probably_ handle one more, if it's just a weekly meeting," I said after a moment's ersatz contemplation. "Who's the lucky parolee?"

"You've met him before," she said—and if given the chance, I probably could've quoted Ayame's next words right along with her.

Oblivious to the heart beating rapid-fire in my chest, and to the myriad possibilities playing in endless, horrific loops inside my head, the reaper told me: "I trust you remember the demon Hiei?"

Before I could react, before I could say yes, the trees behind her stirred—but instead of a murder of crows, the demon in question stepped from the shadows of the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's why this "record keeper" plot exists: to keep Hiei around. Surprise!
> 
> Keiko needed a goddamn squadron of pep-talks, hence Amagi and Shogo in this chapter. And I've discovered I LOVE SHOGO SO MUCH. Keiko needed an insightful (and KIND) older person in her life, and I think he fits that bill really well. 
> 
> In the anime, Genkai sent Yusuke to Sanada Kuroko (the first Spirit Detective) for advice. Kuroko appeared to know Genkai pretty well and referenced her fondly. Kuroko is the main connection between Genkai and Hideki. I imagined Hideki, Kuroko, and Shogo were a little Spirit-Team "back in the day," not unlike the team that forms around Yusuke in YYH itself, and met Genkai at some point.
> 
> This hasn't been explained in the story, but Hideki was apprenticed to a martial arts and reiki master (same way Yusuke apprenticed to Genkai) and inherited that master's technique. Reiki seems a secretive art, and Genkai has implied in YYH that she knows other martial arts masters, so there's another connection between her and Hideki—she knew Hideki's old master and knew Hideki lived in Keiko's town when she recommended him as an instructor. 
> 
> I'm explaining this basically to show that YYH is a very small world. I love writing little fill-in-the-gaps bits like this. As for Kuroko herself, she'll be part of this story eventually, in a way I'm SUPER EXCITED TO WRITE ABOUT.
> 
> (Also, yes: I have been chased off of a psychic's front porch with a letter opener. Will write about it sometime. I really, REALLY pissed her off.)


	47. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this ironically named chapter, NQK recognizes the value of patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The chapter title is ironic since it's called "patience" and this installment is a day late, LOL AREN'T I CLEVER, no I'm not ugh sorry this is late)

The college cafeteria, with its bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the green expanse of the Quad, thrummed with the tense talk of my classmates in the grip of final exam panic. Malory looked across the Caf with dismay, leaning around the students ahead of us in the entry line to catch glimpse of the buffets. They sat on the opposite side of the long, brightly lit room like some distant, glimmering oasis.

"Aw, man," she said. "It's packed. They'll be out of pizza already!"

Pizza, she had told our study group, was her favorite Brain Food, hence the decision to meet in the Caf for our weekly meeting. I didn't have to lean around the girls ahead of us; I was taller than them by a good foot thanks to my favorite heeled boots.

"I'm more worried about finding a place to sit," I said, looking at the crammed tables.

At that, Mal heaved an enormous sigh. "Maybe we should get our dinner to go?"

Neither of us was sure. The rest of the group was going to meet us here; would they want to study elsewhere since it was so loud? As the line moved, taking us closer to the cafeteria doors, Mal sighed again.

"We better decide fast," she said. "Ms. Linney won't let us change our minds once we go past her." Another huge sigh. "Ms. Martha would let us, but Ms. Linney is a _bitch_."

The aforementioned woman, wearing a smock with a garish floral pattern over loose sweatpants, barely even glanced at the students as she took their ID cards and swiped them through the scanner. Hellos she returned with grunts; smiles she returned with scowls. To her left, atop the small table where she sat performing her duties, the periwinkle corner of a romance novel peeked from beneath a napkin.

"Seriously," Mal muttered as we drew close. "She's just so _mean_."

I hated that Ma's point was at least partially proven when she chirped a bright "Hello!" at Ms. Linney, and Ms Linney didn't return it. Mal trotted on ahead as I handed over my ID card; she stopped a few feet away to wait for me, an I-told-you-so splashed across her face.

"Hi, Ms. Linney," I said. "How's the book?"

She looked up at once—and then she grinned.

"Jo-Anna married the Count to protect Sir Henry," she said as she swiped my card. She didn't hand it back to me right away, though. "She's one smart lady, that's for sure."

"Oooh, scandalous!" I said, dramatically placing my wrist against my forehead. "But that's kind of sad. She's not with her true love?"

Linney chuckled, looking smug. "I think she's gonna learn she's pregnant and the marriage will be annulled. That's how things usually go in these rags." At that she rolled her eyes. "Don't you _ever_ write romance novels, you hear me? Write something decent."

"Will do!" I said, saluting. "You'd better have finished that book by the time I come back, though; I wanna hear the ending before the term lets out."

"Don't tell me what to do," she said—but with a sly grin. Knowing her, she'd have it finished by the end of her shift. Linney was a reader; even long, wordy classics only took her a day or two.

Linney gave back my card with a smile. When I turned to go, Mal was standing there with her mouth open. She shut it in short order, but as we fell into step and walked toward the buffet, she leaned toward me.

"How the hell did you do that?" she asked.

"How did I do what?"

"Get that harpy to _smile_?"

I shrugged. "I noticed she reads a lot, so I asked about her book a few months back." It had taken a few asks for Linney to actually start replying in earnest, but after a while she'd started being friendly with me.

"Huh." Mal looked, in a word, flummoxed. "And that got her to _like_ you?"

"People like talking about their interests," I said. "Show you're interested, too, and they open up even if they're a bit prickly at first."

It was as if I'd described nuclear physics to her, judging by the look on her face. "If you say so," she said, "but I've been nice to her a hundred times, and she's never smiled back."

As one of the three southerners attending my Midwestern college, many of my habits (holding doors for people, abundant small-talk, eager smiles and easy familiarity with strangers) had been viewed with bemused skepticism many times before. My southern hospitality had been viewed with outright suspicion in Chiago, when I'd opened a door for a woman who had her hands full and was thanked with a snarled, "The fuck _you_ want?" As we reached the buffet line, I gestured for Mal to go first and addressed the back of her head.

"My daddy raised me," I told her, wincing as a hint of southern accent slipped through. "He's friendly with everyone. Could probably make a rattlesnake feel at home, I've always said. So maybe I just picked it up from him and—"

"Jose!"

Mal darted off, having spotted one of our study group members in the crowd. The explanation died on my tongue. Reaching for a slice of pizza, I stacked my plate and followed Mal into the crowd.

It didn't really matter, why or how I'd made friends with the grumpy Ms. Linney. Mal wasn't interested in hearing about it, anyway.

* * *

Hiei's reflective eyes appeared first, fiery will-o-the-wisps summoned by the magic of a woodland sorcerer. His body solidified amidst the shadowy trees next, moving forward into the light like a shadow turned physical. He wore the same black cloak from before, the one with the trailing hem and the tear along a shoulder seam—but he walked with certain stride to stand ten feet from me, not limping or hurt in any way that I could see. Spirit World hadn't been too rough on him, I guessed.

Still. When he looked at me, he appeared pained—as though he'd smelled something foul, and the scent offended him.

Predictably, I found myself quite unable to move.

Ayame watched through shrewd eyes as Hiei and I shared a long, silent look. Eventually she stepped forward, standing neatly between us, looking at each of us in turn.

"Were the conditions of your parole explained to you?" Ayame asked.

Hiei's eyes flickered in her direction before settling back on me.

"Do not leave the prefecture," he said, voice gravelly and harsh. "Stay close to the city. Meet with _her_ once weekly."

The demon pronounced the pronoun with undisguised distaste. My body unlocked at that point, lips thinning into a hard line. _I_ was the one who should feel affronted by all of this, not _him_. _He_ was the one who'd kidnapped _me_ , the one who had hurt Botan and thrown my Record Keeper job into disarray. What right did he have to be resentful?

Ayame waited after Hiei spoke, but when he said nothing else, her brows rose. "And?"

His lip curled back. "And _what_?"

The reaper did not react to his snarl; her poker face was as good as Kurama's, probably. "There is one more condition," Ayame said, as if she spoke to an ornery child.

Hiei didn't speak. He didn't move. He stared at Ayame for a time untrackable—and then he ducked his chin and muttered something, words unintelligible but clearly derisive, that same ornery child repeating his teacher's words whilst being reprimanded.

"What was that?" Ayame asked with mocking delicacy.

Hiei's audible growl preceded a snarl of, "No harming humans! _There_. Is _that_ what you wanted?"

"Yes, it was." Ayame turned to me and bowed; she did not do the same for Hiei. "I'll leave you to it."

Her words had barely registered as a goodbye, abrupt as they were. "Ayame, wait," I said, reaching for her—but moving with surprising speed, Ayame slipped through the trees and disappeared behind their trunks. Pretty sure she'd pulled a Cleo and vanished, because when I ran to the trees and tried to spot her…well, it was very literally like trying to grab a ghost.

"Well." I shifted from foot to foot, staring after her in disbelief. "Well. Um. Never mind, I guess." I glanced over my shoulder; Hiei hadn't moved. "Hello."

The fire demon's lip curled. A small "tch" sound slipped from between his teeth—and then Hiei pivoted on one foot and started for the trees, himself.

"Wait," I said, because everybody kept abandoning me and that was just not cool. Hiei stopped, but he did not turn around. "We need to set up our meeting time."

For a second I thought he'd tell me to go fuck myself, or tell me that Spirit World's order didn't apply to him, or something similarly contrary. Instead his hands fisted at his sides, hard and unmoving and betraying tension Hiei probably didn't want anyone to see.

"I'll come to you," he said.

"No, you _won't_." The scarlet eye glaring over his shoulder would've scared me had I not felt so righteously indignant about his ridiculous suggestion. Drawing myself, I declared: "Sorry-not-sorry, Hiei, but you will _not_ come waltzing in and out of my life whenever you damn well please. We will have _structure_ , or Spirit World will have to find you a new parole officer." At that I smiled, tight and ironic. "And I can't guarantee they'll know how to make ramen like I do."

His brow shot up, nearly disappearing beneath the fabric of his white headband. I bit back another sarcastic line and put a hand to my head, eyes falling shut for just a moment. While mouthing off certainly felt nice, I knew with someone as taciturn as Hiei that it was a poor idea.

Schooling my features into a more neutral mask, I said, "Meet me at my house at sundown. We'll discuss more then." A glance at my watch had me wincing. "But for now, I'm late to school and need to go."

He made that 'tch' sound again, this time punctuated by an impressive rolling of his vivid eyes.

"Fine," he said. "Whatever."

Unlike Ayame, who disappeared between objects, or Clotho, who disappeared into the space between moments, Hiei disappeared much like he did in the anime: with athleticism. His knees bent, and with a flicker of black and a clatter of air so precise it sounded like a pool cue smacking an eight ball, he blurred from sight—moving too fast for me to follow with the naked eye. I stood there blinking at thin air until, distantly, the ringing of the school bell floated above the dark treetops.

Well, crap.

Even though I knew I'd get sweaty, I ran all the way back to school, stopping only briefly in the area with the shoe lockers to don my indoors slippers—and scribble a hasty note on the back of a receipt. This I stuffed into a certain locker, hoping that the owner would find the note and obey its instructions without being too much of an intellectual ass about it. My teacher made me stand in the hall during the first five minutes of the lecture as punishment for my tardiness, but to be honest, getting to be by myself felt…nice.

I'd likely become very social in the days to come, after all. Especially now that all four of the YYH boys were firmly affixed in different areas of my life. Alone time would likely turn scarce in coming weeks.

My classes passed fast, thank my lucky stars, lectures giving way to lunch without incident. Rather than head for the library stairs, however, I made my way through the halls to the back of the school. "Sorry, Kaito," I murmured as I exited the building and began the short walk across the back field. "But I'll be there in a jiffy."

The greenhouse, to my dismay, was empty. I called Kurama's name as I shut its door behind me, and I even walked to the little sitting area where he'd interrogated me to check for him. He didn't answer, nor did he reveal himself, so I sat on the bench with a sigh and put my head in my hands. Guess he hadn't gotten my note, after all.

But then, loud in the greenhouse's stillness, I heard the door click open. I sat up, head cocked in the direction of the door.

"Kei?" Kurama said.

Relief flooded my chest; I sagged back against the bench, crossing an ankle over the opposite knee and grasping it tightly with one hand. "Over here," I said as I lay my other arm along the back of the bench.

The sound of steps carried through the warm, humid air. Kurama appeared in short order. The pink of his uniform looked more like muted brown in the green light, though of course that same light only illuminated the green-glass of his eyes from within. He gave me a nod as he entered the clearing, but he didn't say anything as he sat on the bench opposite mine.

"You got my note," I observed.

The fox cross his legs, fingers steepling together above his lap.

"I did," he said. His lips quirked. "Kaito will wonder where we are."

"Well, he does always say he keeps me around so I can keep him on his toes."

"Yes. That's true." Kurama's smile faded, giving way to a look of pointed curiosity. "So tell me, Kei. How did the meeting with Ayame go?"

* * *

Five days earlier, directly after I got home from my Sunday meeting with Sato Shogo, I picked up the phone and called Kurama. He knew better than to ask why I wanted to meet, or perhaps his mother was nearby and he simply didn't wish to be overheard. Whatever the reason, he came to the restaurant within the hour. I met him on the front steps, hands twisting together like ropes snarled in a gale. He wore those terrible high-waisted mom-jeans so endemic to this time period, though somehow he looked good in them (what a _jerk_ ) and a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled back. Plain, simple clothes, and yet he looked like he'd stepped off a runway somewhere and gotten lost, showing up in a pedestrian place like this. It's criminal, how good he looked wearing black—a color I couldn't recall him wearing much in the anime. Hiei, that goth wannabe, needed to take notes. Kurama's red hair gleamed where it lay on his shoulder, red highlights made all the more visible against the dark background of his shirt, and above that his pale skin and those luminous eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark—

Stop it, Keiko. You didn't call him for a date, even if Kurama _was_ smiling at you with surprising warmth.

"Kei." My new nickname sounded oddly familiar when he said it, like Kurama hadn't coined it mere days ago. "I wasn't expecting another call so soon, let alone a request to meet."

"Yeah, well." I shifted from foot to foot, looking him up and down. "Consider the circumstances extenuating. Follow me."

He did so without a word. Just a smile, small and bemused, as I took us on a circuitous route through the restaurant to avoid my parents. We climbed to the second floor and headed down the hall in equal silence, until I opened the door to my room and stepped inside. Kurama paused, hand on the doorframe to look around. Surprise widened his eyes a fraction.

"What?" I said, affecting a comically cross expression. "Never seen a girl's room before?"

He smiled, laugh low and wry. "Can't say I have, actually. Not in this life."

"…Oh." But Kurama's romantic history was a mystery to ponder another day. I gestured at my desk. "Have a seat."

He sat; I leaned on the edge of my bed, too nervous to relax. Kurama's hands rested idle and unmoving on his thighs as he trained his eyes on me, expectant. Clearly he knew this wasn't just a social call, as well. I tossed my bangs out of my face and licked my lips. Somehow my index nail found its way into my thumb's cuticle, ripping at it like a piranha feasting on a carcass.

"Can anyone," I said, with a pointed glance at the ceiling, "listen in right now?"

Kurama paused, glancing at the floor. His eyes rose to mine with a reassuring smile. "No," Kurama said. "I have it covered."

"Good." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Said the following in a rush, not giving myself time to pause, to second-guess, to back down from what I knew I had to do: "Spirit World wants me to act as your parole officer and as Yusuke's handler. Maybe act as spy on you both. I'm not sure." I relayed Ayame's exact words with my eyes still closed, reconstructing her offer exactly as I remembered it for Kurama's benefit, even including Ayame's implication that Spirit World considered me 'interesting'. When I finished, I opened my eyes and found Kurama staring at me—expression totally blank, green eyes flat with suppressed emotion. Wincing, I said, "I'm sorry I didn't mention this sooner. I just needed time to process, and to decide what Ayame meant by everything." Taking a steadying breath, I spoke my intentions aloud for the first time. "I wanted to warn you before I accept their offer."

Some small, hidden uncertainty inside me gelled as soon as the words left my lips. _Before I accept their offer._ Ever since the meeting with Shogo earlier that day, I hadn't allowed myself to speak aloud of my intentions. Saying it aloud, even to myself, would make it all real.

And I'd been right. Now that I'd said what I intended to do, I knew there could be no going back.

Kurama's flat expression sharpened at my declaration, though I could still not discern his true feelings. He wore his masks too well. "So you intend to take the offer?" he asked.

"Yes." I attempted a smile, though I'm pretty sure it resembled a grimace more than anything. "I figure it would look suspicious if I _didn't_ take the offer. Declining would make it look like I have something to hide."

"Which you do," Kurama observed.

"Which I do," I agreed—and at that I let my look turn sly. "But they don't need to know that, now do they?"

"I suppose not," Kurama said (and now a smile peeked through that bland, calculating mask, which made me feeling better far more than it should have). Kurama leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "It's possible they don't suspect the truth—suspect _you_ , yes, but not of what you're truly hiding. When they asked me about you in Spirit World, the questions were general, leading, and unspecific."

A tightness unclenched inside my chest. "I'm happy to hear that."

"I'm glad." His lips twisted into a full, wry smile, then. "Your existence _does_ stretch the bounds of credulity, after all. I truly doubt they suspect the truth. They could, for instance, merely suspect you possess psychic powers they did not predict."

"It's possible." There had been no hints to real truth of my life aside from certain conversations with Kagome; since they'd only begun suspecting me after the Kurama incident, I doubted they were aware of those. "But if I'm to find out what they know about me, I need an 'in.' This job could be just that."

Kurama said, "Friends close…"

"Enemies closer," I finished.

Kurama's neutral mask slipped entirely at that point, making way for a conspiratorial laugh. "I admit the idea of them recruiting you is perturbing, but I think it's prudent to accept their offer."

My heart leapt. "You do?"

"Yes." He looked out the window above my desk, lips curled. "Spirit World would never expect a mere human to attempt to manipulate them. They rely too heavily on the respect of humans, on humans treating them with reverence and deferential awe. But pride goes before the fall, as they say." His eyes slid my way again, warming slightly. "I appreciate your candor on this subject."

I could scarce believe it, let alone form my halting reply. "So…you're not mad at me?" I asked.

"Why would I be? You're being transparent—the only thing I've wanted from you since the day we met." His low, musical laugh made my toes curl inside my socks; I tried not to look overtly please at that tiny Kurama-smile he wore, that subtle look more telling than any overblown grin. He said, "I can hardly complain at honesty from you, Kei."

"Always logical, that's you," I said, hiding my pleasure behind a joke. "I admit there's another reason I want to take the offer, though."

Kurama's posture straightened. "Oh?"

"I don't know what they're planning when it comes to Zombie-kun. Or _you_ , for that matter." My good cheer withered at the memory of meeting Ayame in the forest. "Ayame's wording…it _bodes_." But I pasted on a look of determination I didn't really feel, because I knew what I had to do. "If I take the job, I can warn you if they're coming after you, or after Yusuke."

The suspicion on his face cleared, making way for amusement. "What did you call it?" he asked. "Acting as an albatross?" Kurama shook his head, but he smiled as he did it. "It's so very like you, to protect others even while protecting yourself."

Agreeing with that statement would feel like paying myself a compliment, so I just hummed, noncommittal and evasive. Kurama laughed again—but then he sobered, one of his long, dexterous hands resting flat on the desk as he leaned toward me.

"Kei," he said. "I can care for myself."

My lips pursed; my brow shot up. "Haven't we been over my whole 'you-can-accept-help-sometimes' shtick before?"

"Yes. And while I recognize the wisdom in your logic, I would hate for you to suffer at the hands of Spirit World on my account." Kurama spoke with odd gravity, eyes intent on my face. "In fact, I will _not_ allow that to happen. Not to you. Not after what you did for my mother."

It felt like the air had been sucked out from the room. Almost lightheaded, not wanting to examine the solemn promise of his words too closely, I lurched forward and smacked Kurama playfully on the knee. He blinked at the motion, looking quite taken aback by my rolling eyes. The spell he'd cast over the room, and over me, crumbled.

"Oh, don't be so _dire_ ," I teased, trying to deflect with humor. "Worrying is _my_ job." I pasted on a look of overstated, cartoonish suspicion. "What are you trying to do, huh? Steal my job? Put me out of work?" I lifted a finger and pointed at him, head thrown back so I could stare dramatically down the bridge of my nose. " _J'accuse_!"

He bore my act with patience, matching it with a dry eye-roll of his own. "I'm allowed to fret, too, Kei. Allow me to be your albatross, for once." A teasing spark lit his eyes from within. "Or do you require me to parrot your own 'you-can-accept-help-sometimes' shtick back at you?"

I huffed, indignant, but I couldn't formulate an articulate response. Kurama's triumphant smile told me that he knew he'd won, but the smile faded when Kurama lifted his hand off the desk. He reached behind his neck, into the thicket of his lustrous hair—and my body reacted like a startled horse when he pulled a large round seed into view, legs propelling me backward over the mattress until I hit the wall behind my bed. Kurama blinked, lowering his hand as I gathered my knees to my chest and ducked my head, embarrassed.

"Um," I said. "Um, sorry. Gut reaction." To remedy his utter mystification I admitted in a small, mortified voice that "I associate plants with danger when you're within ten feet of them."

Kurama didn't react for a moment—and then he blinked, threw back his head, and _laughed_. It was the most heartfelt laugh I'd heard from him yet, rising from the depths of his chest like warm water flowing from a crack in the earth. A deeper sound than I'd expected from his smooth, sophisticated voice, too. I was so accustomed to hearing low, small laughs from him that this hearty chuckle reduced me to wordless staring, mouth dropped open, eyes bugging unattractively from my startled skull. Eventually the laughter faded, but the sound lingered both in his sparkling eyes and in my aching chest.

"A wise policy for my enemies," Kurama said when he stopped laughing. "Thankfully, you do not rank within that number." He held out his hand again, seed the size of a grape lying innocently on his wide palm. "This emits a field that disrupts Spirit World's typical methods of observation. I can ward them off with my own energy, but…"

"But I can't." Yet another manifestation of my powerless human nature. Ugh. Eyeing the seed, I said, "And that seed will do the dirty work for me."

"Yes. I am confident that this seed will provide you privacy. I admit I did my homework when imprisoned in Spirit World." His lips curled, but not into a smile. "A demon, doing homework. Seems my human life is sinking in at last."

"About time," I said. "You've only been human for 15 years."

"Though I wasn't planning on staying as such for this long," he said. "Seems I still have much to learn."

Tucking the seed into my pocket, I hopped off my bed with a bounce and a grin. "Well, thank your lucky stars you have a teacher." I jerked a thumb at the door. "Have you eaten dinner? My treat."

Kurama accepted the offer. My parents were, of course, absolutely delighted to see him, and even more delighted by the news his mother was set to come home from the hospital within the week. There followed a hundred offers to bring the Minamino family food, and of course they'd _love_ to meet Shiori once she felt well enough to come visit. Kurama bore these offers and overtures with grace—but more than once I caught him watching me interact with my parents with the oddest look on his face. Like he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing, or like something about my actions confused him.

But that, I figured, was a matter for another day, and I would not ruin this moment of sudden peace with my awkward curiosities.

* * *

"So Hiei is here," Kurama said. "I must admit that I'm surprised."

I didn't say anything. I _wasn't_ surprised Hiei was back, of course—but so soon? Just a week or so after the incident with Botan had happened? I thought Spirit World would keep him locked up for far longer, or at least not let him out of custody quite so fast.

"Was he meant to come back?" Kurama said. "In the legend, I mean."

Kurama had listened to my report about the conversation with Ayame in silence, asking clarifying questions only a few times when trepidation muddied my wording. We had planned to meet after school to discuss my scheduled meeting with Ayame, but I couldn't wait now that Hiei had shown up. I needed to talk ASAP, not wait till after school.

"Yes," I said. "He's supposed to be Yusuke's ally—but _eventually_."

Kurama's brows shot up at that, not that I blamed him. Hiei's sudden heel-face-turn in the anime had stunned many the viewer over the years, too. The anime's favorite homicidal edgelord had turned into an honorable swordsman out of absolutely _nowhere_ , and with no explanation other than Togashi simply changing Hiei's personality to better fit with Yusuke's group. It was a fandom mystery, wondering what had precipitated Hiei's shift in personality, trying to find a logical reason for a change that made no sense in canon.

And _of course_ , per my usual habits, I had to worry and wonder about what Keiko and Hiei knowing each other would do to canon. Was it my job to turn him into the kind of demon that would become Yusuke's ally, or would that happen without my interference? Or would he become something else entirely thanks to this new association of ours?

"You're worried you'll affect fate again."

My head jerked up. Kurama regarded me with a regretful smile, apologetic as though he'd been the one to cause my anguish. That martyr.

"Of course I worry," I said, closing my eyes. "I _always_ worry."

"I don't blame you. Not in this instance." I heard him shift atop his bench, clothes rustling in the still air. "Truth be told, I'm shocked Spirit World considers Hiei redeemable at all. He detests humans without exception, so far as I know. And he seemed particularly vicious in recent months." A pause, in which Kurama doubtless studied every angle of this problem. Eventually he asked, "What made him decide to aid Yusuke in your legend?"

"Pragmatism, mostly. Orders from Spirit World and the promise of parole."

That was the honest truth, of course…it just omitted the anime's aforementioned uncertainties. Was it worth mentioning that the 'legend' was hazy on the whys and hows of Hiei's conversion? Was it worth mentioning that King Enma occasionally brainwashed demons to attack humans, and that some members of the fandom had speculated Hiei could be counted among that number? I'd seen fans justify Hiei's early-series behavior with that excuse. Brainwashing would certainly explain the personality change…

"To be honest, the legend wasn't so clear about why Hiei joined Yusuke aside from the chance of parole," I decided to admit. Best keep some details to myself, because they might not even be relevant, and Kurama wasn't meant to know of King Enma's deceptions just yet. "It wasn't clear if you and Hiei kept in contact before Spirit World asked you both to help Yusuke, either."

Another brow lift from Kurama. "I'm meant to be his ally, as well?"

Uh oh. Was that too much to reveal? But it was too late to demure, so I admitted, "Yes. With promises of a scrubbed record for your cooperation."

Kurama nodded, considering this as he stared past me and into space. The fox didn't care to share his thoughts on the subject, sitting in silence under my watchful gaze. Eventually he shook his head.

"As for my continued association with Hiei," he said, "I doubt that's up to me. If Hiei does not wish to be found, he won't be. He'll come to me if he wishes, then and only then. So please: try not to worry about him, so far as I'm concerned."

I snorted. "Easier said than done."

His head tilted. "Are you nervous?"

"Who, _me_? Nervous?" My voice rose with fevered humor. "Are you kidding? Me, nervous? Never. I'm _never_ nervous. Nerves of steel, that's me!"

He pinned me with a look. "Kei…"l

"Oh, _fine_ ," I grumbled, deflating. "Of _course_ I'm nervous." I threw up my hands and shook my head, making a wordless sound of frustrated rage. "The last time I met Hiei, he kidnapped me and straight up tried to _murder_ my best friend! Of course I'm nervous! Hiei might try to straight-up murder me, too, and who knows if you'll be there to take a sword through the gut to save me like you did Yusuke? Also, by the way, thanks for that. Yusuke's important and him dying again would've been really, really bad." Dropping my hands, I looked Kurama over. "Speaking of which. Can I ask you something?"

He waved, indicating for me to go on.

"OK, cool. Well, it's been bugging me for a while now, but—why were you at the warehouse that night?" When Kurama arched a brow, I said, "In the legend, you went to help Yusuke since he saved your mom. But he didn't save her, so some of the connective bits for this story's plot aren't adding up."

"Ah. In that case, allow me to ameliorate your uncertainty," Kurama said with a small, amused smile. "Hiei isn't exactly subtle when he wants to show off. I could sense his energy, and I surmised he must be fighting someone." He paused, then admitted, "And _you_ were missing, as well. It wasn't hard to piece everything together."

"Missing?" I said, sitting up straighter. "How did you…?"

Kurama hesitated—which wasn't like him at all. I waited as patiently as I could (AKA, with my foot bouncing like that rabbit from _Bambi)_ as he stood up and wandered to a nearby trellis.

"I went by the restaurant the day after we used the Mirror," Kurama said, fingers trailing up and down the vines climbing to the wooden climber. "I went to get answers from you." Kurama kept his back turned to me; I could not see his face. "I found the bowls in the alley. Saw signs of a struggle. And when Hiei's energy lit up like a bomb, Yusuke's followed suit."

I hadn't known any of this. All I could manage was a small, "So you came to…?"

"Help you, I suppose," Kurama said.

He turned around, then. Our eyes met. The silence said a lot—but to be honest, I wasn't sure precisely what words it spoke. My relationship with Kurama was still so uncertain. We were so similar, our secrets so aligned, but this was so new, a path untouched by feet before…

I did not fear him any longer. But that didn't meant I knew what I felt yet, let alone what Kurama might be thinking behind those cloistered eyes.

"It's not often I act on impulse," he murmured, "but…"

"Well." I ducked my chin, rubbing shyly at the back of my neck. "Whatever the reason, thank you. You saved Yusuke's bacon."

"It was nothing," he said, voice cool but kind. "Repayment of a debt."

"If you say so." I stood up, stretching my arms over my head with a satisfying pop of shoulder. "I'll keep you posted about Hiei. I told him to meet me after school, though who knows if he'll do show up."

Green eyes flashed like thorns in moonlight. "Do you want me to be there?"

"While I'll admit the thought is tempting, no, thank you. Don't want to spook him, and he might still be angry with you." I made a show of flexing my bicep. "I can handle him."

"I believe you," Kurama said, smiling at my bravado, "but do know that you can call me should you require reinforcements."

I didn't look at him. I grabbed my schoolbag and busied myself with its strap, muttering a sidelong, "Sure, sure."

Kurama was smart enough to realize I was avoiding making promises. He stepped toward me, reaching until his fingers just brushed the edge of my sleeve. His scent of mint and earth carried on the breeze, calming and familiar.

"I mean it, Kei," Kurama murmured. "Hiei is dangerous." Green eyes searched my face. "You don't have to face this alone."

"I know," I said. I pulled my arm from his grasp; he kept his hand outstretched, then let it drop at the sight of my can-do smile. "But, ah…give me a chance, all right?"

It took him a moment to reply. "All right," he said—but he said it grudgingly, and I knew that if he felt Hiei's energy spike again, I'd more than likely wind up with an angry fox demon on my doorstep.

The thought, I will admit, brought me comfort.

We left the greenhouse in silence. Halfway across the back lawn, however, Kurama caught my eye.

"Kei," he asked. "Have you told Yusuke about Spirit World's offer?"

"Not yet," I said. Kurama looked skeptical. "Spirit World is suspicious of me, and I wanted to talk that out with someone who's in-the-know about me before telling him." I kicked at the grass, strands green and delicate with spring's new life. "Yusuke knows me really well. I haven't told him yet because he'd be able to tell I'm worried, and about more than just their offer. But I plan on telling him soon."

"Soon is best, I imagine," came Kurama's dry observation. "And you haven't told him your secrets yet, either."

"Yeah." I hated admitting it, but it was true. Yusuke, with his utmost importance to canon, was the last person I wanted to alienate with my secrets…but then a new thought occurred to me, one I eagerly grabbed as a distraction. Cocking a hip, I said, "By the way. Yusuke knows you're on parole and that you go to my school, so he'll probably find out that we're associating no matter what. Are you OK with me telling him about your—I mean, our situation?"

He shook his head. "I don't mind. He knows my true nature, regardless, and does not seem the type to betray my trust."

"OK. Good." I gestured at the school. "We should be getting back."

Kurama nodded; we fell into step beside each other, heading for the school doors and then the library after that. As I opened the stairwell door, however, I paused.

"Say, Kurama?" I asked.

His head inclined. "Yes?"

"Have you ever thought about telling your mother the truth?" I asked. "The truth about _you_ , I mean."

For a moment I wondered if I had crossed a line. Kurama's look darkened, eyes fixing on me like a wolf spotting a rabbit—but then one thin brow rose high. The tension abated.

"Have _you_ ever thought of telling _your_ parents?" Kurama inquired.

His tone said that no, clearly I had never considered telling my parents, and it would be useless to claim otherwise—and damn him, he was right. I opened my mouth. Closed it. Ducked my head, lower lip jutting in a sullen pout.

"Fair point," I muttered.

Kurama's low, satisfied laugh sounded like a smirk made audible. I stuck out my tongue and marched forward up the stairs, hoping that by the time we reached the top, my incriminating blush would have faded. Either way, Kaito didn't seem to notice. He just glared as Kurama and I appeared at the top of the flight, slapping his book closed between both of his hands.

"Finally," he said. "Now where, exactly, have you two been?"

Kurama and I traded a look. The hard edge to his green eyes faded as he adopted a cool, pleasant smile.

"Oh," said Minamino Shuichi, "we were merely exchanging pleasantries. That's all."

* * *

Promptly at sundown, I marched into the alley behind the restaurant with a bowl of ramen balanced on each hand. These I set atop a wooden produce crate, a crate flanked by two boxes to use as seats. I'd already arranged the drinking glasses, spoons, chopsticks, and paper placements, creating a makeshift table setting for tonight's featured guest. I'd considered finding some flowers for a centerpiece, but something told me Hiei might just set them on fire to be ~edgy~.

Despite my dramatic tendencies, I just didn't have the patience for that.

"Hiei?" I said when the last traces of sunlight vanished from the sky above. "Are you here?"

Behind me I heard a distinct flitting noise, the hiss of air parting as something moved faster than I could see. Turning, I found Hiei standing behind me with his hands in his pockets, hunched at the shoulders like he'd been walking through a storm. The light above the restaurant doors caught his eyes, brilliant scarlet color reflecting like an animal's in the gloom.

"Hungry?" I said. I gestured at the crate-table. "Sit."

Hiei did not sit. He just stood there, staring, until I lost my patience and rolled my eyes.

"OK," I said. "Be that way and stand, then."

The fire demon didn't move as I sat down; he merely tracked me with his gaze, watching as I cracked my chopsticks and dug into my ramen—and then his eyes flickered to the bowl sitting across from mine. Oh, so he _could_ be plied with food. Or at least tempted by it. Good to know.

"Spirit World has told me I need to meet you with once a week, as your…well. As your parole officer." I paused to slurp down a bite of delicious noodles. When I finished I set down the spoon and crossed my arms. "I'm thinking here, Thursdays, sundown. Is that acceptable to you?"

Finally Hiei moved, even if it was to simply curl his lip into a hateful sneer. "Do I even have a _choice_?" he spat.

"Well. Yes." When his eyes widened, clear surprise etched into his features, I raised a hand and started counting on my fingers. "I could meet you in the morning instead of sundown, if you'd prefer. Friday mornings before school I have a late-start day so it wouldn't be trouble. Tuesday nights are the biggest conflict in my schedule since I have _aikido_. But—"

Hiei's low growl silenced me. From between grit teeth he said, "Sundown. Thursday. _Fine_."

Prim and proper and polite, I picked up my chopsticks and chirped, "Good! Then it's settled." I scooped up another bite of noodles and blew on them, regarding Hiei over their steaming tangle. "So…what are you going to get up to while you're on parole, do you think?"

"That is no concern of yours," he flatly returned.

"Actually, it kind of is?" I said. "As your parole officer, I'm supposed to know what you're doing. But—"

Hiei didn't let me finish. Teeth flashing between snarling lips, he let out a derisive cackle and pointed one accusatory finger in my direction.

"Just as I thought!" he said, voice full and deep with darkly gleeful triumph. "You're just another _dog_ of Spirit World. For all your talk of pride the last time we met, you're nothing but—"

" _Excuse you, but I wasn't done_."

Hiei shut up real fuckin' fast when I suddenly started talking in Mom Voice. He actually stepped back a pace at my quiet, I'm-not-mad-I'm-just-disappointed tone, watching with grit-toothed apprehension as I patted my lips with a napkin and set my chopsticks down.

"Before you interrupted me," I said, "I was going to say that what you do _is,_ in fact, my business—but nevertheless, I will respect your privacy as best I'm able for the duration of your parole."

Hiei's eyes already dominated his face, giving him the look of a perpetually startled child, but just then they seemed to swallow the rest of his features whole. I suppressed a smile, trying not to marvel at how such a rude, prickly person could look so damn adorable. He'd likely main me if I told him that, anyway.

"Eat your soup," I said, gesturing at the bowl across from me. "It'll get cold if you don't hurry."

Hiei didn't move. I sighed and picked my chopsticks up again. Hiei reminded me of Sorei, my nearly-feral pet cat—unsure if I meant him ill or well, but tempted by the food I offered and surprised that I wasn't mistreating him. But perhaps it was with fire demons as it was with feral cats: patience and avoiding overt eye contact would win him over.

Eventually.

Maybe.

If he felt like it.

I ate my soup for about a minute before Hiei moved. His foot slid over the ground; I looked up and he froze, staring with that oh-shit-they-see-me expression cats wear when they're caught sneaking into someone's home. We held that stare until my eyes started to water.

"So," I said when I couldn't stand the silence anymore. "Do you want to eat your—?"

Hiei's eyes flared like sparks from a summer bonfire. His body rippled in the dark, and with a burst of displaced air the demon vanished before my eyes.

The bowl of ramen across from my vanished, too. I threw up my hands and scoffed.

"I meant eat _here_ , not—" The futility of arguing had me shaking my head and shouting full-voiced at the sky. " _At least_ give the bowl back when you're done, you hear me?!"

Hiei never replied. Part of me suspected I'd never seen that bowl again.

Muttering to myself about devious demonic ingrates ("My goddamn feral cat has better manners that you, Hiei!"), I gathered up the unused spoons and chopsticks ("What're you gonna do, kiddo, eat ramen with your _hands_?") and put the crates back where they belonged ("I went to all this trouble to be nice, but no-o, you've got a chip on your shoulder like the Mariana Trench and you stole my fucking bowl!"). This whole meeting had been anticlimactic as hell, not to mention annoying. Just how the heck was I supposed to keep an eye on him when he couldn't stand to be around me for more than ten seconds at a time?

On the plus side, he hadn't brought up the vision of Hiruko he'd seen in my head, in this very alley. I'd been wondering if he might, but I hadn't wanted to dredge that up with Kurama just yet (not when I still couldn't decide how many details it was safe to reveal about my association with Hiruko and Cleo). Not before I could ask Hiei himself about it.

Because who knew? Perhaps Hiei could bring to light more of what I had, apparently, forgotten. So long as he didn't try to use it against me somehow…

I put that thought out of my head and resolved to think about it later. Focus on the positive, girl. Even if this night hadn't gone to plan, and even if Hiei had all the charisma of a feral cat, at least nothing bad had come of tonight's meeting.

(Aside from my stolen bowl.)

(And Hiei had best believe I'd be following up with him about _that_.)

After I cleaned up, I took my dishes inside and grabbed a jacket off the peg by the door, shouting a goodbye to my parents and an excuse about needing to look something up at the library. The walk to Yusuke's house passed faster than I wanted it to (who me, avoiding responsibility? No way) but soon I found myself standing on his porch. I let myself in (I had a key, natch) and saw Atsuko snoring on the couch, empty bottle of liquor dangling from one unfeeling hand. Just as I crossed the room to pull a blanket over her, Yusuke appeared in the doorway to the living room.

"Keiko?" he said, blinking at me like an owl in a floodlight. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Yusuke." I straightened up, took a deep breath, and smiled. "Can we talk in private?"

* * *

Somehow a moth had winged its way into Yusuke's room. It fluttered around the light in the center of his ceiling like Icarus around the sun; I tracked its futile progress as I explained everything to Yusuke. As if by some cosmic coincidence, the moth found a place to land on the light's ensconcing fixture just as I stopped talking.

Yusuke took a long time to speak, stunned into silence by Spirit World's offer just as I had been.

"Well, isn't that just _great_ ," Yusuke eventually groused, every single syllable dripping with sarcasm. "Just fuckin' _peachy_ of them. I can really tell they _care_ about me." He rolled his eyes so hard it's a wonder they didn't come tumbling out of his head. "Spirit World can't be happy just butting into _my_ life; they have to butt into _yours_ , too." But he shot me a sidelong glance, one filled with wry accusation. "Though honestly, this doesn't surprise me."

"It doesn't?" I said.

"Hell, no! You're already so deep in my shit, _who else_ would they ask to watch my back?" He jammed his elbow into my ribs, cackling at my incensed expression and startled squawk. "You've got a severe case of the mom-face, Keiko. Too responsible for your own damn good, that's for sure!"

Like Kurama had days prior, Yusuke listened to my explanation of Ayame's offer in silence—only he'd listened with his mouth wide open, eyes bulging from his skull. When I finished he'd shaken his head and groaned, but luckily for me, most of his ire seemed direct at Spirit World itself.

"So you're not mad I took the offer?" I asked.

His lips puckered. "I mean, I don't like the idea of you being involved, but…look on the bright side. At least this way I don't have to worry about keeping things from you." His look turned sly. "Spirit World can't get mad at my big mouth if you're my assistant, now can they?"

"I suppose that's true," I said—but inside I winced. Yusuke was worried about keeping things from me, but here I was with earth-shaking secrets of my own…and he had no idea. When would the day come that I couldn't keep my secrets any longer, and was Kurama right? Was sooner best when it came to revealing them?

But now wasn't the time to ponder that. Better alone, in my room, where worry could consume me in isolation. I didn't want Yusuke sensing my discomfort. He had his own stresses to contend with.

"And besides," he was saying. Another elbow in my ribs, gentler this time. "This way I can watch out for ya if demons like Hiei get any more big ideas."

"That was my thinking," I confessed. "We're in this together. If I'm in _,_ I can warn when you Spirit World pulls stupid-ass shenanigans."

Yusuke scowled. "And that's probably going to happen sooner rather than later, knowing them." He flopped back, landing with a whump atop his mattress as he draped an arm over his eyes. "Gah! Why the heck did I even sign up for this job, anyway?"

Getting up, I sat in the chair next to his bed. "Easy. You took it so you could come back to life to hang out with _me_ "—I flipped my hair when he peeked out from under his arm—"your favorite person in the whole, wide world."

Yusuke sat up at once. "When the _hell_ did I call you that?" he said, chucking a pillow at me. "Now you're just making shit up!" I stuck out my tongue; he grabbed another pillow and threw it squarely into my face. "Don't make me cut a hole in your skirt again, 'cause you know I will, dammit!"

I picked up the first pillow and held it like a shield, warding off the third and final projectile he lobbed my way. "Fine, fine; uncle, uncle!"

We squabbled for a few minutes more while I re-made his bed and he groused about me claiming the title of Yusuke's Favorite Person (which we both knew was true, but no way would he admit it). Once we settled down again Yusuke let out a long, tired sigh.

"So what happens now?" he asked. "Do they give you assignments to give to me, or what?"

"I think so," I said. "They told me they'd leave case material on my desk."

Yusuke grinned, letting out a raucous, grudging laugh. "Ya know, for all the crap I say about Spirit World, they got _one_ thing right. You're way more organized than me."

I giggled. "You'd lose copies of case files in two seconds."

"What can I say? I've never been very good at remembering homework," he said with a delinquent's preening pride. "It's just one of my many talents."

I could only glower. "Y'know, that's not actually something to be proud of."

"Yeah, yeah, Grandma; whatever." He dismissed me with a nonchalant wave. "So what else? You give me cases and keep me focused? That's it?"

"Well." I shifted in my seat; Yusuke's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "There's _one_ more thing."

It was Yusuke's turn to glower. "Uh oh. _That's_ not good. I haven't seen you look this worried since I died." He smirked. "In fact, I think I just heard your butt-hole clench from across the room."

"Yusuke, _gross_ ," I said—but I could hardly be mad, not even when he laughed like a perverted hyena. "Sad thing is, you're not actually wrong." Now to cut to the heart of the matter. I took a deep breath and asked, "Remember Kurama?"

The name caught his attention at once. Eyes dark with sudden concern, Yusuke leaned toward me. "Yeah?"

"He's out on parole."

Yusuke's worry vanished, eyes once again bright as he pumped a fist into the air. "All right, good for him!" he said, pride and approval obvious. "What did I tell ya, Keiko? I always said he wasn't so bad. Just got a little lost trying to save his mom, that's all. _Any_ body would've done the same."

"Agreed," I said, but my happiness at Yusuke's good attitude didn't last. Bracing myself for a reaction, I said, "But…"

His eyes narrowed again. "But what?"

"But…he's also back at school." Yusuke blinked. I hesitated before blurting: "And I'm _sort of_ his parole officer."

"You're WHAT?!" Yusuke yelped.

"And I'm Hiei's parole officer, too—because he's also out of prison and _definitely_ living in town."

In a flash Yusuke leapt to his feet, right there in the middle of his bed. Arms akimbo, legs cocked like a cowboy swaggering down a boomtown avenue, his face resembled a tomato in two seconds flat.

"Are you freaking _kidding_ me?" he barked. " _You're_ going to be the _parole officer_ of _the demon who kidnapped you_? Who almost killed _Botan_? What the shit is Spirit World _thinking_ , letting a demon like that back into Human World?!" He paused, then repeated, "After what he did to _Botan_?!"

"No idea," I said. "But they must have some reason to think he'll reform, or—"

Or _nothing_. Yusuke bolted off the bed and scrambled for his hamper, yanking out clothes and tossing them over his shoulder in a storm of dirty laundry. Muttering under his breath about kicking diapered asses, Yusuke dug in the pocket of a pair of jeans and pulled forth a compact mirror. I had barely registered that this must be a Spirit World communication Mirror before he wrenched it open and bellowed into it, device held mere inches from his face.

"Hey, toddler bitch!" Yusuke roared. "You reading me up there? Because I've got a bone to pick with you and I'm two seconds away from getting hit by another car so I can pay your ugly ass a visit! You hear that, ya baby-faced asshole?!"

He paused. I got up and looked over his shoulder, but I beheld nothing more than a set of standard reflective mirrors inside the compact. So too, apparently, did Yusuke. He smacked the mirror against his thigh, then shook it before yelling at the blank screens some more.

"Koenma!" Yusuke screeched. "Koenma?! Answer me, dammit, or I'm comin' up there myself!"

Alas, no one replied. Yusuke shut the mirror and flopped onto the floor with a wordless cry of frustration. I sat by his side, trying to look sympathetic to his plight—but internally I heaved a massive, what-else-was-I-suspecting sigh. I'd had a feeling he'd react badly, but not quite to this level.

"Damn thing must be broken." Yusuke lifted the compact to his face so he could glare at it. "Or they're just _ignoring_ me, which is even worse, because they have some explaining to do, and fast."

"Yusuke, don't worry." When his eyes darted my way, I offered him a soft smile. "I'll be OK. It's all fine."

He sat up, rolling to his knees in front of me with a pointed glare. "No, Keiko, it _isn't_ fine. Making you my glorified secretary is one thing, but making you watch a guy like _Hiei_? That's nuts!"

He wasn't wrong, but he didn't know the whole story—that Spirit World was likely trying to throw me off balance with the introduction of Hiei, trying to stress me into doing something stupid while they observed me from afar. But I couldn't tell Yusuke that.

…right?

Keeping things from him was getting harder and harder. But where was the line? At what point would he stop trusting me if I revealed my origins? How long could I lie to him without hurting our relationship with my (probably inevitable) reveal?

I wasn't sure. And I hated that I didn't know the answer. But maybe Ayame would out me, make the decision so I wouldn't have to…

No. That was the coward's way out.

I'd figure it out eventually, I told myself. Soon. For the sake of my friendship with Yusuke.

"If you feel that strongly about it," I wound up saying, "why don't you come with me the next time I have to see Ayame?" His ears metaphorically perked at that idea. "It's certainly better than you killing yourself again to win a trip to Spirit World."

I was gratified to see his eyes light up with determined darkness.

"Yeah," said Yusuke. "Yeah. I think I'll do just exactly that."

Relief tingled in my chest at the sound of his acquiescence—because Hiei and Yusuke weren't meant to see each other again until the Saint Beast arc. I didn't relish the thought of them coming to blows before that, before Hiei had his change in personality (however that was supposed to happen). The question was, could I keep them apart until they were meant to meet?

And better yet…should I even be trying to keep them apart in the first place?

* * *

At home that night, after my various conversations with Yusuke, Hiei, and Kurama, all I wanted was to sink into a warm bath, drink my bedtime tonic of seltzer water with sliced lemon, and go to sleep. I needed—no. I _deserved_ some Me Time, dammit, full of blessed silence and indulgent self-reflection. After a day like the one I'd had, I felt destiny owed me that much.

Unfortunately for me, fate had other plans.

I'd have to give Cleo a good talking-to when next we saw each other.

Oh, I got my bath, and it was as great as I'd imagined. But I'd only just poured my seltzer and settled into bed with my journals full of stories when my phone rang. I debated answering, but in the end I grabbed it off the cradle and muttered a tepid, "Hello?"

"H-hey, Keiko? It's, um. It's me."

Kuwabara's gravelly voice was uncharacteristically quiet this evening, as though he didn't want to be overheard by whoever might be near. I sat up in bed and set aside my notebook.

"Hey," I replied, trying to sound less peeved at the interruption. "What's up?"

"Nothin', I just…" He trailed off, then breathed a shaky sigh. "Look, are you busy right now?"

"No," I said. Working on my novel wasn't nearly as important as supporting a friend. "Are you OK?"

"Um." Another long pause. "Do you think you could tell me the rest of that story?"

I didn't react for a second.

"The…the one about Buttercup?" he said. As if maybe I'd forgotten telling the first half of the _Princess Bride_ a few weeks prior—though to be fair, it felt more like years prior. "I just—I'd really like to hear the ending, if that's OK?"

"Of _course_ it's OK," I replied. Injecting as much soft understanding into my voice as I could, I asked, "Do you want to hear it for, um…for the same reason as last time?"

Despite my indelicate attempt at being delicate (talk about embarrassing), Kuwabara merely sighed. I didn't need to see his face to picture bags beneath his eyes, nor intuit the tired sag of his broad shoulders. I hadn't seen him since the day I'd been kidnapped by Hiei—the day Kuwabara had shown up at my school to give me a warning, and had apparently been tormented by the ghost of a woman I could not see. Would he look as haggard as he sounded?

"Because the last time I saw you, you seemed really spooked," I said, referring to the day he'd shown up at my school. Going out on a limb, I ventured: "You've told me before you can see ghosts. I can't help but wonder if you're seeing something tonight that's got you spooked, too."

I trailed off, hoping my suspicions weren't too terribly off-base. Luckily Kuwabara just sighed again. He sounded even more tired than before.

"Yeah," he said. "You're right. Somethin's got me spooked."

A long pause followed. I waited, patient, until he found the nerve to continue.

"Tonight there's—" He stopped, then said in a strangled tone, "There's a woman here and she's covered in blood and she won't leave me alone, so I thought—"

"Say no more," I said, because it didn't sound like he was capable of saying more, anyway, and it would be better if we acted like his silence was my idea. "Let me just figure out where we left off, get your mind off things. OK?"

"OK," Kuwabara said—and I thought his voice might crack in half. "OK, Keiko. That sounds good."

The _Princess Bride_ rolled off my tongue with all the comfortable familiarity of a warm blanket. I cuddled down into my bed as I told Kuwabara the story. He listened without speaking, though the farther along I got into the action, the more he began to react, to come out of his shell, to show glimmers of humor amidst the tension gripping him so tightly. By the time we reached Westley's demise in the depths of Count Rugen's torture chamber, Kuwabara had loosened up enough to gasp aloud.

"Wait, wait, no, that can't be right," he said, unknowingly mimicking the little boy from the movie adaptation. "You have to be remembering that wrong. Westley _can't_ die—he has to go save Buttercup from marrying the prince!"

"You want me to finish the story or not?" I said, playing the role of the grandfather with relish.

It took the two of us a while to reach the end of the story (because I had to act out Inigo's famous slaying of the aforementioned Count with all the theatric panache I could muster). When I describe Westley and Buttercup's ride into the sunset, Kuwabara let out a contented, happy sigh. It turned into a squawk of embarrassment when I described their famous kiss, but luckily the boy's blush didn't burn a hole through the phone.

"And that is, of course, the end," I said when it was through.

"Aw, man," Kuwabara said, heaving another cozy sigh. "That was great. I wish I knew more stories like that."

"Unfortunately, the _Princess Bride_ is a singular tale," I lamented. "But I'd be more than happy to tell it to you again, if you have another night like this."

Kuwabara started to say something, but he stopped. My heart shriveled at the sound of his frustrated curse.

"Is this happening often?" I asked.

"Yeah." He spoke quickly, curtly, not like my sweet Kuwabara at all. "It's just getting worse and worse. Some nights, I can barely sleep. It's like—it's like I'm being held hostage in my own skin."

I knew that feeling better than I dared admit, which only made my heart hurt all the more. "Could you go to someone for help?" I asked.

"My sister and my dad just tell me to tough it out," he said, words muffled as though coming through clenched teeth. "They said it got worse for the both of them at my age, too, but I don't know. This is pretty bad."

"Maybe there's someone else who could help," I said. "Someone who could help you control your powers."

"Or just turn 'em off completely," he grumbled. "I'll take whatever I can get."

A frown tugged the corner of my mouth. His sensitivity must be bad indeed, for him to suggest getting rid of his powers completely. I just hoped he'd find his way to Genkai somehow—or should I be the one to mention her, now that I knew of her? Hadn't Shizuru been the one to suggest Genkai to Kuwabara in the manga?

Whatever. I'd force the issue of consulting Genkai if it came down to it…but something told me Fate wouldn't let Kuwabara miss out on that trip into the mountains.

"You'll let me know if I can help, right?" I said. "If there's anything I can do at all?"

"I will," Kuwabara said, "but don't worry about me, Keiko, all right? You help enough with these stories." I heard the grin in his voice so clearly, I could practically see it. "Do you think you could come up with a new one for when I call again?"

I said yes. _Of course_ I said yes. Pretty sure Kuwabara could talk me into jumping off a cliff if he smiled wide enough. In fact, I was smiling when we hung up, rolling over in my bed to hug a pillow to my chest. His attitude, cheerful even in the worst of times, was like the sun after a long trek on a stormy sea.

And besides: Even though Kuwabara was suffering, in his pain I could see a reluctant silver lining. His overactive powers led him to Genkai, which led him to the Spirit World…which led him to battling at Yusuke's side in the Saint Beasts' tower. That in turn brought him to Kurama and Hiei.

It brought them all together.

It brought _my boys_ together.

The bubbles had all popped in my glass of seltzer water by the time I turned off my bedroom lights and curled up to go to sleep, but the bubbles of excitement in my chest just wouldn't quit. As a result, sleep would not claim me right away. My eyes widened in the dark when the reason why hit me—the reason why I felt so energetic as I lay there, why I felt like smiling, why I felt like throwing open the window and howling delight at the waning moon.

Somehow, against all odds—I felt _optimistic_.

I was in contact with all four of my boys, now.

The wheels of the plot had been nudged into motion, despite changes to our story's canon.

Soon they would meet, and fall into step at each other's sides.

All I needed now was patience.

Kurama no longer desired my blood. Yusuke and Kuwabara I counted among my closest friends. And while Hiei was a work in progress (a prickly, snappish work in progress), he was at least permanently affixed in the picture of our world. From here on out I could support each of my boys in turn, nudge and direct and patiently push the flow of their fates in the directions they were destined to go.

Supporting others, I'd found in recent days, was a form of control I enjoyed. It was in the act of supporting them that I would find my serenity—or would seek it out and claim it for my own, if it came down to it.

Today had been a good day. Best day I'd had in a while, in fact.

As I fell asleep at last, I could not help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is late. I spent Saturday at a wedding. I usually write a lot of my chapter on Saturday morning but the wedding afforded me no writing time whatsoever. The three days leading up to said wedding were filled with migraine. I can't really write with a migraine and got very behind as a result.
> 
> I'll be participating in NaNoWriMo in November. I won't be updating during that month but will be back with weekly updates in December. Next chapter (chapter 48 on Oct 28) will be the last for a month, but I'll see y'all again December 9 with chapter 49. Wish me luck as I work on my original novel!
> 
> (Psst. I think this was the first chapter with scenes with all four boys. Huzzah!)
> 
> Am going to try to cram a LOT into the next chapter to leave y'all with a cool ending before my hiatus. THANK YOU SO MUCH to those who read the previous chapter! The comments that were left were just SO KIND; it gave me a ton of encouragement to keep going. Love you all!


	48. Was I Wrong?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which time passes, and Not-Quite-Keiko finds her footing.

Time passed slowly after the Artifacts case, inching toward the golden promise of summer break.

Days turned into weeks with all the hurry of a child building a sandcastle before the morning tide. The routine of school, _aikido_ , my meetings with the boys blurred together in an unbroken strip, a film reel playing on into infinity. I dutifully recorded a record of each day in my increasingly elaborate journals, pages fluffing as I peeled them apart and painted them with ink. All was well, my descriptions of events marked by languid leisure, no haste or anxiety turning Keiko's pretty handwriting to my more natural chicken scrawl. Worry lingered in the back of my mind concerning the events of canon coming to pass—but the worries remained distant. As distant as they'd been, perhaps, when I was just a child named Keiko, canon nothing more than a phantom lingering on the dim horizon.

This time period felt, in many ways, like a long sigh after a hard day's work: a reward for time spent in agony, tension unspooled and lying slack at last.

The strings of tension only knotted tight again at my weekly _aikido_ lesson.

Ever since I had snubbed Kagome, and had asked for distance from her, she had kept herself just beyond arm's length. We avoided each other's gazes when we could, at first, before proximity forced us to shift into a reserved and chill civility. An exchange of greeting, curt and impersonal, preceded our lessons; Kagome asked Ezakiya to walk her to the train station each night, with only the most perfunctory of goodbyes thrown over her shoulder.

"Hi," I'd say.

"Hey," she'd reply.

"Night," I'd call after her.

"See ya," she's quip.

It never went beyond that.

Initially, every time I caught glimpse of her dark hair when I entered the dojo, my stomach lurched like a boat in a storm. Rather than think about that feeling, about my need to apologize to her, I pushed the feeling aside, did not allow it room in my heart to linger. Soon the sick impulse to shy away from her faded, and when I saw her, I experienced nothing but a pang of mild regret. Kagome appeared to feel the same.

At some point, I suppose we became accustomed to the distance between us—and by then it seemed too late to fix it.

Hideki noticed.

He paired us up in practice more often than not, pitting us against the greater bulk of Ezakiya. Hoping we'd reconcile if we were forced into teamwork, I suspect, but for all his efforts Kagome and I only developed the ability to make eye contact without flinching. Hideki watched through hooded eyes, tutting under his breath when we never re-clicked, never shed that armor of empty social niceties that protected us from pain and hurt.

—until, one day, the tense spell broke, shattered into pieces by nothing more unusual than a laugh.

The practice began like any other over the past few months. "Hi," I told Kagome, and "Hey" she replied, before Hideki bade us practice _katas_ and showed us a new grapple. Then, in yet another attempt to force us to cooperate, he instructed us to use this grapple on Ezakiya—to work together to create an opening so either one of us could strike.

"It's like we're little kids," I grumbled as I took my stance, "and he's forcing us to wear one of those 'Get Along' shirts."

Luckily no one heard me. Kagome and I stood on opposite sides of Eza; I caught her eye and gave a subtle nod to my left. _Go that way; I'll create an opening on that side,_ the look said.

Kagome rolled her eyes, tossed her hair, and went in the opposite direction. Because _of course_ she did.

Kagome was like that, I thought as I launched at Ezakiya. Little rebellions, small snubs, pointed comments—tiny reminders from a tiny girl that she hadn't forgotten our beef, but wasn't the type to cause drama over it, either. Still, despite her ignoring my cue, we'd been practicing together long enough that we circled him as if we'd actually agreed on a strategy, one attacking at weak spots while the other distracted, trying to take down the bigger guy with our combined speed and agility.

Eza had long proved he was the best fighter of the three of us. If it weren't for his size and relatively slow speed, he'd easily be able to beat Kagome and I, especially one on one. The boy had an instinctual understanding of _aikido's_ rhythm and flow, an intuitive grasp of momentum and strike patterns that allowed him to dodge strikes in spite of his lack of speed.

That explains how he managed to dodge Kagome, I guess, when she launched a flying kick at him while his back was turned. He twisted and moved to the side like Gumby and Neo combined, moving neatly out of the way as her body flew through the space he'd once stood.

A space I happened to be standing on the opposite side of.

Kagome's foot collided with my stomach; we went down with twin screeches of surprise and pain, landing atop one another in a heap. When I gathered myself, I found I couldn't breathe—because Kagome sat on my chest, rubbing her head with a hand. Eza watched us with his mouth open. When I grunted, she looked down.

Our eyes met.

My lips twitched.

So did Kagome's.

We both tried to hold it in. I could tell by the way she forced her face into a comical scowl, overblown and theatrical, but neither of us could hold off for long. The laughter erupted like a volcano finally blowing its top, hot and loud and searing in its sincerity. Kagome slid off my chest and lay beside me on the mat, arm draped over my heaving chest as we howled. I rolled to my side and draped an arm over her, too, until we practically hugged on the practice mat.

When our eyes met again, no tension remained.

The spell had broken under the hammer weight of physical comedy. Bugs Bunny would've been proud.

"Finally," Hideki grumbled over the sound of our mirth. "I have no idea what's been going on between the two of you, but I was getting sick of it."

"Me too," said Eza, whose big hands clasped nervously around themselves—big guy looked on the verge of apology, but a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. "Does this mean you'll start talking again?"

Kagome propped herself up on her elbows, looking at me with a smirk. "Well. _She's_ got some explaining to do."

"And some apologies to say," I said.

Her eyes softened. "True. But—" she flopped back onto the mat, curling her arm through mine "—I've _missed you_."

"I've missed you, too." It's silly, how those words brought such a painful lump to my throat, the way her hand in mine felt so soothing, so missed. "And I'm sorry."

"It's OK." The smirk returned, topped by pleading eyes. "Just promise me you won't do it again."

"I promise." And because it bore saying, and because I knew what we'd be doing after practice, I told her: "We have a _lot_ to talk about."

* * *

_Yu Yu Hakusho_ , I learned early on, is an incomplete record of Yusuke's adventures.

Like. A _really super uncomfortably grossly incomplete_ record.

Soon after the Artifacts case came to a close, and not long after my appointment as Yusuke's Record Keeper, I found a manila envelope atop my desk at home. Inside lay a single piece of paper, heavy cardstock that might have had linen woven throughout. It bore scant little information: an address, a photo of a young girl, and a short description.

Suzuma Sakura has made friends with a _tanuki_ , it said. They are playing pranks on Suzuma's neighbors. Please return these _tanuki_ to the forest or persuade them to stop playing pranks.

"What am I, an exterminator?" Yusuke groused when I delivered the case. "This is no fun. Do I not get to fight demons anymore?"

Despite what the manga had led me to believe, apparently the answer was a resounding "no."

In the weeks following the Artifacts case, many more envelopes appeared on my desk, each containing a case that involved a ghost, a _tanuki_ , an imp possessing a young boy, a rambunctious spirit causing trouble in a neighborhood. Case after case came across my desk, sending Yusuke on errand after errand that he deemed completely not worth his time. Of course, he grudgingly completed these cases as instructed, but that didn't stop him from griping about it at every last opportunity.

"Spirt World's gotta be kidding!" he said more than once as weeks elapsed. "This is all small potatoes compared to the shit with Kurama and Hiei."

"Agreed," I told him. The anime had severely neglected to mention how many small cases Spirit World sent Yusuke on before the next big one—which would be the Genkai tournament, I had no doubt. The anime had made it seem like Yusuke left for the tournament as soon as he defeated Hiei, but now, weeks were passing with no sign of the tournament's approach—not that that was a bad thing. If Yusuke was going to stay with Genkai for weeks, or even months, I hoped he didn't get that case till summer break. If it came earlier, he'd miss school, and knowing Yusuke he'd chew my ear off with complaints if he had to stay held back a year, and that was a fate I really fucking wanted to avoid, because Yusuke's whining was _awful_ , and—

"Hey. Hey! Earth to Keiko!"

I flinched and found him staring, holding a gauze pad soaked in iodine to his cheek with a toothy glare.

"I'm sick and tired of _tanukis_ clawing my face off," he said, pointing dramatically at the gauze. "If I'm gonna get beat up, it might as well be by a badass demon. My cred's not gonna last if all I have to fight are raccoon dogs and punk ass preteens possessed by imps! When is Spirit World going to give me my next big case? Huh, Miss Record-Keeper?"

I heaved a heavy sigh, because this argument was getting quite old. "As I have said approximately one thousand, two hundred and seventeen times: _I have no fucking clue_. Spirit World just sends me cases and that's it. They don't tell me jack!"

"Oh really?" Yusuke asked, squinting. "Is that so? Because you meet with Ayame once a week, and you're telling me she _never_ drops hints?"

"You've met her," I said. "Do you really think she's the type to drop hints? Huh?"

Yusuke's lower lip jutted as he turned away, muttering about how he hated it when I was right, and yeah, Ayame should've been a professional poker player ("would make more money that way, for sure," he said, "because there ain't no way Diaper Brat is paying her big bucks").

Yusuke, per his request when I first told him about my Record Keeper job, had gone with me the next time I met with Ayame. She didn't seem surprised to see him there—heck, she even said in her smooth, pleasant, fake-ass customer service voice that he was welcome to come to every meeting I had with Ayame, should he so choose…but Yusuke hated waking up earlier than he absolutely had to and turned down the offer in a heartbeat. Sacrifice sleep for responsibility? As if.

"I mean, thanks for _finally_ inviting me to your little party, and sorry I forgot to bring tea," he'd said with undisguised, scornful venom, "but just what the heck is the brat thinking, roping Keiko into this? She could get hurt!"

I rolled my eyes at Yusuke's protective streak; he shot me a nervous glance, knowing I hated it when he tried to baby me, but at that moment I was too distracted by Ayame's small, calculating smile to bop him over the head.

"I apologize Yusuke, for what must feel like an invasion of your private life," Ayame said, "but Spirit World simply does not have the resources to appoint you a replacement for Botan. Keiko is the best alternative." Her smile widened, coy and knowing. "Unless you want to write reports of your activities yourself?"

Yusuke's eyes shot open, darting toward the packet of papers under Ayame's arm—the report I'd written up that week, about five pages long in small print. Yusuke had trouble with one-page essays, let alone the volume of documentation demanded by Spirit World.

"Nah. I'd rather eat a toenail," he said, still looking at the papers with an expression of ghastly revulsion. "So that's a big 'nope' for me, sorry. Keiko can keep the damn job." His eyes narrowed, darkening as he got serious. "But I gotta know. How is Botan? I haven't heard from her since..."

He trailed off, but Ayame didn't need clarification. She schooled her features into a sympathetic mask and said, "Botan continues to improve every day. We hope to reinstate her promptly. However, I'm afraid that is all I can say on the matter."

Yusuke, much to my chagrin, turned and hocked a loogie into the nearby forest, loud and wet and crude and a clear middle finger to Ayame's proper persona. "Feh! Stupid Spirit World and their stupid secrets." He rounded on Ayame with hands raised, eyes suddenly aflame. "I'm sick and tired of your—!"

But Ayame, as he'd turned his back, had vanished into the woods—because she wasn't the type to take his shit, even if he _was_ the Spirit Detective. Yusuke looked as freaked out as I'd felt the first time I saw Cleo vanish. Probably would've made me laugh had I not been so concerned about Botan.

When was she coming back? Ayame's line had seemed so…rehearsed. What was she hiding, and why wouldn't she tell us more about our friend Botan?

As we walked away that day, Yusuke kept his eyes down, uncharacteristically silent. His feet scuffed the sidewalk like dead leaves on a winter wind despite the warm spring weather.

"You OK?" I asked.

Yusuke didn't reply right away. He wiped a finger under his nose, sniffed loudly, and breathed a long, heavy sigh. When the sigh ended, a light returned to his bright eyes.

"Ayame is creepy," he declared. "Way more like a grim reaper than Botan. Botan should take notes, stop saying 'bingo' so damn much and try to act her part."

I had to giggle at that. Yusuke tossed his hair, laughing at his own joke. He sobered quickly, though.

"I just hope she's OK," he said. "I know Ayame says she's doing well, but…"

Yusuke trailed off, eyes uncharacteristically distant. I slipped my arm through his. He whined, looking around as though someone might see us and he'd be embarrassed even if a total stranger saw us walking arm in arm, but he quieted when I squeezed his wrist.

"I'm worried for her, too," I said. "But she's a tough cookie. She'll pull through." Another squeeze of his wrist, gentle and affirming. "I know she will."

Yusuke swiped his thumb over his nose again before jamming his hand in his pocket.

"Yeah," he said. "Botan's a badass when she needs to be, that's for sure."

Over the course of the following months, Yusuke asked after Botan every time I spoke to Ayame. Ayame gave the same cryptic responses she always gave. _Botan is on the mend. Botan's recovery is progressing. Protocol dictates I keep details quiet._ I could tell Yusuke hated the way Ayame dodged his questions, but all he said to me was, "So long as Botan comes back healthy, I guess I can wait for her." And then his eyes would narrow and he's jab at my ticklish ribs. "But she owes me, big time, for getting me stuck with _your_ ass."

Despite his bravado, I knew he worried for her—so I did the best I could to make his cases run smoothly. I researched and supported and delivered messages as I was told, because I couldn't stand the worried look brewing behind his eyes.

_I_ was supposed to be the worrier, not my devil-may-care Yusuke.

* * *

Just like old times, Kagome and I had gone to our favorite yogurt shop to trade stories and get caught up after our time of awkward distance. Kagome chose lychee yogurt with strawberries and gummy bears, as per her sugary custom, gnawing on the cold-hardened gummies as I explained everything she'd missed (and delivered my oh-so-necessary apologies): Kurama not using the Mirror, Hiei's kidnapping, Botan's wound from the Shadow Sword, and Ayame's offer—not to mention her suspicion that I was more "interesting" than perhaps Yukimura Keiko should be.

When I told her about the eating problems, the old-life relapse of a habit I thought I'd kicked, she practically launched herself across the table to throw her arms around my neck.

"I'm OK," I said into the curve of her shoulder. "I promise, I'm OK."

"Really?" she said, small voice muffled and more than a little teary. "You're sure?

"Yeah. I've found distractions. Coping mechanisms. I think I have it under control."

Throwing myself headlong into obsessive journaling and working on my novel drafts had kept some of the urges at bay. I made sure to linger in public after dinner, to not let myself be alone after I ate, and to keep myself around people whenever the urge to purge rose up. It wasn't a perfect solution (I needed a therapist, like I'd had in my old life, to talk out my problems) but for the time being it had eased the symptoms of my relapse. Now I just had to be careful to keep up the good work, so to speak…

Once I pried Kagome's arms from around my neck, she sat back in her seat and let me finish explaining Yusuke's new case-load—not to mention his antsy demeanor, itching to fight strong demons like Hiei and Kurama again. She stirred her spoon around and around her yogurt until it turned to slush.

"I gotta say, it's impressive you're keeping all of them apart," she said. "Yusuke and Kurama and Hiei and Kuwabara, I mean."

"Well. Not all of them."

"Oh?" Her metaphorical ears perks up. "Have some of them met out order?" Kagome nudged my calf under the table with her foot. "Girl, spill! Who's met who?"

"Well…"

* * *

Kurama and I held our formal, Spirt-World-mandated check-in on Saturday evenings. He would meet me promptly at seven outside my parents' restaurant; sometimes we'd go inside for dinner, though often we'd simply start walking with no particular destination in mind. Most of the time we travelled in companionable quiet, content to observe the city bustling around us and stumble upon a secluded café, food cart, or tucked-away restaurant down a hidden street. Kurama seemed to favor my parents' food, though—which, yeah, it tasted great, but I ate it all the time and sometimes wanted a change of pace. Luckily he understood that and followed me on my quest for something new.

Of course, throughout all of this, we'd _talk_.

It wasn't the kind of talking we did in school, with Kaito chaperoning at lunch or our peers watching from the wings, nor was it the kind of talking we did in Kurama's secluded greenhouse, private and clandestine and usually about Spirit World business. In-private-yet-in-public, all claims of paradox aside, we conveyed more of our natural selves, comments breaking through our quiet evening walks like shoots springing from damp soul.

Mostly, we talked about how fucking _stupid_ being reborn in a new body felt.

It happened gradually, of course, reaching that subject and the honesty necessary to debate it. During our first few meetings, we mostly discussed Spirit World, Ayame, Yusuke, Hiei—until one day, while walking side by side toward uptown, a group of kids crossed our path. The gaggle talked in overloud voices, competing for attention from both their group and passersby, pushing each other and giggling and yelling with abandon. The fact that these kids were my age in a very real way irked me, settling under my skin like a subdermal itch.

"Teenagers," I muttered under my breath.

" _Teenagers_ ," Kurama agreed under his.

We exchanged a glance—a long, loaded look, Kurama's expression slightly embarrassed for reasons I couldn't pin down.

"Teens are the worst," I said. "It's bad enough being _around_ them, but actually _being one_?" I rolled my eyes with all the ironic teenage drama I could muster. "Growing up once was hard enough. And now I have to do it all over again? Life ain't fair, but this feels straight-up spiteful."

Kurama chuckled, eyes shutting for just a moment.

"I confess it's easy to forget my physical age, at time," he said. "I fear I'm too harsh on my peers, but…"

"But _nothing_ ," I deadpanned. "Teenagers suck and it sucks to be one, too. Nobody takes you seriously, you have to go to school with teachers who think they're smarter than you just because they're older, and your hormones won't behave themselves. No, thanks." Kurama coughed into his hand at the hormone comment; my head listed to one side. "Say. Does your mom ever get onto you about dating?"

Kurama blinked. I laughed.

"Mine keeps nagging me to get out more," I said, "but it's hard to explain that I'm actually, like, 40 years old inside, and the thought of dating a teenager makes me feel like a dirty cougar."

It was almost funny, the look of intense relief that crossed Kurama's face—funny and comforting, because I knew I was not alone.

"Yes, _exactly_ ," he said, green eyes intent on mine. "My mother only wants me to be happy, I know, but entering into any relationship with a human so young…"

"Right! It's gross!" I gestured at myself. "Keiko is _way_ too young to be dating. She's _14_ , and that's basically just a fetus with an attitude!"

My companion blinked, then laughed aloud at the colorful comparison—a feat I achieved more and more often as the weeks elapsed and I finally learned what made Kurama tick, and what types of jokes made him laugh the loudest. He preferred quiet irony, but unexpected comparisons and other word games ranked among his favorites, too.

Our relationship, at its most basic, didn't really change after he learned of my secret—aside from feeling a bit less threatening, of course. He was still curious about me, and we spoke more freely now that we could be honest with one another, but the core of our friendship—one based on respect and mutual appreciation for the other's perspective—remained static, tempered now by a sense of deepened understanding. The wariness we'd felt around each other melted under the radiant warmth of friendship. Our favored topics of conversation shifted from the personal (how to manage peers and parents) to the philosophical (what had happened to the souls of the children we'd replaced) to the ethical (what were the moral ramifications of stealing the place of said souls?) to the practical (how did one connect with one's parents when we were older, or the same age, as them?). While Kagome understood the complexities of my situation well enough, her new life was still just that: new. Kurama had lived in his longer than she had and had encountered many of the same problems I suffered, and besides. In those early days, Kagome and I weren't on speaking terms.

Kurama was, in a very real way, the closest thing to a peer I had in this world. I spent my weeks looking forward to our meeting, where I could let down the last of my walls and finally be myself, daydreaming about where we'd walk and what we'd eat and what secrets we'd finally share for the first time with another living soul.

But of course, how could I explain all of that to Yusuke?

He knew I met with Kurama weekly, in private, to perform the duties asked of me by Spirit world. Saturday nights were prime social real estate, after all; he noticed with alarming swiftness that I remained unavailable on a night we'd normally hang out together, and pieced together that I must be spending it with one of my parolees with even more alarming alacrity. Perhaps he was suited to being a detective after all…

"It's Kurama," I admitted when he pressed for information (and threatened to cut holes in all my skirts if I didn't give up the ghost). "We just go for a walk and catch up. Nothing major."

But Yusuke's eyes narrowed. "You two are spending an awful lot of time together."

"Well, I mean, we're classmates, so…"

"But your _entire_ Saturday night?" He crossed his arms and scowled. "You're not dating a felon, are you?"

The suggestion didn't incense me as much as it normally might, given Kurama and I had had the dating conversation the night before, both settling on the conclusion it was best to wait till we reached the age of majority, and date someone of similar age, in order to scrub all ethical ewies from the equation. I just rolled my eyes and swatted his arm; Yusuke yelped, even though there was no way the strike had actually hurt him.

"Well, I guess the bright side is that you're not meeting with _Hiei_ for hours every week," Yusuke eventually relented. His eyes narrowed again. "So when did you say you meet with him?"

"I _didn't_ say," I said, sticking out my tongue. "And I won't tell you, because you'll only barge in and try to kick his ass."

Yusuke grumbled something about wanting to give Hiei two, no, _three_ black eyes, but he didn't argue. He knew I was right. Hiei and I only met for up to ten minutes at a time, so Yusuke hadn't been able to guess when I met with him the way he'd guessed my meetings with Kurama. If Yusuke ever figured that out, there was no way he'd keep a cool head and refrain from turning Hiei into a pile of minced meat. Nope. Not Yusuke "Punch First, Questions Later" Urameshi. The boy was still infinitely salty about the way Hiei had treated Botan (and me, but to a remarkably lesser extent, probably because I'd come out unscathed) and would no doubt try to straight-up murder my favorite edgelord fire demon on sight. Best keep them apart, I reasoned.

While I managed to keep Yusuke from Hiei, it turns out I couldn't keep him from Kurama.

Yusuke is a meddlesome little shit, it turns out.

About a month after accepting the Record Keeper gig from Ayame, I walked out of my parents' restaurant and stood on the sidewalk. The Saturday evening crowd trickled by with murmurs of conversation, snatches of perfume and the odor of bodies coloring the night. I scanned the crowd, searching for Kurama's distinctive shock of red-black hair, which had become easier and easier to spot as I familiarized myself with its subtle garnet shine—so imagine my surprise when I spotted a familiar face that didn't bear the stamp of Kurama's angelic features. Instead, Yusuke appeared amidst the other pedestrians, and when he caught my eye, he smiled.

It was a shark's smile. All teeth, no humor.

"Yusuke?" I said, unable to do anything but stammer his name as he trotted over. "What are you doing here?"

"What's it look like?" His hip jutted out, as sassy as Kagome on her most contrarian of days. "I'm crashing your little party."

"It's not a party, and also, _no fucking way_." My hands alit on his shoulders, trying to force him to turn around and "Go _home_ , Yusuke!"

Yusuke dug in his heels like an obstinate billy-goat. "Why?" he said over his shoulder. His eyes adopted a wicked glint. "You wanna keep fox boy all to yourself?"

"Sorry, Yusuke," said a familiar, melodic voice, "but I'm afraid foxes make terrible pets."

Yusuke stiffened under my hands; I froze, head turning in creaking increments to the side. Kurama stood no more than a handful of feet away, regarding us with a small, amused smile.

"Hello," Kurama said—but when his eyes slid away from mine, travelling in Yusuke's direction, the amusement turned to solemnity. "Yusuke," he said in lieu of greeting. "It's been a while."

Yusuke stepped out of reach, toward Kurama. " _There_ you are," he said. His shark grin returned, fists coiled loosely—but at the ready—by his side. "I've got something to say to you."

While Kurama did not look particularly intimidated, I couldn't help but notice his feet slid into a prepared stance, center of gravity balanced as if anticipating a strike. "Yes?" he said.

Yusuke, with all the suspense of a judge making a court ruling, lifted his hand. Kurama's eyes narrowed as he watched it rise—but Yusuke merely pointed it at me.

"She's your parole officer," he said. "But me? Consider _me_ the bounty hunter who'll come after your ass if you try anything, if you so much as _bruise_ her." That wicked grin of his possessed a protective core, hidden from scrutiny by bravado and teenage bluster. "Got that, foxy? Don't try anything fishy, or you'll have me to answer to."

Kurama stared at him for a minute. Soon his chin dropped, lips curling in a small, warm smile.

"I see," he said. He regarded Yusuke with good humor, restrained a fraction so as not to antagonize. Kurama lied, "Consider me thoroughly intimidated."

Obviously Yusuke had to aim for overkill. "I mean it, fox boy," he said, taking one menacing step forward. "You try anything shady with Grandma, here, and I'll—"

Both of them ignored my indignant squawk of "Grandma!?" in favor of trading the longest, leanest look I'd ever seen. Kurama shook his head.

"I intend to try nothing 'shady' with Kei, I assure you," he said.

But that was the wrong damn thing to say. Yusuke's head jerked back as though he'd been struck. "Kei?" he repeated, blinking owlishly. "What, you've even got your own little nickname for her?"

"Well, we _have_ become friends," came Kurama's demure reply. "Nicknames are part of the human experience, I'm told." His eyes travelled back to me. Once more he began to smile—that secretive smile that told me he was up to something. He said, "Kei is teaching me about what it means to be human."

Ah. So that's what he was getting at. To comfort Yusuke, Kurama implied I was merely his teacher, less of a friend and more of a mentor—and while I knew he made the implication to placate Yusuke, my feelings twinged with a psychic bruise. Hopefully Kurama didn't really feel that way. Hopefully I hadn't misinterpreted our budding friendship for something it wasn't.

Whatever the truth, Kurama's tactic didn't quite work as intended. The tension coiled in Yusuke's shoulders sagged, sure, but his eyes screwed up as though he'd been confronted with a particularly intimidating math problem.

"Oh," he said, passing a hand over his helmet of gelled hair, voice disgruntled, grating with a hint of burgeoning annoyance. "Well. That's…weird? But—"

My hand curled around his wrist. "All right, Yusuke," I murmured. "Simmer down."

Yusuke glanced at me with a scowl, mouth opening as if to argue—but when he caught sight of my face, he paused. Seemed to think about something before closing his eyes. A smirk crossed his lips.

"I _am_ simmered." When his eyes opened, they held nothing but wry humor. "Mainly because I don't see this guy being a problem. Too much of a mama's boy to hurt a girl."

Kurama laughed at the barb (thank fucking god he had a sense of humor), while I gasped and smacked Yusuke upside the head. He just laughed and dodged my strike, dancing out of reach and over toward Kurama. All traces of his earlier combative stance vanished, replaced instead by easy self-assurance.

"So tell me, Kurama, Shuichi, whatever your nickname is," he said. "How's your mom doing these days?"

"Call me Kurama, at least in present company," said Kurama. "And she's doing well. Thanks to the two of you, she's made a full recovery."

Yusuke's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Ah man, that's great!"

Yusuke invited himself to dinner that night, because that was only natural for a freeloader like him. As I watched him and Kurama interact, I had to wonder if I had been wrong. Had it been necessary to keep these two apart? They were getting along well enough, even if Kurama dodged and redirected when Yusuke asked too personal of questions. Perhaps building a bond early would only serve them better down the line.

Better serve _them_ , sure—but were Kurama and I going to have a third wheel at every meeting from now on?

I hated to admit that I hated the idea. But if it served canon, perhaps that was a sacrifice Keiko would have to make.

* * *

Kagome bore an uncanny resemblance to Yusuke when she waggled her eyebrows. "Do I spy a hint of possessiveness, dearie?"

"Oh, not you, too," I grumbled. "Yusuke's bad enough as it is." He'd taken to teasing me about loving 'long walks down the street' with a certain fox ever since he crashed that first meeting—but luckily he hadn't felt the need to crash our party but for once every month or so. Apparently Kurama and I together were too nerdy for his tastes.

"Well, you and Kurama have a lot in common." Another eyebrow-wiggle. "So? You two a thing or aren't you?"

"Firmly _aren't_ ," I said. "We both agree our bodies are too young to date."

Kagome deflated. I sighed.

"Talk to me when Keiko turns 18. Then we'll see," I relented. Kagome perked up immediately, which was probably bad news for my mental health, so I tempered my answer with a distraction of, "Either way, at least Keiko doesn't have Hiei's baby-face at this age."

She took the bait, thankfully. Kagome sat up straight, placing one hand flat on the table with careful precision, finger by finger in a fanning splay—eyes glittering with intense, shifted interest.

"Speaking of which. _Hiei_." She leaned forward, rising up and out of her seat. "Tell me _everything_. Is he just as grumpy in real life? Is he as short as he seemed in the anime? And most importantly, is he as _hot_?"

"Oh god," I said with dawning horror. "He was your favorite character, wasn't he?"

"He totally was." She sat back down and cupped her chin in her hands, eyes distant and dreamy. "So is he absolutely _amazing_?"

Much as I hated to burst her bubble, I shook my head. "Amazing…isn't the word I'd use."

* * *

Every Thursday, Hiei darkened my door with his grumpy, growly self—or should I say he darkened my alleyway? It certainly would be more specific considering he refused to come inside no matter how many times I told him eating indoors would be better than a dingy backstreet.

Not to mention eating indoors would make it harder for him to steal my ramen bowls.

_Which he kept fucking stealing because he's an enormous jerkwaffle._

For weeks after our meetings started, Hiei ended every meeting by stealing my goddamn cutlery. He'd stand there eyeing the steaming ramen until I ran out of questions to ask. How are you spending your days, Hiei? _Sleeping._ Are you enjoying your stay in Human World, Hiei? _I hate this place._ Will you please eat here and leave my bowl behind, please and thank you?

That last question he countered with a roll of his cherry-red eyes, blurring out of sight, and absconding with said bowl right in front of me.

Like I said.

_Hiei is an enormous jerkwaffle._

I thought about not giving him dinner, of course, but the one time I tried that, he didn't even stay to listen to my questions. He took one look at the empty alley, sneered, and flitted off like Sorei when I greeted the cat sans treats. Food was a non-negotiable part of my association with Hiei—not unless I wanted to flex Spirit World punishment as leverage, which I didn't.

That's where disposable flatware comes in.

Hiei damn near spilled the ramen all over himself when he next tried to steal his dinner. Only this time after he flitted out of sight, he appeared again in short order. The flimsy plastic bowl—much smaller than he was used to, not to mention thinner—buckled under the weight of the broth inside it; Hiei cursed and set it down atop the crate-table with a look like it had tried to bite his hands off. I just laughed, watching him from my spot against the alley wall.

"What infernal excuse for an eating utensil is _this_?" he demanded, one accusatory finger leveled at the object in question.

"What, never seen a disposable plate before?" I said, laughing. "Serves you right." I pointed at the rickety plastic bowl—the thinnest, cheapest one I could find at the convenience story. "Sit and eat. No running."

Hiei glowered, eyes practically on fire. "But it's less soup than normal."

"Yeah, the plate is smaller because you keep stealing the big ones," I said, speaking as if to a small child. "Finish _that_ and I'll make you more. Once you get over your kleptomaniacal streak, I'll bring back the big bowls."

Hiei growled at me—but then his stomach growled even louder. The demon sat down and ate without further argument, looking thoroughly cowed.

My triumph at getting him to eat in my presence was short-lived, sadly. He still ignored my questions outright, or answered them with mere grunts and pointed glares. That of course only fueled my questions, not to mention my worry. I had no doubt that Hiei could take care of himself, but he didn't have a job, money, or a place to stay that I knew of. Most of my probing concerned his daily life, nothing personal or overtly prying, and from our shared dinners I learned scant little about him. He was a picky eater who didn't like mushrooms or, ironically, spicy foods (although he could tolerate both so long as my mother had prepared them; when made by my father or myself, he turned up his nose)…but that wasn't enough for me. I needed more. And the hilarious thing was that if only he'd open up, I'd likely ask fewer questions, worries eased by the comfort of transparency.

Alas. This is Hiei we're talking about. He's on board for sarcastic one-liners and barbed insults, but opening up about his personal life? As if.

Eventually I gave up, kind of. I still asked questions when he showed up for dinner, but I didn't harp on them after his initial put-offs. I just started talking about my life, instead, rambling on and on about school and home and life to fill the aching void of silence—silence punctuated by the slurping of noodles and Sorei's occasional meows. Old habits die hard. Silence makes me feel awkward, and I can't help but fill it when it rears its head.

"So now Hotaru and all the other girls have decided I'm their therapist, or something," I grumbled one night as Hiei ate. "Apparently staying out of their drama means I'm suddenly the one person they want to talk to about it." Crossing my legs at the thigh, I rested my elbow on my knee, put my chin in my hand, and sighed. "Being a teenager is exhausting. I don't want to be part of the petty nonsense, but—"

"I don't care."

I blinked, chin lifting off the pillow of my hand. Hiei stared at me through the haze of steam rising from the ramen, dispassionate and thoroughly disinterested and more than a little annoyed.

"Your human nonsense bores me," he said. "It's inconsequential, and prattling is the mark of a small mind." He dipped his spoon in the broth and took a snapping sip of it. "Are you capable of silence, or is the fact that I don't give a damn about your personal life beyond the grasp of your simple human mind?"

I stared at him. He stared at me, smirking, certain I'd shut up after the sting of his insult, smugness practically dripping off the ends of his spiky hair.

I lowered my chin to my hand and continued talking. "So basically, Hotaru is mad at Amagi because—"

Hiei's glare could've melted stone, but luckily I'm made of slightly sterner (or at least more obstinate) stuff.

The first time Hiei ever acted like I was more than gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe (gum that provided hot ramen, though that's beside the point) came mere days before my reconciliation with Kagome. We met on Thursday night, like always, and as I prepared the evening's meal, my dad popped his head into the kitchen.

"Be sure to bring your umbrella to school tomorrow, honey," he said. "I just listened to the aviation radio, and I think a cool front is blowing in, and some rain with it."

Dad always kept an eye on the weather; Mom and I shared a joke that his unheeded calling was meteorology, but Dad said he enjoyed cooking more than weather patterns despite his fixation on barometric pressure and wind speed. As I carried the food out of the house that night, Dad's prediction seemed to be coming true. An unseasonably cold wind carried through the alley to ruffle my hair all the way down to the scalp. More wind followed, but Hiei didn't seem too bothered by it when he showed up for food.

Still, though. The tear in his cloak—the one along the shoulder seam exposing a stripe of tanned skin—gaped like an open wound. I found myself staring at it, uncharacteristically quiet as Hiei ate his meal.

"Say, Hiei," I said. "Where are you staying, anyway? Like, to sleep and stuff?"

He looked up and scowled, but remained silent. I heaved a vexed sigh.

"Wait here," I told him.

Not knowing if he'd be there by the time I came back, I took the stairs two at a time up to my room to fetch my sewing kit. Luckily Hiei didn't fly the coop before I got back. I sat across from him at the crate table and extended a hand.

"You cloak, please," I said.

One thin brow shot up. "What for?"

A long sigh. "Just give it to me, OK, Mister Conspiracy?"

It took some convincing ("No, Hiei, I am not stealing your cloak as retribution for the bowls you still have yet to return; don't tempt me to change my mind") but eventually he shrugged out of his cloak and handed it over (with a snarled threat to cut me limb from limb if I treated it poorly, and an assertion that he was only handing it over to get me to shut up; he found my nattering infinitely annoying). He wore a simple black shirt, sleeveless, below his outer garment, along with tattered black pants and his customary boots. I tried not to scope out the cut of his muscular arms as I inspected the garment and began threading a needle, but I admit it was difficult. Hiei had the face of a grumpy pre-teen, but under that cloak he hid arms more accustomed to swinging a sword than wielding chopsticks. I mean, the guy was _jacked_. Fangirls over the world rejoice.

I mended the cloak's trailing hem and torn shoulder by the time Hiei finished eating; thank you, Mom, for insisting I learn to sew.

"There," I said when I was done. I held up the coat with obvious pride, beaming at Hiei around the side of its dark drape. "All fixed. You should be nice and toasty when the storm comes."

His eyes narrowed. "Storm?"

"Yeah. There's going to be rain soon, and a cool front. And soon it'll be the rainy season in general." My turn to narrow my eyes. "Where're you staying? You never told me."

His nose tipped up; he snatched the cloak and shrugged into it with a growl of, "That is no concern of yours."

"Sure, but—oh, hey, Sorei."

I saw his eyes, first, electric gold in the dark, before my cat sauntered out of the dark, slipping through crates and behind the dumpster on silent paws. The cat wound his skinny body around my ankles; for once, he allowed me to scratch behind his ears for a moment, but when he sidled away from me, I didn't chase him for more cuddles. I watched with a fond smile as the grey feline melded with the falling darkness and disappeared from view around a corner.

When I looked back at Hiei, I found him watching me through impassive scarlet eyes—eyes that saw much but said little. Alarming eyes when housed in such a youthful face. Striking eyes that gleamed in the darkness, reflecting light just as Sorei's had.

"As I was saying," I said, trying to sound soft and kind (even though I didn't want to considering Hiei had just threatened to kill me, but whatever). "It'll rain soon. If you need a place to stay with a solid roof, you know where to find me."

Hiei's large eyes grew larger still, dominating his face completely. I nearly laughed at his confusion, but I somehow held the sound at bay as I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, up toward the roof.

"I leave the window cracked when it rains, for Sorei," I said. "Just knock if you need a futon, all right?"

Hiei didn't reply. His eyes dropped from mine, back down to his tepid soup. When he flitted off into the night, he didn't bother with a goodbye—but nor did he bother with an insult, nor mock my offer of shelter from the rain. I stayed up late when the rain fell that night, watching out the window for a flash of red in the dark, but Hiei never knocked on my window.

Still. The evening felt like progress, however small.

As with feral cats, a lack of claws was sometimes a gesture of (albeit scant) affection-adjacent tolerance all its own.

* * *

"Wow. Prickly little shit," Kagome said. She sagged in her seat with a dramatic sigh. "And you haven't seen his abs to verify if they're sexy?"

"Nope."

Another sigh, even more dramatic this time, chin pillowed forlornly on the tabletop. "Prickly and not sexy. Man, I don't envy you." She lifted her hands over her head and ticked off the boys on her fingers. "Yusuke's a handful, Hiei bites heads off, and Kurama is all doom and gloom philosophy." Kagome's scowl rivaled Hiei's in that moment. "At least tell me _Kuwabara_ is fun."

Suppressing a wince proved an impossible feat. Tone mild, I said, "Unfortunately…not so much."

* * *

The next time his Tickle Feeling overwhelmed him, Kuwabara didn't bother calling me for another recitation of the _Princess Bride_. Instead he showed up on my doorstep in the flesh. Mom was delighted to see him (she always was) and immediately ushered him up to my room.

"Keiko, honey, you have a visitor!" she said as she all but pushed him past the threshold. He stumbled in looking as awkward as a stork running an obstacle course, all long legs and awkward elbows, but Mom just gave him a fond smile. She patted the door and winked. "Just leave the door open, OK? No funny business!"

I'd been sitting at my desk doing homework; I tried not to look as embarrassed as I felt. "Sure thing, Mom."

Kuwabara bowed to Mom as she left, earning a comment about his polite demeanor and supreme suitability as a son in law. He blushed scarlet and had trouble meeting my eyes once she left entirely, footsteps fading downstairs and into the din of the restaurant below. It was just before closing and the last-minute customer rush occupied my parents so completely, it surprised me Mom had escorted Kuwabara up. She must really like him to go to that effort.

"Hey, man," I said. I got up and sat on my bed, offering the chair to Kuwabara. "Everything all right?"

He didn't reply right away. The big guy sat down like he feared the chair might collapse beneath him, eyeing me askance with that same ginger care.

"No," he muttered. "Everything isn't." But before I could ask just what the heck was up, he slung his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped the main compartment. "Help me with something?"

"Uh. Sure?" I sat up a little straighter, because I expected him to ask for help with his psychic powers and I needed to be alert for that. "What with?"

Kuwabara pulled forth a tattered spiral-bound notebook. "Science experiments," he said—and then his face screwed up. "Well, not really. More like activities for kids that have something to do with science or physics or whatever." He passed the notebook into my bamboozled hands. "Pick one that looks interesting, would ya? Just make sure the materials are doable. And that the prep time is short. Some take a few days, and I…I'd like to get one done tonight." It was like he'd heard someone had died, he looked so grave. "I'd like to finish one, or maybe a couple."

Utterly bewildered, I flipped open the notebook. What I saw inside it gave me immense, thunderous pause.

"OK," I said. "I'm not gonna ask why you want to do this."

'Relief' didn't begin to describe the look on his face. "Thanks, Keiko."

"What I _am_ going to ask is—" I held up the book to an open page "—why is this written in _crayon_?"

The large, loopy handwriting of a child covered every last inch of the pages with patchy crayon, wax smudged and discolored with time and many page-turns. Lists of materials, instructions, and descriptions had been written as carefully as a kid possibly could write them, but given it was all in crayon, parts appeared hard to read at first glance. Kuwabara's cheeks colored; he ducked his chin, looking anywhere but at me.

"Because I made it when I was a little kid, OK?!" came his gruff reply. One huge hand lashed out as if to scare away a pesky fly. "Just pick one, gosh darn it!"

It wasn't like him to snap, even in such a reserved way, so I shut up and did as he asked. The 'experiments' (a generous term indeed) were as Kuwabara had suggested: less experiments and more like illustrations of certain scientific concepts and theories, made simple and easy for kids to observe.

These experiments were also very, very familiar, I realized.

Too familiar, in fact. The more of them I read over, the more I realized that I had definitely read all of these experiments before. And I had a nagging suspicion as to where I'd read them previously.

Eventually I settled on a simple experiment: the tornado in a bottle. Easy enough to assemble. Just some water, dish soap, and glitter in a soda bottle. However, Kuwabara treated the experiment as seriously as one would treat the safeguarding of plutonium, each ingredient measured with utmost, exhausting consideration. His concentration was so complete, Kuwabara didn't even notice me watching him with a bemused, fond smile as he poured out each ingredient multiple times, perfectionism personified. Only once he finished assembling the tornado did I deign to speak.

"Wow," I said. Kuwabara swirled the bottle around until a glittery tornado formed inside, a whirlwind of scintillating sparkles housed in a skin of plastic. "It's pretty."

"Yeah," he said, holding the typhoon up to the light so it could it shine and shimmer like bottled happiness—fitting, considering the sudden look of contentment on his face. "I haven't done this one is so long, I forgot what it looked like."

"You've done these before?"

"Yeah. All of them. They're comforting, I guess? Or maybe they just make me feel better." His smile warmed like oncoming spring. "Whenever I'm stressed or need a distraction, I pull out the notebook and…" He stopped, seemed to remember I was there, and shot me a sidelong glance before muttering, "Doesn't matter."

I hated that look of defeat on his face. I knew it well. It was the look I wore when I talked about octopuses for too long and those around me became bored with my enthusiasm. It was the look of passion doused by the disinterest in others, a look he adopted because it had happened to him before, his passions shut down by the uncaring people in his life—and it almost broke my heart.

"It _does_ matter," I told him with (perhaps overblown) vehemence. "To _me_ it does."

Kuwabara hesitated. He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed again—but soon enough he spoke.

"When I was little, I liked volcanoes," he said, every word a slow exploration of my attention, as though he feared I'd turn away at any moment. "And this one time I tried to make one, I messed up. Couldn't get it to work. To explode, y'know?" He smiled even as his cheeks pinked. "Out of nowhere, there was this little girl—she gave me a science book, told me how to do the baking soda and vinegar eruption thing." A bashful smile crossed his chiseled face. "My Volcano Girl."

I didn't dare look satisfied to hear that, lest I give away the rapid beating of my heart inside my suddenly-warm chest. I just nodded and listened, eyes intent on Kuwabara. He took comfort in that and kept talking.

"I _loved_ that book," he said, sincerity as obvious as sunshine, "but I didn't want to take it from her. Didn't feel right, y'know? So she told me I should give the book to someone else when I was done, pass it on just like she had." His chin lowered, once more bashful. "But I cheated."

My brow knit. "Cheated how?"

"Well, I didn't want to give it away forever," he said, "so…I gave it to the library. That way I could go back and read it whenever I wanted. Figured it could reach more kids that way, too." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed again. "I dunno; maybe it was stupid."

I shook my head. "No. Not stupid. Very clever, actually."

"Thanks." Kuwabara tapped the back of his notebook with his knuckles. "Though having to go back and forth to the library for it was a hassle, so one day I just copied it all down."

"In crayon."

He blushed. "It's what I had on hand at the time, OK!? But, yeah. In crayon."

We'd been sitting on the floor, towels spread below us to catch and falling experiment debris. Kuwabara hauled himself to his feet and stood, wandering to my desk to stare out the window above it.

"I wonder if the book's still there," he murmured—but he shook his head and turned back to me. "Anyway. That book got me to love science the way I do." He grinned outright. "Guess I owe Volcano Girl a thank you, if I ever see her again."

"Nah. You don't." I wiggled my fingers at him, voice cheesy and dramatic. "The science was in _you_ the whole time!"

"Ha ha, very funny." His eyes rolled like the tornado in the bottle. "Let's do another."

We cycled through three experiments that night, Kuwabara's concentration on the tasks as immutable as iron. When he left for the evening, he seemed more chipper than when he'd arrived. I offered a silent thanks to whichever of the Fates might be listening that I'd met him that day on the playground so long ago, and that giving him the science book had been the right thing to do. If it could bring him comfort in dark times, that breach of canon felt well worth it.

Too bad the comfort didn't last.

He called me that night at nearly 1 AM, nigh frantic because a ghost had made itself at home in his closet and was trying to kill him. She had an axe, he said. An axe and bloody eyes, dress torn at the waist where she'd been cleaved in two.

"So dark," he told me. "She feels so, so _dark_ , Keiko!"

"Get out of there, Kuwabara," I said, all traces of sleepiness vanishing in the wake of his desperate voice. "Just get out of there, OK?"

"And go where?" he countered.

"To my house; _duh_."

The offer came automatically, though once he hung up with promises to head straight over, I realized I'd gotten myself into a pickle. Luckily my father was awake. He always stayed up till at least 2 AM doing inventory. I took a deep, bracing breath and headed into the living room, sitting across from him at the table with my very best Business Face in place. Dad sensed my mood immediately, capping his pen and setting it aside at once.

"Remember Kuwabara?" I said.

Dad nodded.

"He's having an anxiety attack." That felt like the best descriptor without getting into the ghost-factor. "His family isn't too sympathetic, but I am. I invited him over on reflex, then realized that given the hour, I should have asked you first." I leaned toward him, hoping I looked sincere. "I don't know how long he'll want to stay. But can he, if he needs to? If it gets too late I don't want him walking home alone. I can set up a futon out here, and—"

Dad held up a hand. I fell quiet.

"Leave your door open. Use the futon. And whatever you do, don't tell your mother." He grinned, lopsided and loveable. My _dad_. "Kuwabara is a nice boy. I trust him not to try anything funny—but more than that, I trust _you_ to do the right thing. I just don't want your mother to have a heart attack, that's all."

Good ol' Dad. He helped me get the futon from the hall closet and set it folded in my bedroom just in case Kuwabara needed to stay here for the night. Dad didn't want him walking home alone so late, either.

When Kuwabara arrived, he would barely look at me. The boy had been so frantic on the phone, but now he refused to meet my eyes. He followed me upstairs in silence, sitting at my desk with eyes downcast. I waited for almost a minute in silence before nudging his knee with my foot.

"Hey," I said. "Want to talk about it?"

Kuwabara's dark eyes flashed, defiant and hard—but then the flint behind them shattered, and the words began to pour.

"It's just getting worse n' worse and I don't know how to stop it," he said, gruff voice cracking like ice underfoot. "Every day I see them, and they've started to see me right back, and it's just _awful_. They chase me home and come into my dreams and steal my energy like creepy little vampires or somethin'. Sleep hurts these days, and I keep getting less and less, and I just—" His head descended into his hands, fingers tangling into his ginger curls. "Shizuru says it'll pass eventually. It happens to everyone in our family. It's worst at thirteen or so but it gets better later, or so she tells me, because I'm getting _real_ tired of waitin' around for this to calm down." His broken, exhausted eyes met mine; the bags beneath them had never looked darker. "I just want to sleep, OK? Is that too much to ask?"

"No," I told him, heart breaking with every syllable. "No. That's not too much at all."

Our eyes held each other for a long time. The red rims of his spoke of countless sleepless nights and a hundred terrible dreams—dreams my sweet Kuwabara didn't deserve. Just as I started to tell him about Genkai, who could help, even though it was too early for canon and even though Shizuru was supposed to tell him about Genkai, because fuck it all, Kuwabara needed help and I'll be damned if I didn't provide it—his eyes fell closed.

"Shizuru says there's some psychic lady in the mountains who could help me," he said. "Name's Genkai, but I have no idea where the heck she is." His eyes opened to resolute fire and hard, tired determination. "I don't like asking for help, and I sure as heck don't like telling people about my powers. But I'm so done with this, I'm willing to try anything."

Relief flooded me like a cool wind. "I think that's wise," I said.

Kuwabara looked relieved to hear me say that. "Yeah," he said. "I think so, too."

Per his request that night, I used the _Princess Bride_ as a lullaby, shepherding him toward sleep with the tale of Buttercup and her Man in Black. He lay on the futon on my floor in the dark until his snores, gentle and comforting, filled the air.

When he fell asleep, I found the seed Kurama had given me and tucked it beneath his pillow.

I wasn't sure if the energy field in it warded off ghosts as well as Spirit World observation, but in the morning, Kuwabara declared it was the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

* * *

Kagome listened to Kuwabara's plight in sympathetic silence. When I finished she said, "Wow. So he's actually the _most_ difficult of them all."

I shrugged. "More or less. But his growing awareness will take him straight to Genkai. Shizuru planted the idea. Now he just has to act on it."

"Think he'll go to Genkai at the right time? Right at the start of her tournament, I mean?" She looked understandably apprehensive. "What if he goes, like, today? And he gets there too early?"

"Well, he has to find her first. I didn't exactly hand him a GPS with her coordinates." Another shrug, accompanied by a wry smile. "Finding her is a pain in the ass, so that'll buy him some time. But as far as I can tell, aside from Hiei's personality shift, Kuwabara and Yusuke going to see her at the same time is the only scheduled bit of canon I need to be worried about."

Kagome nudged my shin under the table, smile bright and proud. "Well, look at you, Eeyore! In control and on top of things."

"For once," I grumbled. "We'll see how long it lasts."

She swatted my arm. "Oh, for crying out loud! Can't you just let yourself be happy, for once?"

Despite my pessimistic grumblings, we parted that night on better terms than we'd had in months—and when I left Kagome at the train station, I found myself not dreading next week's lesson. Kagome and I were friends again. The boys were all in my life in various ways. And from what I could tell, canon wasn't far off track despite all I'd done wrong during the Artifacts case.

Kagome, I admitted, might have been right. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I _should_ just let myself be happy.

Too bad I'd be blindsided with another change in canon before that particular notion could really sink in.

A few weeks later, right after final exams and mere days before summer break, Kuwabara showed up on my doorstep wearing a baseball jersey and carrying a backpack. Despite the early morning hour, he looked as bright and alert as the sun itself—a far cry from the tired, desperate boy who'd slept on my floor some weeks prior.

"I found her," he told me, nearly giddy. "I'm going to see Genkai!"

Heart in my mouth, I packed him a dozen onigiri and saw him off at the train station—and when I came home again, a manila envelope waited on my desk. It contained instructions to send Yusuke into the mountains to participate in Genkai's tournament and track down the demon Rando.

These instructions bade me stay home, because to accompany Yusuke would be too dangerous.

Part of me wanted to flip Spirit World the middle finger and follow Yusuke as I put him on the northbound train, but after the debacle with the Artifacts case, something told me this was a battle Yusuke had to fight alone. As nervous as I was for him—for the _both_ of them—I watched Yusuke's train pull away from the station feeling glad that he would train with Genkai over the summer, instead of missing school and having to repeat the eighth grade. I watched the train pull away knowing he could handle this, that he was _destined_ to handle this, and would come away all the stronger for his struggle.

This was fate. This was destiny.

For once, I didn't feel the urge to intervene.

* * *

Later that afternoon, as afternoon bled into evening, my phone rang.

"So which ones of these _morons_ ," said a familiar, scratchy voice, "is supposed to be my apprentice?"

My lips curled of their own accord. "Hello to you, too, Genkai."

"Spare me the niceties. Which one? The big one with the bleached hair or the small one with the big mouth?"

I stifled a giggle at her description of Kuwabara and Yusuke. "Who's to say _either of them_ is supposed to become your apprentice?"

She snorted. "Don't even try the vague and mysterious act, girl. That's _my_ shtick. Only two people here are your age, so it's obvious that they're your friends. Not to mention they keep threatening each other, saying they'll call Keiko whenever one of them does something stupid. Which is _constantly_."

"That's them, all right." I smiled at the thought of them referencing me when I wasn't around, but then another thought occurred. "Say. How'd you get my phone number?"

"The big one appears to be the responsible type. He keeps a comprehensive address book."

"And you just…took it out of his backpack, I guess."

"What, you'd rather me _ask them_ how they know you? Reveal that we've met before?"

I winced. "Nope. Thanks for being a pickpocket, I guess."

"Don't mention it. But enough small talk. Which of those boys am I supposed to train?" Her wry voice could peel paint off the walls. "Because frankly, apart from the big one's natural gift of spirit awareness, I'm not impressed."

How much could I say without jeopardizing canon? I walked a delicate line when I asked, "What stage of your tournament are they in?"

Genkai paused. "So you even know about that, huh? Interesting," she said. "The video games. They're in the arcade at present."

"So it's still early." I winked even though she couldn't see me, hoping the expression came through in my voice. "One, or both of them, may yet surprise you."

"…you aren't going to tell me no matter how much I threaten or blackmail, are you?"

Did mine ears deceive me, or did she sound almost impressed? I sat on the edge of my bed and cradled the phone between my jaw and shoulder, picking at my bedspread with unfeeling fingers.

"Even if I told you who is supposed to be your apprentice, if for some reason he loses the tournament, you still won't take him on," I said. "I don't see the point of ruining the suspense, in that case. You'll only train the winner, right?"

"That's the plan. And you're right." The stubborn pride in her voice conjured an image of her rheumy eyes, staring at me with unyielding dignity. "I wouldn't compromise that plan even if destiny itself sent you to intervene."

"Fate more than destiny," I mused, "but your point stands regardless."

Genkai paused again. "I take it you've learned more about your presence in this world, based on that statement."

She really was too sharp for her own good. Taking a shaky breath, I said, "Sort of. Every time I learn anything, a thousand new questions reveal themselves." My eyes rolled. "It's like being in philosophy class all over again. Questions lead to more questions, a million little rabbit holes, and you can never quite reach the bottom."

"Well, in philosophy, finding answers isn't the point. The _discussion_ is the point. Perhaps you aren't meant to have answers." I heard rustling on the line, like perhaps she shook her head. "I don't envy you."

"I don't envy me, either." Standing, I cleared my throat. "Let me know when you pick a winner, if you get a chance?"

"Maybe," she grumbled. "But only if I'm bored and have a minute."

"Leaving _me_ in suspense, now?" I teased. "How vengeful."

"Better believe it," Genkai said—and then the line went dead.

* * *

Because I'm an anxious person, and because waiting drives me up the wall, my pacing all but wore a hole in the floor as I waited for Genkai to call again. Too bad for me Genkai didn't call till late the next day, affording me a night of fitful sleep and bad dreams about searching fruitlessly for Yusuke and Kuwabara in a maze of long, dark hallways. I had just gotten out of a warm bath (an ineffectual attempt at relaxation, truth told) when the phone finally, _finally_ rang. Clad in only a towel, hair dripping cold water onto my bare shoulders, I launched across the room and snatched the phone off its cradle.

"You're right," said Genkai without preamble. "They both surprised me."

"Told ya so," I said, unable to keep the smugness at bay. It vanished as apprehension filled my chest, however. "So did Yusuke…?"

"Yes. He won."

My legs gave out, sending me to my knees. Chest hitching under my hand, clutching the towel to my breast like a life raft, I breathed long and slow and deep, trying to calm down.

Yusuke had _won_.

Slowly, micrometer by micrometer, a smile edged across my face.

"He exposed the demon Rando and won the tournament—through _sheer dumb luck_ , I might add," Genkai continued. "But a win is a win, and I'll honor the boy's victory no matter how he happened to obtain it." Like a king announcing the name of his newest knight, Genkai declared, "Urameshi Yusuke is the official successor of the Spirit Wave Orb." The commanding tone faded into grumpy muttering thereafter. "Or he _will be_ , once he stops being such a pathetic lout."

"A bit of your training should fix him right up," I managed to say, but I barely even heard myself talk. Too busy trying to calm down, balancing the urge to scream my victory with the urge to take a week-long nap—a nap I felt I deserved. Canon had been maintained instead of maimed, and that was a victory indeed. But speaking of canon and maiming…

"Is Kuwabara OK?" I asked. "Did you heal him after he fought Rando?"

"You even know about—?" Genkai started. A wry chuckle scraped like dead leaves through the tinny phone connection. " _Of course_ you know about that. Why am I surprised? And yes, he's fine. Nothing a bit of _reiki_ couldn't fix."

"Oh, thank god." The words slipped out on a relieved sigh, earning me a questioning hum from Genkai—one I pretended I didn't hear. I had celebrating to do. Adopting an all-business voice, I said, "Anyway. I know you're probably eager to tear Yusuke apart, so I'll let you go. I'll ask Kuwabara for the details about the tournament when I see him."

Genkai didn't say anything. Then:

"That…won't be for a while, I'm afraid."

My spine straightened like a lashing whip at her muttered words, her somewhat regretful tone (if Genkai was capable of such a thing), the pregnant pause that preceded her declaration. "What do you—?" I began, but then the worst occurred to me and my legs became jello once again. Rando had broken all of Kuwabara bones; was bad news about to follow news of his _reiki_ healing? Hand on face, half-collapsed on the edge of my desk, my voice trembled when I said, "Oh my god. _Genkai_. Is he OK? Can he—?"

"He's fine." Her annoyed assurance cut through the worry like a buzzsaw. "You can quit your worried girlfriend act."

Confused, I blinked stupidly at floor. "But. But? But if he's OK, then why won't—?"

"You won't be seeding him soon," Genkai interjected, "because he's going to stay here with Yusuke."

More confused floor-blinking. "Stay there…?"

Genkai said, "Yes."

"I'm going to train him," she told me.

The floor promptly fell out from under me. My stomach plummeted into my ankles like a skydiver, slapping the bottom of my feet with a jolt of horror, surprise, disbelief, abject confusion—

"But," I stammered, "b-but you said you were going to take Yusuke as—!"

"I am," said Genkai. "I'm going to teach Yusuke the Spirit Wave and name him the official successor of my techniques. But I'm _also_ going to train Kuwabara to master his own spiritual powers, to hone his natural gifts and innate talents."

Because it was all I was capable of, I said, "I don't understand."

"…this isn't how the legend went, is it?"

"No. _No_! Not _remotely_!" The urge to babble my panic made it hard to think clearly. "Kuwabara came back and learned to harness his Spirit Sword on his own, he learned to bend it, shape it, mold it— _all on his own_. By _himself_. Not with a teacher, not with you, not with—"

"That only makes me want to train him harder," Genkai cut in, and that only made my panic flood higher. "The boy is _gifted_. His scores on the video game tests were among the highest I've ever seen. He manifested a spirit weapon without training, using his instinct alone, without knowing that such weapons were possible to manifest in the first place. He broke free of Rando's techniques through an act of sheer willpower before projecting his soul from his body to aid an ally in battle." I could practically see her shrugging, could envision her knowing smirk with crystalline clarity. "Sure, Rando got him in the end. But with proper training, Kuwabara could become something the likes of which I've never seen."

Her last line cut through the panic like lightning through water.

_Kuwabara could become something the likes of which I've never seen._

And he _would_ become that, even without her help. He'd develop the sword to cut dimensions soon enough, guide or no guide—and I'd always lamented that he hadn't had a teacher. That no one had ever truly trained him or taken an interest in fostering his talents. I'd said a hundred times on fandom message boards that Kuwabara's lack of training was a crime, that he _deserved_ a mentor to become the warrior we all knew he could be.

Was I wrong to be so horrified by this breach in canon?

Wasn't this what I'd always wanted for Kuwabara, after all?

But how would this new development impact future canon?

Swallowing my confusion, I blurted, "You should see his sister."

Genkai's voice sounded like narrowed eyes. "Sister?"

"Yeah. Her natural awareness is even sharper than her brother's. But she never learned to fight, ever, so far as the legend goes."

"Hmmph." Genkai thought about it for a moment, but then she said, "My hands are full with these idiots, I'm afraid. But maybe afterwards…"

"Yeah. Maybe." Because this was too much, and I suddenly had a lot more to worry about, I took a deep breath and braced myself for a goodbye. "Well. Take good care of my boys, Genkai. I'd like them returned in one piece if at all possible."

"What am I, a used car salesman?" the crotchety woman groused. "No promises."

"Any odds on returning them alive, at least?"

"Those odds are better," she said, but only after taking a moment to think about it. "Provided they don't piss me off too badly."

I didn't say anything.

Said Genkai, and somehow it wasn't a question in spite of the phrasing: "They're going to piss me off, aren't they."

"We-ell…"

"Great." But she didn't sound like she thought it was great at all, sighing with longsuffering fatigue. "Whatever. I'll send them home in a few weeks. I'll leave coming up with an excuse for their parents to you."

My eyes popped wide. "Wait—Genkai!"

Too bad for me, she had already hung up.

I stared at the phone, dial tone buzzing on the still air, for nearly a minute before lowering the handset back into the cradle. With equal ponderousness I dressed myself, dried my hair, and sat on the edge of my bed.

How had this happened?

I'd resigned myself to a summer without Yusuke, months of golden promise stretching long before me—but now I had to go without Kuwabara, too?

Both of them were off getting stronger, being trained, readying themselves (even if they didn't know it) for the ordeals that lay ahead. Everyone was getting stronger—except for me.

And that just wouldn't do, now would it?

The walk to Kuwabara's house passed in what felt like a single moment of stolen time—too quickly for me to back down, to overthink this impulse, to shy away from what I knew I had to do. Shizuru opened the door before I even finished knocking.

"Hi, Shizuru," I said. "Can I ask you something?"

The young woman leaned against the doorframe, ubiquitous cigarette dangling from her fingers. "Shoot, kid."

I smiled. Shizuru lifted a brow as smoke curled like grasping hands around her long, thick hair.

I asked her, "Where, exactly, do you think your brother is?"

Slowly, Shizuru lifted the cigarette to her lips. Took a drag. Exhaled above my head.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to enjoy this?" she said.

In response, all I could do was grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote the Genkai convo back in June. So happy to finally use it.
> 
> Longest chapter ever. Sorry about that. I wanted to cram all of the crap between the big cases into one chapter. No sense in dragging out filler, methinks. Thus, this is a chapter of passing time, a means of summarizing the "in between" bits without slowing down the story overall. We can get right to the Saint Beasts (more or less) when I come back from my hiatus.
> 
> Part of me wishes I'd sent her to see the tournament, but I don't think she would've done much but stand there and cheer for people, and that's boring.
> 
> SUPER SURPRISED I managed to post this even just one day late. Had NO writing time this week due to busy work hours and lots of cosplay prep. Was at an anime convention all weekend, cosplaying as Yusuke in his most garish outfit. Pics on my Tumblr if you're interested!
> 
> MANY THANKS to those who read last week, and to those who came out and wished me luck for NaNoWriMo. See y'all next month, and thanks again!


	49. Surprises & Prophecy (Pt 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko has had a busy month.

One month after I showed up on Shizuru's unsuspecting doorstep, I boarded a bus and headed into the mountains to the west of the Sarayashiki.

Well. I boarded a train, first. And then I took a bus. And then I had to rent a bicycle, take a long walk, and then take another bus before reaching the foot of a worn mountain path at the edge of a quaint village. The point I'm trying to make is that it took a long while—a  _really_  long while—and by the time I saw the "BEWARE OF DOGS" read by the gate at the foot of the trail, I was in dire need of a nap.

Instead I tossed my sweaty bangs from my forehead, paid the dubious signage no mind, and walked beneath the shade of the trees lining the path's sloping incline.

The dogs here had long since learned not to bite me, after all. This wasn't my first rodeo, and besides: I brought the dogs too many treats. No way would they straight-up murder me.

Not like they tried to do the first time I'd shown up here. But I digress.

It took about half an hour, midday sun scorching when it filtered through the canopy above, to get the house in the secluded glen. Half an hour of trudging along, minding the horned skulls littering the path, and trying not to curse when a mosquito dive-bomb my face and landed a bite on my chin. My clothes stuck to my back and groin like tacky sandpaper. When the red pitch-roofed house with the wrap-around porch and huge picture window swam mirage-like from the trees, I let out a little whoop of joy.

Sato Shogo appeared on the porch a moment later; man had sharp ears, if he heard that whoop, or maybe the guard dogs had barked at my approach. Either way, he came left the house and stood on the upraised porch with a friendly wave.

"Keiko!" he called. "Punctual as always."

"I try." Somehow I found the energy to trot to the house and climb the stairs without embarrassing myself and passing out. "The kids around?"

"No. They're with their mother."

"…is it bad I'm relieved?"

He laughed, head thrown back with mirth. "Not at all! I live for quiet days like these."

"I can imagine." I gestured at the house and my sweaty face. "May I?"

The inside—small but cozy, ceilings lofted and echoing, furniture simple but plush—looked the same as it had the week before, and the week before that, and the week before that. I knew where the guest bathroom was and went to it at once, washing my face in the sink before heading back into the living room. Shogo had already fetched a pitcher from the kitchen and held it poised over a glass on the coffee table.

"Lemonade?" he said.

"Please." I said in the beige chair near the fireplace, leaving open the green easy chair and the blue couch—because those were favored spots for Shogo and his family, and I was a guest, and I didn't want to bother then if said family came back. As Shogo handed me my lemonade, I asked, "So how's the training going overall? I know I'm not supposed to ask, but…"

Shogo poured himself a glass of lemonade and sat in his green chair. Legs crossed, fingers steepled, he tilted back his head and thought a moment. "Last I heard, it was going well." A smile cracked his solemn features. "But Kuroko and the kids have a great time keeping me in the dark, so I can't tell you much more than that, I'm afraid."

"It's OK." That was a lie, of course, but it couldn't be helped. I took a sip of lemonade (which I think he'd diffused with refreshing, tongue-coating mint oil) and said, "I figured."

"Thank you for your understanding," he said. "And how were you this last week?"

"Oh. Fine, I suppose." We had this conversation every time I came to check in with Shogo and his family; it felt as scripted as a play, although in truth I did have more to tell him since the last time we'd spoken. "I've just been hanging out and stuff. And since everyone is off training this summer, I'll admit it's been a little…"

I trailed off. Shogo, no stranger to the song and dance of my missing friends and odd social life, offered a sympathetic smile.

"Lonely?" he surmised.

I started to say no. To paste on a smile and say I was just fine, thanks, and not to worry.

But…this was Shogo.

He knew better than to believe my excuses by now.

* * *

I heard from the boys precisely once after Genkai informed me she would be keeping both of them—and just as predicted, I missed both of them terribly.

For two weeks after the phone call from Genkai, nothing but radio silence. Nothing but a big, gaping hole in my chest Yusuke and Kuwabara had once occupied, as empty as their beds at night when the sun went down. Atsuko had swallowed the truth easily enough. I hadn't bothered lying to her, admitting Yusuke was training with a  _sensei_  in the mountains because…well. Atsuko didn't exactly  _care_. I knew her well enough to know that she'd think it was a great idea, Yusuke training with someone, because it might give him the discipline he sorely lacked. As for Kuwabara's family, after I told Shizuru what was up, she was able to provide a cover story to Kuwabara's father almost immediately.

It covered both her and Kuwabara's absences in one precise stroke, in fact. Good ol' Shizuru. I'd come to miss her as much as I missed the boys, even if she wasn't totally cut off the way Yusuke and Kuwabara were. Genkai would bite my head off if I so much as came within a mile of her compound.

That's why the phone call at 2 AM on a Tuesday came as such a welcome surprise despite the stupid-late hour.

"Keiko?!" someone said after I mumbled a grumpy 'hello' into the phone. "Keiko, it's me!"

The heavy cotton of sleep dissolved; I sat bolt upright in bed, hand a vice on the receiver. "Kuwabara, is that you?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's me—but I don't have much time! Do my dad and sister know where I am? Genkai said she got word to them, but I—"

"Yeah, it's all good," I cut in. "I took care of everything."

"Oh, thank god." I could practically see him sag, blocky features relieved and grateful. "I was worried. And I would've called sooner, honest, but Genkai said 'outside distraction is detrimental to our training' or something, but I didn't hear very well because I was sort of mostly passed out at the time, and—"

"You were  _what_?!"

"Hey, keep your voice down! I had to pick the lock and sneak out of bed to use the phone!"

I only got louder. "Genkai  _locks you_  in your  _room_  at night?!"

"Well, yeah," Kuwabara said. "She doesn't want the snakes to get out."

"THE  _SNAKES_?!"

"Shhh!" Kuwabara susurrated, like the snakes in question probably did  _and oh my god Genkai I'm going to kill you for what you're doing to my precious cinnamon roll Kuwabara._  "They aren't venomous or anything; they're just supposed to scare us." He sounded like a preening bird when he added, "I named all of them, actually. They're pretty nice once you get past the scales and stuff."

I took a deep breath and tried to quell my murderous urges, not to mention my utter horror at the thought of a bed full of snakes. The sheets twisting around my ankles felt suspicious, suddenly.

"Snakes," I said. "Snakes. I can't believe she makes you sleep with  _snakes_." I'd wondered what horrible tortures Genkai would cook up for my boys, but  _snakes_? It was like she could read minds, because: "Oh, man. That's not good. Yusuke  _hates_  snakes!"

"Yeah, I know," Kuwabara muttered. "He kept me up with his shrieking that first night." His voice adopted a sunny, optimistic air when he helpfully informed me, "But Genkai puts him on the bed of nails more often than the snake pit, so it's chill, right?"

I gaped into the dark of my bedroom and managed, in clipped tones, to intone the following: "The fact that you're presenting a bed of nails as the 'chill' option is absolutely nightmarish."

"…yeah, that does sound pretty bad out of context, doesn't it?"

"It sounds bad in  _any_  context." Far too late to get Kuwabara away from the sadistic Genkai at this point, unless I launched an escape attempt, but Genkai would just kick my ass and then we'd  _both_  be fucked and sleeping in the snake pit. Rubbing my temples, I desperately tried to change the subject. "Are you OK? Is she feeding you, at least?"

I heard him shudder through the phone. "Ugh, yeah. It tastes like crap, but it's good for us. When I get back, you bet the first thing I'll want to eat is some of your dad's ramen!"

"It'll be on the house." Least I could do, given I was the one who'd gotten Kuwabara into this mess. I swung my legs out of bed and flipped on my desk lamp, bedroom bathed in a warm glow. The fan in the corner kept the room cool, breeze wafting across my face in the damp summer dark. "So is the training going OK? Are you learning a lot, or just being tortured for sadistic funsies?"

I expected to hear about more torture, or for Kuwabara to at least bemoan Genkai's tough standards and harsh training regimen. I most certainly didn't expect to hear a tone of reverence creep into Kuwabara's rough voice, nor for his words to come as hushed as my midnight bedroom.

"Oh, man, Keiko," he said. "Genkai is  _amazing_."

Mind darting back to the snake pit, I said, "…she is?"

"Yeah. I mean, sure, the snakes and the nails and the pushing boulders up hills and the holding your breath for ten minutes underwater thing is hard—"

" _Holding your_ what _for ten minutes, now?!"_

"—but I feel  _good_ ," he continued, "and I haven't felt like that in months."

The gratitude sang in his tone like a struck bell. My toes dug into the carpet by my bed, gripping the plush as I murmured, "Kuwabara…"

"Genkai said I was going about it all wrong," he said. "The answer wasn't turning down the volume on my power. The answer was learning to use it, get familiar with it, master it and make it listen to me. She makes me meditate in bad conditions until my power just…swims forward. It just swims through all the noise and then it's just  _there_  and I can feel it, and use it, and it's not scary anymore."

My lips curled on reflex. He sounded so confident—a far cry from the anxiety-riddled boy who'd slept on my floor weeks prior. Seems sending him to Genkai might be worth the snakes, after all.

"She doesn't want anyone suppressing your power," I said. "She wants you to gain control."

"Finesse is the word she keeps using," he said, and his voice dropped low when he muttered, "not that I know what that means."

"It means delicate and precise," I said. "Like a fencer wielding a foil, y'know?"

How badly did I long to see his eyes light up, a smile to bloom across his face? I could see it in my mind's eye when he said, "Hey, that makes sense, and Keiko, you'll never believe this—but I have a sword! It's like Yusuke's gun only, well, a sword instead, and it's super-super cool and I can't wait to show it to—"

He fell silent midsentence. I frowned, the buzz of the quiet line rattling against my ear canal. Was it just the fan slowly circling in the corner, or could I hear Kuwabara breathing low and steady on the line, like an animal regulating its breath to avoid a predator?

"Kuwabara?" I said.

"Sorry. Thought I heard something," he said in a softer voice. "No telling what Genkai would do if she caught me." Real regret accompanied the phrase, "I should probably go before that happens."

My heart lurched. "So soon?"

"Yeah. She'd probably make me eat a cactus if she found out I'd called you, but I couldn't  _not_  try to call, y'know?"

"I know," I said. "But—tell Yusuke that everything's OK back home, will you?"

"Will do." He hesitated. "And, uh…I miss you." And then he began to babble, voice rising louder with embarrassment. "I mean, we both miss you, even if Yusuke will never admit it, but I needed to say it for myself, to you…if it's OK? It's OK, right?"

"It's OK. I miss you, too."

Kuwabara made a strangled, pleased noise in the back of his throat. I laughed. I couldn't help it. I hadn't heard his voice in weeks and had been worried sick, but here he was getting nervous talking to a girl—nervous talking to a  _girl_  after he'd had to sleep in a pit of  _snakes_. My Kuwabara to the core, a lovable goofball till the end. I'd miss him all the more, after hearing him stutter like that.

"And for what it's worth," I said, "I'm proud of you."

Another strangled inhale, this one followed by a squeaked, "Keiko?!"

"I'm proud of you for diving in with both feet and kicking your power's ass," I said, and I let my tone get heated for just a moment. "You're amazing. You're not running away—you're running headlong into the fray. You're brave. And I'm so, so  _proud of you_ , dammit!"

Although he'd seen my protective streak, like on the night I defended him from those thugs in the alley, I don't think Kuwabara had heard this level of proud-mama-bear from me yet. He squeaked again, like he wasn't exactly sure how to handle himself—but then he took a deep breath.

"Keiko, I need to say something," he said. He took another deep breath. "I've been thinking, and— _oh my god I have to go._ "

Before I could blurt out a question, or even register that his voice had jumped at least an octave at that last statement, there came a thud, followed by a clatter, and then by a yelp and the pound of running feet. Static followed—and then a crass, cracking voice cut through the quiet.

"Touching conversation," she groused. "I'm one more word away from vomiting."

"Hi, Genkai," I said. I used my best no-nonsense voice to ask, "So what's this I hear about a bed of snakes?"

"Testing willpower," she grunted. "Seems he had the will to free himself, if nothing else." Though perhaps I imagined it, I thought she sounded almost impressed when she said, "Didn't realize he can pick locks."

"He can't, so far as I know," I said.

"So he learned. Adapted. Necessity is the mother of invention. Explains the sword…but I've said too much." A laugh snuck into her decrepit vocal cords. "Time to inflict a penalty game for his poor behavior."

I couldn't suppress a sympathetic wince. "Don't hurt him too badly."

"No promises," Genkai said.

She hung up.

I didn't hear from Yusuke or Kuwabara again that summer. If pressed, I'd put money on Genkai tearing the phone off the wall just to keep them from trying that stunt again—but somehow, I knew deep in my gut that this absence from the boys was worth it.

The brittle edge that had invaded Kuwabara's voice before he left to train with her had vanished.

That alone was worth the price of separation.

* * *

"I'm anxious to have them back," I said, thoughts pulled once more into the present.

Shogo nodded. "So is my wife."

My brow lifted. "Oh?"

"She's interested in her successor. Well, her successor's successor." Although he didn't say Sensui's name, I knew who he meant—but I tried not to let that show on my face. Shogo continued, "And she's very interested to hear about his experiences with Genkai. Did you know she went to Genkai once, but Genkai refused to take her on as a student?"

"No. I didn't know." Canon most certainly had never let that slip, but then again, they'd never let slip anything about Hideki- _sensei_  and his connection to Genkai, either. Thus, I meant it when I said, "That's fascinating."

"Yes. Though it wasn't for a lack of potential. Rather, Genkai merely didn't want to take on students at the time. She claimed to be enjoying her retirement too much." At that he sighed. "Poor timing for Kuroko, I suppose. She was terribly upset, even though she managed to find a different  _sensei_  later. If she were ten years younger…"

He trailed off, implication left unspoken. It seemed every conversation I had with Shogo, I learned just the littlest bit more about this world, be it the general nature of it or its connections to Yu Yu Hakusho. Here I was uncovering another lost connection, another stray thread. Pity summer was coming to a close and these frequent visits would have to cease. We'd probably keep in touch, sure, but…

Shogo apparently read my mind. He said, "At any rate, summer is quickly drawing to its end. Have you had fun, even if you miss your friends?"

This time I was able to meet his question with a smile—a genuine smile. "I have," I said, and that was the truth.

Much as I missed my boys, saddling Genkai with their asses meant I had more free time to nurture and develop other friendships—ones canon had never quite dictated I should pursue, but ones I would pursue nonetheless.

* * *

They chose a trendy café with a French theme—very  _them_ , and exactly as I expected. And the conversation went pretty much exactly how I thought it would, too, starting with general school updates and news about my homelife. That was all a smokescreen, though, for what they really wanted to know. I saw it in their eyes, the way they lit up when they finally got all the filler bits out of the way and cut straight to the chase.

Too bad I had to let them down with my answer of "Sorry, girls, but I'm still single." They stared at me, nonplussed, and then sighed in comical unison.

"So you still don't have a boyfriend?" said Eimi.

"Changing schools didn't change my No Dating Until I'm 18 Rule," I reminded her.

"Yeah. I guess not," said Eimi.

"But we'd hoped!" Michiko added.

Another sigh between the two of them, twin looks of beleaguered pity aimed in my direction. I rolled my eyes, but I laughed, because these two were nothing if not persistent. Both of them had gone on a lot of dates since we'd last spoken. Popular girls, it seemed, but they still carved out time to visit with good ol' Keiko.

It felt good to see them. Good, and long overdue. The girls seemed to feel the same way, or at least they felt like they were falling behind on their romance lectures.

"I hear there are some really cute boys at Meiou," Michiko said when she recovered from her disappointment.

"And some cute  _girls_ ," Eimi added with a waggle of eyebrow.

It was all I could do to not turn into an atomic tomato. Turning up my nose, I very stiffly declared, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of  _course_  you don't," they said as one, and then we all collapsed into giggles.

I'd never explicitly "come out" to them (or to anyone in this life, for that matter) but Eimi and I both had caught each other staring at a pretty girl before, and Michiko thought it was hilarious, so there really hadn't been a need—and that was a good thing considering our nation's political climate in the 1990s. We were content to let small jokes and knowing comments slide with a giggle or two, and not discuss it in full, but still. It was nice to know I wasn't quite alone, even if we'd never exchanged a verbal truth.

We chattered for a while at the café before paying and heading out, day reserved for shopping, girl talk, and much-needed catching up. As we neared the door, however, a call of my name stopped us. From the other side of the café came Junko, of all people, grinning ear to ear. Michiko and Eimi exchanged A Look at the sight of her stylish cowboy boots and short skirt. Not in a mean or judgy way, but in an oh-my-god-Keiko-has-new-friends-who-seems-cool kind of way. Which was nice. I just hoped they got along…

"Hey, Yukimura!" Junko said. "How's your summer?"

"It's been great." I gestured at my friends. "Eimi, Michiko. This is Junko, a friend from school."

A chorus of "Nice to meet you" and a trio of bows made the rounds, greetings and names and general introductions galore. Eimi said, "We're friends from Keiko's old school. Thanks for taking care of our girl for us."

"It's no trouble." Junko nudged my ribcage, ends of her bleached hair flipping. "But she takes care of  _us_  more than the reverse, truth be told."

"Oh god," Michiko said, horrified. "So she's still acting like a mom?"

Eimi added, "We'd hoped she'd outgrow that."

"Nope!" Junko said. "Still the mommiest of all moms."

Michiko heaved a sigh. "Oh, Keiko."

"Will you never act your age?" Eimi scolded.

"Ha ha, very funny, all of you," I said—but they weren't done. Not by a long shot.

The conversation quickly turned into a barrage of good-natured teasing, Junko sharing anecdotes about my mom tendencies and the way I'd become an advice guru for most of our grade ("That's what she was at Sarayashiki, too!" Eimi said). Even if they were poking fun at me, the sight of them getting along warmed the cockles of my wee little heart right up.

If Eimi and Michiko got along with my new friends, it would be easier to keep them around and in the loop. I hadn't recognized some of the names from their stories about school. I know they hadn't recognized most, if any, from mine. How easy it would be to lose touch with these great girls if we didn't have common ground in our social lives. Growing apart was a natural part of growing up, but the thought of that eventuality sent a spike of pain through my worried head.

Lucky for me, a distraction availed itself as surely as if I'd placed an order for it at the café counter.

"Will you excuse me just one second?" I said, breaking away from the group. "Hey! Kaito!"

The aforementioned turned with a frown, movements jerky but swift. Eyes widened behind his glasses, which he shoved back up his nose with the tip of one long finger before addressing me. It was weird seeing him in street clothes instead of a uniform, though he wore a tie and suit jacket with slacks, so all in all it was more a change in color scheme as opposed to a full outfit swap. Damn guy was formal even in his casual life…

"Yukimura," he said, clipped and nasal as always. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I'll say." I jerked my head at the front of the restaurant. "Didn't figure you for a café guy."

"I'm not." He glanced over my shoulder. "Here with friends, I presume."

I looked back. Michiko and Eimi stared toward us, both huddled at Junko's side as the taller girl muttered to them out of the corner of her mouth. They all paled and pivoted away when they saw us looking, retreating behind one of the potted ivy climbers near the café door—but then they just started staring again between the leaves. Not very subtle, girls.

"Yeah," I said. "Some from all the schools I've been to, actually."

"Interesting." His lips quirked the barest fraction. "So Sarayashiki students are still willing to associate with the delinquent, then?"

"Oh, shut up," I grumbled. When Kaito laughed, I changed my tactic and waggled my eyebrows. "So what are you doing here, anyway? Hot date?"

Kaito glared, but beneath his freckles I saw a tinge of pink. "Please. I have no time for such frivolity." He proffered the book under his arm. "An author I admire is speaking at a bookstore a few blocks over. I thought a bite to eat ahead of time was in order. Would despise it if my stomach growled mid-reading."

"Ah, cool!" I said. "I went to a book signing not long ago, myself. Very fun. I hope you have a great time!"

"Oh?" he said, breezing past the well-wishes and heading right for the part that interested him. "A signing for whom, and where? Sarayashiki is woefully negligent about hosting signings."

"That makes sense, because this was in Tokyo," I said. "It was for Sato Shogo. Heard of him?"

Kaito scowled. "He's  _only_  one of the foremost voices in Japanese literature, Yukimura."

"So…you like him?"

"That's putting it mildly. I've written three papers on the use of allegory in his work." His eyes glittered, black and intense. "Did you get anything signed?"

"Nah. But next time."

"Pity. Is he scheduled again soon?"

"Not that I know of."

It wasn't like Kaito to show pedestrian emotions like disappointment, but for once he let that show on his face—and it stung. His face, already so craggy and pointed, looked as carved as an emaciated statue. My mouth intervened before my brain could tell it that this was a very bad idea.

"But I managed to strike up a correspondence," I said, cursing and cheering inside when Kaito's eyes lit up again. "I could get something signed for you, if you'd like."

Despite the light in his eyes, he didn't react with quite the joy I thought he would. " _You_  have a correspondence with  _the_  Sato Shogo?" he said, appraising me with new eyes. Apparently I'd surprised him as much as he'd surprised me.

"Well." Ugh, me and my big mouth. I just hoped Kaito wouldn't ask questions when I replied, "Yeah. I do."

Alas, Kaito was nothing if not a creature of questions. "Why would someone like  _him_  talk to someone like  _you_?"

"…I'm going to pretend that wasn't as insulting as it sounded." When Kaito smirked, I shrugged, using the moment to cover the fact I was scrambling for a cover story. It's not like I could tell him that Sato Shogo was married to the first Spirit Detective. "Well, you see…it's like you said the other day. Not many people are into literature. So we we got to chatting and I told Sato Shogo about the novel I'm writing and he, um…he's reading it. To help someone in the next generation, y'know?"

It certainly sounded like a good cover story to me. It used facts Kaito had taught me about the literary world, had a plausible beginning, and a good reason for my continued contact with Shogo. Plus, it was true: Shogo had offered to read some of my writing sometime, though I hadn't handed any over to him yet. Writers have to stick together and all that.

So why was Kaito staring at me like I'd shown up wearing scary clown makeup all of a sudden?

"One," he said, every word a ponderous effort. "You write? And two. He agreed to look at it?"

Aw, shit.  _That's_  why. I hadn't told Kaito I liked to write yet—because I hadn't told anyone about that, hardly. Fuck fuck fuck fuck—

"Well. Yeah." I shifted from foot to foot. "To both questions, yes? I don't mention it much or anything because I'm, um…shy about it." It sounded lame even to me, but hopefully Kaito read my cagey answer as sheer embarrassment instead of a poor attempt at deception. "Yeah. That's it. I'm just shy."

Kaito stared at me, unmoving—and then he sighed.

"To get his attention, your manuscript must have  _some_ value," he said, though grudgingly.

"I mean, it's a work in progress, but…" No, nope, not the time to defend your work, girl. "So do you want me to get something signed for you?"

He did, of course, though he carried no such item on his person. Thus we were forced to exchange numbers to coordinate a book drop, during which we wondered if there were more readings we could attend this summer. Tentative plans made, Kaito parted from me with a very efficient bow and farewell, sparing no time for niceties—or my friends still standing behind that ivy trellis, staring at us.

"See?" Junko was saying as I walked back over. "She's friends with him."

"Junko was telling us that he's a resident genius at Meiou," Michiko said, "but he's notoriously unfriendly."

"How'd you get to be friends with him?" Eimi asked. "And did I see a phone number exchange there at the end? Hmm?"

"…you were watching us the whole entire time, weren't you."

It was not a question, even if I phrased it as such. My trio of friends averted their gazes, Junko letting out a nonchalant whistle as she tried very hard to look innocent (a feat at which she failed). When I finally sighed, hand on my forehead, Junko laughed.

"Look, I'm just saying you should join the circus as a lion tamer, OK?" she said, hands in the air. "Everybody knows Kaito has a temper. He hates talking to the other students, but you charmed him somehow."

"Well, Keiko does have a history of befriending those with social issues…" Eimi said, trailing off with a pointed look at Michiko.

"Oh?" Junko said. "Do tell!"

Michiko and Eimi sported the wickedest of all grins. "Have you ever heard the names Urameshi Yusuke or Kuwabara Kazuma?" they asked—and then the anecdotes began again.

Junko ended up going shopping with us, and by the time the evening came to a close, I got the sense my friends had become…well, friends. I just had to wonder how long any of these friendships would last, given what was to come in Keiko's canon. Growing apart might be a natural part of growing up, but I hoped to delay that parting as long as I possibly could.

These girls were worth that effort.

* * *

Shogo didn't know everything about my situation. He knew about Yusuke and Kuwabara, and about my ties to Spirit World through them, but I had never revealed my true age or origin. Just didn't seem like the right person to tell, even if I trusted him with so much else about my lucky second life. Despite the lack of detail regarding my history, however, I think he sensed troubles in me I had never spoken aloud, and entertained worries about me he couldn't quite articulate. A huge smile creased his face, put happy little creases next to his eyes, as I told him about my friends and the meeting with Kaito. When I pulled Kaito's book from my backpack for him to sign, his smile only widened.

"Well, I for one am happy to hear you have a diverse group of friends around you," he said when he handed the now-signed book back to me. "And friends with good taste, I might add."

My eyes rolled of their own accord. "My. How humble!"

"I'm allowed a little pride in my middle age," he said, light and teasing. "And I admit I worry you put too much stock in the new Detective and his friends. Having another peer group is what you need, I think."

"Me, too," I said—but my own smile faded a tad when Shogo frowned, leaning his elbows on his knees, gaze intent on my face.

"Speaking of diversity. I know you dislike hearing this," he said, "But Kuroko doesn't exactly approve of the company you keep. Not all of it, anyway."

My hands tightened around my water glass.

This again. We had this talk every time I came around to visit, every time I mentioned the people I typically hung out with—but was 'people' even the right word? And had Kuroko put Shogo up to this? It hadn't gone well during my last visit, that's for sure…

Sensing the tension in my tight shoulders, Shogo said, "I tried to talk some sense into her after last time, but…well. You know my Kuroko. She's a stubborn one."

For a moment I didn't reply. Putting my glass to my lips, I drained down the rest of my minty lemonade and set the cup on the coffee table. Glass clinked against the wooden coaster, crystalline in the still house.

"I know," I said, "and thank you. But I think after last time, she understands that I'm not changing my mind." At that I chuffed, a quick, derisive exhale through the nose. "I certainly understand that she's not changing hers…"

Shogo's lean cheeks colored just a tad. "Yes. Well. Different experiences lead to different perspectives, I suppose." Some of the intensity left his gaze, giving way to manufactured civility. "May I ask how the demons are treating you?" came his polite inquiry. "I figure you'd rather I ask than Kuroko."

"That's true. I much prefer you." His wife, though a badass I admired beyond words, was at times a bit…much, at least on this subject. "And they're OK. I think last week I actually had a breakthrough with the pricklier of the two of them."

Shogo looked intrigued. "The fire demon, I'm guessing?"

"That's the one," I said—but before I began talking, I wondered if Shogo would see it the same way.

* * *

Hiei, if nothing else, was quite predictable once you established a routine…and we  _definitely_  developed a routine after so many weeks of contact. Follow these four steps to make friends with the fire demon in  _your_ life!

Step one: Bring ramen into the alley. Wait.

Step two: Once Hiei appears, he'll ignore you. Fill the silence with random talk about your summer vacation. Get insulted and/or ignored.

Step three: Attempt to ask about Hiei's time in Human World. Get rebuffed. Abide Hiei's snark. Of which there will be a lot.

Step four: Watch him leave, and yell at him for stealing your bowls.

Lather, rinse, repeat for  _weeks_.

Friendship not included. Some assembly required. Satisfaction  _definitely_  not guaranteed.

Ahem.

My meetings with Hiei rarely varied. I'd chatter, he'd insult my petty human drama, and I'd try to figure out where he was sleeping. Week in, week out, I pestered him to eat a balanced diet and try new foods, expanding his menu from ramen to the various other dishes my parents offered…only I wouldn't just serve them up. Oh, no, I could do nothing so obvious with the taciturn Hiei. It would take a few tries to get him to eat something new, but if  _I_  ate it enough, he'd get jealous and eventually steal it off my plate. Grass is greener and all that.

Speaking of which…

"Say," I said. "When was the last time you washed your clothes?"

Hiei looked up from his  _katsudon_  with a scowl. Rice flecked his chin before he swiped it away with the back of his wrist. Good thing he did that himself because I was half a second away from licking my thumb and blotting it off, which would likely lose me a hand. And that's saying nothing about how badly I wanted to scrub the off-color patch on his cloak's dark elbow. It looked suspiciously streaky and shiny, like a grass stain sitting atop the black fabric.

Hiei followed my eyes to the offending stain. He promptly shifted to one side, pulling the offending limb away and out of sight.

"None of your business," he snapped, hunching over his bowl again. "That is no concern of yours, Meigo."

"Yikes. Don't bite my head off," I said. "You don't  _stink_ or anything. I'm just wondering since you never did tell me anything about your living situation."

Another pointed glare. "I  _wash_  my clothes, if that's what you're asking."

"Sure. But with  _soap_? Or do you in the bayou out back of my parents' house?"

A low hiss, and he shoved a bite of food into his face. The lack of rebuttal made me think I struck a nerve, which pulled forth a knowing giggle. The thought of Hiei scrubbing his clothes on a rock or something was certainly a giggle-worthy image. As he tipped back his bowl to shovel down the last bits of food, I crossed my legs and leaned my elbow on my knee, wooden crate creaking as I shifted.

Hm. There was an idea. But there was no way he'd take me up on it, right?

"Lord knows where you keep all the bowls you've stolen from me," I mused. "But whatever. I have some clothes here that would fit you."

Hiei froze, one scarlet eye focused on me around the side of said bowl. I gestured up at my bedroom window above the alley.

"You can wear them while I wash your clothes, if you want," I said. My eyes travelled downward. "And patch up that rip in your pants while I'm at it. It's been driving me nuts for weeks."

Now Hiei had to twist in the other direction to hide that bit of brown skin peeking from a gash in his trousers. This brought his grass-stained elbow back into view, much to my amusement. Just as I thought—he'd rejected my oh-so-kind offer the way Sorei rejected my attempts at bathing his mangy hide. Really, Hiei and my feral cat were peas in a foul-tempered pod.

"OK," I said, averting my eyes. "Never mind, then."

I went back to rambling about cram school, and the amount of summer homework I'd undertaken just to get a leg-up on university exams (which were still years away, but I'd be damned if I didn't get into the best college in Japan and give Keiko's parents anything less than what they deserved). Hiei hadn't seemed interested in my earlier ramble-session, eating his food without any comments or eye contact (which was normal for him). He seemed just as distracted when I resumed talking. Movements slow, he ate the rest of his meal and stood up. I did, too, bracing myself for a bullet of parting snark before he would inevitably disappear (and take my bowl along with him).

Instead, his eyes dropped to my feet. His teeth clenched.

"Fine," he grated out.

I'd been mid-sentence about meeting Eimi and Michiko for dinner soon, so his comment didn't make a lick of sense. "What?" I said.

"I said fine, dammit," he repeated—and when I gaped at him, he lifted his head like a tiny little edgelord midget king commanding a subject to perform a distasteful task. "You may… _wash_  my clothes."

I stared at him.

He stared at me right back, eyes as resolute as boulders.

"Oh," I said, because in absolutely zero capacity had I expected him to say yes. "Oh. Um. Well. OK?"

He bristled like a homicidal hedgehog. "If you didn't want me to accept your offer, you shouldn't have offered in the first place, idiot."

"Oh, no—I wanted you to accept. I just didn't expect you to actually, y'know. Do it?" Hands on hips, I turned and stared up at my bedroom window again. "Which means I didn't exactly plan the logistics of this. Gimme just a second, please."

Hiei scoffed, but he didn't call me an idiot again or disappear like a ghost, which was progress. I mulled the particulars for a minute or two before lifting my finger to the window above.

"I guess you'd probably want to avoid dealing with Mom and Dad, given you always flit away when they come near," I said. "I'll let you in the window upstairs. Is that OK?"

Hiei didn't bother with a verbal reply. He just did that weird shadow-step maneuver and vanished, leaving me alone in the alley with our empty plates (including his bowl—ah, so he didn't steal things if I offered to wash his clothes; file that away for future use). I took the stairs two at a time, barely remembering to trade my outdoor shoes for indoors slippers, and ran straight to my window. Hiei crouched on the roof outside it looking for all the world like Sorei on a rainy night, scowl embarrassed and promising imminent death if I ever told anyone he relied on me for shelter.

Hell, though. Hiei had nothing to fear. It would probably take photo proof for this scenario to seem plausible to outsiders. I was living said scenario and yet I barely believed it, myself.

I unlocked and opened the window with a smile, one Hiei did not return. He shrugged himself over the sill and placed one boot squarely in the middle of my desk (right on top of a fucking textbook, that jerk), vaulting over it to land on my carpet with a lithe hop.

"Oi!" I squawked. "What, were you raised in a barn?"

A magma-red glare attempted to turn me to ash. "I was raised by  _bandits_ ," Hiei said, as though that was somehow preferable.

"…yeah, OK, prove my point why dontcha?" I pointed at his feet. "No shoes in the house. You take them off at the door. Or at the window, in your case."

I'd never seen Hiei look so completely mystified. "And why should I do that, exactly?"

I gaped at him. Shut my mouth with a clack of teeth. Ground out the words, "Because it's polite, Hiei."

But that was not enough for him. "And if an enemy attacks, and I have to run?" he demanded. "What then, Meigo? What then?"

My eyes rolled, because oh my Jesus, that was such a Hiei thing to say. "Then nothing. No one will attack you in my house, dummy."

"But how can you guarantee that?" he pressed, ever paranoid.

"Because—because it's my  _house_?" I sputtered. Hiei looked triumphant, but before he could snark at me I added: "And I'll kick their asses if they so much as try to  _bruise you_ , that's why."

His triumphant look morphed into one of astonishment, then just as quickly into an expression of pure disdain. He tossed his head and laughed. "Ha! As if I need your protection!"

Ire rose like floodwater. " _You're_  the one who needed a guarantee that you wouldn't get attacked, and—" I stopped talking, took a deep breath, and sighed. "Nope. Not doing this. Look, Hiei, taking off your shoes keeps the floors clean." I pointed at his boots again. "If you take off your shoes, you won't track in any dirt or gross stuff from outside. Get it?"

He did not. "Why, pray tell, would you want to keep the  _floor_  clean?"

"I mean. General sanitation and hygiene isn't enough for you?" When he remained unconvinced, I said, "In case I want to sit down on it, I guess?"

"Why would you sit on the floor when there's a  _chair_  in here?" he said, finger thrust toward my desk chair. A wicked gleam lit his eye like a spark lights a bonfire. "What, were  _you_  raised in a barn?"

Even I had to admit turnabout was fair play. I threw up my hands with a wordless cry of exasperation. "Dammit, Hiei, some people just like sitting on the floor; I don't know what to tell you!"

"I think what you're telling me is that humans enjoy prostrating themselves on the ground like  _dogs_."

Another exasperated cry from me, and I shoved Hiei toward the door. He snapped "Unhand me, woman!" but still allowed me to push him down the hallway to the bathroom. Mom and Dad were busy working the dinner shift and wouldn't be back up for a while, but I still instructed Hiei to lock the bathroom and escape out the window if he heard anyone but me coming.

"You can change in here, then hang out in my room," I said. A thought occurred. "Oh. Do you want to shower while you're in there?"

He (predictably) glared at me. "None of your business."

"That's a yes, isn't it," I deadpanned, and Hiei flushed—just the tiniest tinge of discoloration across his nose, but still. I'd seen through the bluster and he knew it. "I'll go get a change of clothes. And I'll wait to come in till I hear the water running, OK?"

Trusting that he didn't need the shower explained to him, nor that he needed to be told what shampoo was (he'd figure it out, probably,  _hopefully_ ), I shut the door on his furious face and headed for my room. I'd collected a lot of Yusuke's old clothes over the years, plus some newer ones since he'd been at Genkai's (boy clothes were the best for stealing, I gotta say, and they made me feel like Yusuke was with me when I wore them). Although it was tempting to saddle Hiei with Yusuke's most obnoxious purple shorts and garish orange t-shirt, I felt magnanimous enough to pick out a plain grey shirt and black sweatpants for the fire demon down the hall, plus a pair of Yusuke's boxers from a few year's back. I just hoped they fit him, because—

My hands froze around the aforementioned underwear.

Oh. Oh my god.

I was about to answer the age-old question of boxers or briefs, wasn't I?

Oh good lord. This I had  _not_  planned for.

Mustering my courage (and what little maturity I possessed), I marched the clothes to the bathroom. The water was running, hiss of steam audible through the closed door, but still I knocked until I heard Hiei's unintelligible growl. Even then I cracked the door and peered inside lest I accidentally walk in on him in the nude (sorry, fangirls everywhere, but that was a breach of canon I simply couldn't abide).

Hiei had stuck to the plan, leaving his clothes in a pile atop the counter. I grabbed them and left Yusuke's clothes in their place. Before walking out, however, I pitched up my voice and said, "Hey, Hiei?"

"What?" he muttered,

"I'm sorry I don't have any No More Tears shampoo."

"…what the hell are you talking about?"

"Well I mean, you have more eyes than normal, so I thought there was a heightened chance of you getting soap in them due to sheer percentage, and I know that No More Tears shampoo is for little kids, but it seemed like you'd find it useful and—"

I have no idea how he managed to throw a bar of soap over the curtain rod with enough precision to hit my head with it, but he did. And it hurt. A lot.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, "but I sense it's a joke at my expense, and rest assured I will  _not_  forget that you made it.  _Now get out, Meigo, or else."_

Hiei did not need to make his threat explicit for me to see the wisdom in obeying it. I skedaddled at once, taking his clothes to the stacked washer-dryer in the small hall closet (a splurge sanctioned by my mother after the business took off; most homes in Japan didn't have a dryer at all). Deep breath in, deep breath out, I slowly unfolded his bundle of clothes and took stock of what he'd given me.

A shirt, tattered. Pants, torn. A threadbare scarf, at least three belts that didn't match, socks with holes on the heel, and…that was it.

No underpants to speak of.

Either Hiei made a habit of going commando, or he was wearing his underpants in the shower in case someone tried to attack him and he needed to run for it—and honestly, it was a toss-up as to which was more likely.

"Wow, Hiei," I said, staring at the assortment of garments. "You  _would_ , wouldn't you?" And somehow, despite the fangirlish anticipation of the moment, I wasn't surprised at all.

What did surprise me was the sight of Hiei in human clothes after he emerged from the bathroom (carrying his shoes this time, I was pleased to note). I sat on my bed thumbing through a textbook, pencil tucked behind my ear as I studied, and tried not to stare as he shut the door behind him. Hair dripping and matted with water, feet bare below the hem of the sweatpants, he looked every inch a kiddo in hand-me-downs, illusion broken only by the muscle of his arms and the way his wary warrior's eyes scanned my room. He paid me absolutely no heed, of course. Hiei wandered to my closet door, perusing the poster of Johnny Cash flipping the bird at the camera.

"Hmmph." The hum could've been approval or disapproval, either one, but the smirk on his face made me suspect the former. Of  _course_  he'd like Johnny Cash, of all the humans to choose from. I should've known…

I watched Hiei stalk through my room over the top of my book, hoping he didn't notice the way I tracked his progress, taking in his mannerisms and the catlike grace of his stalking stride. Watching a character like him in such a mundane setting felt absolutely surreal. When he passed close I caught a whiff of my shampoo, sandalwood sweet and earthy and warm. I didn't fault Hiei for using it; it was technically men's shampoo, but gendered products are a scam, and buying "dude" products meant Yusuke could just borrow from me when he inevitably crashed at my house. Nice to know I could care for Yusuke and Hiei both like that…

Hiei paid little attention to my bookcase and stuffed animal collection, focusing mostly on my band posters (which were darker, more his style). Eventually he paused in front of my music station, a small set of shelves with my record player on top and my vinyl collection below. His tanned and calloused hand reached for the tone-arm sitting off to the side of the turntable, eyes narrow and focused as he skimmed the metal with his fingertips.

"That's a record player," I said, trying to be helpful. "It's for—"

His eyes flashed. "I know what it's for."

I blinked at him. "You do?"

"I'm not a  _fool_ , Meigo."

To my immense surprise, and probably merely to prove a point, Hiei pulled a record off the shelf and set it on the turntable, adjusting the arm and positioning the needle with…well, not expert hands, but with hands that hesitated only a moment over the various buttons and switches that brought the vinyl to life. Soon the twanging rasp of "Bad Moon Rising" filled the room; Hiei stepped back from the record player with a pointed look in my direction.

"See, you nitwit?" his eyes said. "I know what I'm doing."

My eye bugged nearly out of my skull, I have to admit, because the idea of Hiei being at all familiar with human technology was an absolute shocker. I set my book aside and crossed my arms, staring at him like I'd never seen him before. I mean, fanfiction often painted Hiei as being scared of automatic doors and riding in cars, so this…this was a departure if I'd ever seen one.

"What are you staring at?"

I flinched at his brusque tone. "Nothing. Just…you like music?"

He scowled. "I find it tolerable."

"Right. You would." What a very Hiei thing to say. Waving at the expanse of my bedroom, I said, "Well, we have a little time before your clothes dry. Want to sit, listen to tunes to pass the time?"

"Will the music keep you from talking?" Hiei said.

I squawked for the millionth time that night, but Hiei's defiant grin wound up making me laugh. Guy loved to poke and prod at people, antagonize them for the sheer fun of it, and it was just so  _him_  that I couldn't stay mad—plus he immediately decided the window sill was the best seat in my room, bypassing my perfectly good swivel chair (the one he himself had pointed out earlier, I might add) in favor of climbing over my desk and settling down to stare into the darkness beyond the glass. Another Hiei-ism played out in real time.

Hiei was full of both surprises and prophecy fulfilled, I was learning. Interesting mix, if not a little inconvenient for my overthinking brain.

Once he settled down, I went back to my textbook, because I had a cram school exam the next day I definitely needed to pass. Hiei let me study for most of the Credence Clearwater Revival record in peace before he broke the silence.

"You never did ask me about it," he said, voice audible despite the music.

I lifted a brow, looking his way askance. "About what?"

"What I saw in your head. The boy with the pink hair who disturbs you so."

The record came to an end, then. The needle sailed off the edge of the vinyl and hovered there, light static echoing through the player's speakers.

"Oh," I said.

Hiei's gaze, measured and unwavering, didn't falter. "I half suspected you'd accost me, demand I find more of the same inside that thick skull of yours."

"I…didn't want to bother you."

Hiei frowned. "Bother me?"

"Well, yeah. I figured you wouldn't be in the mood to go panning for gold in my brain, and I didn't want to…accost you, to use your word."

Hiei had an unnerving habit of not blinking for catlike periods of time. I sighed and closed my textbook, marking my place with my pencil. What I'd said was the truth, but it wasn't all of it. Perhaps he could sense that I left something unspoken, but what was the use of telling Hiei that I was also, in a very real way, scared to know what else he might unearth inside me? Surely he'd just laugh at my fear, right?

The idea that someone like Hiruko could erase my memory, leave part of me a secret even to myself, was absolutely terrifying. But was it more terrifying to wonder, or to learn a potentially terribly truth? I wanted to talk to Cleo about it, or at least see Hiruko again to ask about it personally, but neither party had been in touch as of late. I was content to wait, to put it off, and leave the perhaps uncomfortable revelation for another day.

I tried not to think about how this basically amounted to running from my problems. I tried very, very hard to not to think about that.

"And also," I said when Hiei's stare weighed heavy. "Privacy. I enjoy mine. And I thank you for respecting that."

He harrumphed at me and looked away, back out into the night beyond the window pane. I think that second dose of truth had mollified him somewhat. I didn't trust Hiei yet, just as he didn't really trust me yet. I couldn't let him be the one to unearth my memories. I wasn't yet sure he was the type of demon who wouldn't use them against me.

His canon transformation from enemy to friend, as it were, was not yet complete. Cute though I found him, I wouldn't be caught off guard by my stray cat parolee.

"I hope you don't mind," I said, tone gentler, "if I match you observation for observation."

Hiei did not turn his head, but his eyes flashed with their eerie reflective sheen when they moved my way, mirror image of them doing the same in the reflection of the window. I took a breath to steady myself, hands fisting in my bed's soft comforter.

"You still haven't asked about your sister," I said with a small, warm smile. "I thought  _you'd_  accost  _me_ , demand to know more about what I keep in this thick skull of mine."

Honestly, that weighed on me far more heavily than that forgotten memory of Hiruko Hiei had uncovered—and that's why it had taken me this long to bring up. Hiei would surely fly off the handle at mention of Yukina, right?

Surprise. Once more, Hiei defied my expectations.

Hiei didn't move. In fact, he went quite still, and then his eyes closed into crescents of thick black lash.

"You told me enough," he grumbled. "Stick to the Detective, and I will find her. I've been patient until now. I can be patient a while longer, knowing she's close." One eye cracked, a smelted streak in his brown face. "And I know better than to meddle with Fate, unlike  _some_."

I could only laugh at that simple reasoning—the uncomplicated, rigid rationalization of his actions, his thinly-veiled impatience, the way he lodged an insult into his logic just to get a dig at me. Hiei was rash, brash, but he wasn't  _stupid_ , and clearly he'd had more than enough time to work out his long-game tactic and resist the urge to torture me for information (much though I figured he wanted to). Laughing, shaking my head, I picked up my book again.

"Point taken," I said. "Choose a new record for us?"

He did. Soundgarden this time, darker than the previous music. Hiei didn't bob his head to the music, or sing along (I somehow doubted I'd ever see him do  _that_ ), but occasionally he'd cock his head and narrow his eyes at a lyric. Did he like it or hate it? I couldn't tell. I just hoped it wasn't a bad influence, or something.

Eventually the dryer buzzed out in the hallway. I fetched his clothes, broke out the sewing kit, and darned all the torn bits under Hiei's eagle-eyed scrutiny. "Sloppy stitching," he commented as I darned a sock, but I told him to put a sock in it and rendered him sputtering and speechless with that terrible pun. When I handed the garments over, he inspected each one as though they might try to bite him, god knows why. How long would it take for him to trust I wasn't sewing trackers into his clothes?

"I'll wait in the hall until you're dressed," I said.

Hiei nodded, and I left—but then I called through the closed door, "Hey, Hiei? Stay there. Don't go right away after you get dressed, I mean. I've got something for you."

He didn't reply, and I didn't wait. I skipped downstairs and surreptitiously packed two to-go bento boxes amidst the kitchen hullaballoo, hoping Hiei would listen and I wasn't going to this effort for zilch. I mean, that would be just like him, to be stubborn and do the opposite of what I asked. But joke would be on him, because he'd be missing out on food—favored bribe of stray cats everywhere.

Lucky for Hiei, he listened to me, albeit with attitude most begrudging. He stood by the window with arms crossed, fingers drumming on his bicep. When I walked up and handed him the bentos with a huge smile on my face, he didn't take them. He just cocked a brow and stared.

"That should be about two meals. Not enough until we see each other next, though," I explained. His brow all but disappeared beneath the bandana on his forehead. "Also, you know you can come by more often if you need something, right? Like a bath or to wash your clothes? Or food?" When he didn't reply, face impassive and unreadable, I added: "You know you can come here when it rains. Like, to get somewhere dry and sleep somewhere warm. I hate the idea of you sleeping in a gutter while it's raining."

Despite my attempt at kindness, Hiei merely prickled, metaphorical hackles on the rise. "I don't need your charity, Meigo."

"It's not charity," I said, retort defensive but honest. "It's…I don't know what it is, but it's  _not_  charity. But whatever." I shoved the bento boxes at his chest. "Look, just promise me you'll eat all your vegetables, OK? I left out the mushrooms you don't like and I got the veggies you seem to like most, so you'd better eat them."

Hiei's eyes dropped from my face to the bento boxes.

I beamed. "That's how you get taller, eating your veggies."

Another sharp, hot glare. "My height is no concern of yours!"

"Of course not." I shoved the boxes at him again. "But still, veggies are good for you, and you should eat them anyway."

He waited a beat. I thought he might snap at me and leave without taking them, just to be a dick, but his lips curled back over his teeth and he snatched the boxes from my hand. "I'll take it under advisement," he said—and between one blink and the next, he blurred from sight, got the window open, and vanished into the dark.

I darted after him and stuck my head over the sill. "And you'd better bring back the bento box when you're done, you hear me?"

A futile effort, I supposed. Those bento boxes had surely gone the way of all my missing, pilfered bowls.

Imagine my surprise, therefore, when two days later I found the boxes on my windowsill, clean and intact and waiting for me.

* * *

Shogo found Hiei's behavior as funny as I did, thankfully. He chortled and slapped his knee, saying, "Returning your flatware. That  _is_  progress. And I, too, wondered where he was bathing! Still no word on that?"

"Not even on where he sleeps," I faux-lamented. "But I think this means he trusts me just a bit more than he did a month and a half ago. I mean, it's not like he trusts me  _much_ , and he basically only wants me doing chores for him—but still. Baby steps, I guess?"

"Baby steps indeed," Shogo agreed. He started to say something else, but his head cocked to the side and his eyes went distant. "And speaking of: Three. Two. One."

As soon as he started counting down, I braced myself—and good thing, too, because as if summoned by the mere mention of them, the feet of children pounded up the porch stairs outside.

Kaisei and Fubuki burst into the room like a pair of Tasmanian devils—the cartoon versions that spin around like carousels on crack and possess an unending appetite for chaos. Fubuki swarmed straight over the back of the couch and threw her arms around my neck, laughing her delight when I shrieked and scrambled to my feet—feet Kaisei had crawled under the couch to grab, wrapping himself around one leg so I had to drag him to walk anywhere. Growling like a wounded tiger, I lugged the giggling pair toward the kitchen, tugging and pulling at them and promising all manner of painful retribution for this indignity.

The kids ate that shit up like it was candy.

"Nee-san!" Fubuki warbled. "Did you get me a present? Did you? Did you?!"

"What'd you bring me?" Kaisei joined in. "What'd you bring me, Nee-san, huh?"

"All right, simmer down, simmer down, you monsters!" I griped, which only made them yell louder and laugh harder. "Leave me the heck alone and look in my backpack, why dontcha?"

At once they released their various holds and bolted for the couch, tussling each other for possession of the aforementioned backpack, which they proceeded to upend with no decorum whatsoever. Shogo watched with an utterly helpless look on his face, powerless to stop his two tornado children.

"I got you all of the Shonen Jumps and Shoujo Beats since I was last here,  _and_  a sack of melon jellies, ya little ingrates," I said, straightening my shirt and pants (more of Yusuke's stolen clothes, truth be told).

Two identical faces swiveled in my direction. If it wasn't for Fubuki's braid and Kaisei's low ponytail, I'd be helpless to tell them apart at their young age. They swapped clothes the same way Yusuke and I did.

"And the video?" the twins chorused in unison.

" _And_  the video," I said. "Check the front pocket."

They screamed, overjoyed, and pulled the anime tape free of its confines. My call of "Go watch it in your room and leave me in peace!" fell on deaf ears, but it hardly mattered because they were already sprinting for the stairs to the loft and their shared bedroom, intent on watching their prize.

I didn't speak completely in vain, however…because while they didn't hear me, someone else certainly did.

"Sorry, Keiko," she said with a merry laugh, "but peace is in short supply in this household."

The mother of those devils—Sanada Kuroko, first Spirit Detective, slayer of demons far more literal than her wild children—had sharp ears indeed. She stood just inside the front door, hands on her hips, beaming after her twins with the infinite pride of motherhood. But much as Kuroko cut an impressive figure, I only had eyes for her companion.

"Hey, kid," Shizuru said. She lifted one battered, nicotine-stained hand in my direction, eyes glittering in her bruised, bloodied,  _beautiful_  face. "Long time, no see."

I wanted to run to her, of course. It was the first time I'd seen her in weeks. Running to her seemed like the logical thing to do.

Too bad my feet refused to move—and more's the pity, because Shizuru only managed to take one swaying step inside the house before she fainted dead away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, part 2 of "Surprises & Prophecy Fulfilled": Kurama, more of Shizuru's situation (also spoiler she'll be fine, she's just tired and NQK's narration is dramatic), and the start of a new story arc in YYH canon. And we get to meet Kuroko properly! Thought I could maybe fit it all into this chapter, but it would be, like, 20,000 words, and that is simply too much!
> 
> Anyway, Lucky Child has returned! NaNo was a success: Wrote 75,000 words, though the original novel I worked on isn't finished. Will try to finish it before the new year, though amidst these renewed weekly updates, I'm not quite sure how that'll go. Wish me continued luck!
> 
> See you next week, and thanks so much for sticking around during my hiatus! Y'all're the best and I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.


	50. Surprises & Prophecy Fulfilled, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko battles notions preconceived.

So as not to get trampled when I made a mad dash for Shizuru, Kuroko stepped neatly aside and rounded the couch as I ran past. From the corner of my eye I saw her approach Shogo and give him a small, chaste kiss, but the cute moment barely registered. I had bigger things to worry about—things like lifting Shizuru off the floor and into my arms, laying her head on my knees so I could peer into her sunken face. She didn't reply when I said her name once, then twice, then a third time, and her mouth only thinned when I (perhaps too aggressively) patted her cheek.

"Oh, don't worry," Kuroko called. She'd taken up her spot in her favorite green armchair, one leg draped casually across the other. "She's just tired, that's all."

"Tired or dead?" I muttered.

"Tired," Kuroko said with a bright and merry laugh. "Fubuki and Kasei really wore her out."

I shot the woman a sharp look, because _oh my god, anything but that_. "You sicced the kids on her?"

"Of course! How else will she learn to take on more than one opponent at a time?" At that Kuroko winked. "Plus, it tires the twins out and gives Shogo and I a little peace and quiet. They probably put on that video you gave them and fell right to sleep."

"That's true," Shogo agreed. He seemed to notice my worried expression for the first time, slapping on a reassuring expression for my benefit. "And besides, Keiko. Shizuru gave the twins a run for their money the last time they sparred. There's nothing to worry about, I promise."

"If you say so," I said, meeting Shogo's sincere eyes—but then Shizuru stirred atop my thighs, and I had to look away.

"Keiko," Shizuru grumbled. Her eyes opened into mere slits, like the lights above could blind her. "Keiko, you're…"

"I'm here," I said.

"And you're _loud_."

She chuckled when I gaped at her, a soft, chuffing laugh low in her chest. I flicked her nose and scowled. "First time I see you since I dropped you off at the start of the summer, and first thing you do is insult me? And to think I was worried about your ass."

"Your mistake, kiddo," she grated out, and with a grunt she managed to sit up. "Now help me into bed before I fall asleep on the floor, would ya?"

Kuroko directed me through the archway below the stairs and down the hallway beyond, where a small guest room availed itself on the other side of a cracked door. Shizuru's suitcase sat open in a corner, her bed unmade and unkempt. I dumped her on the bed and hauled her feet atop the sheets, tutting at the sight of her muddy boots. The Sanada/Sato household followed the Western custom of wearing shoes indoors (mainly because it proved impossible to train the kids to take them off at the door, Shogo had once explained) so it was up to me to remove them from Shizuru's leaden feet. She didn't help me at all, head lolling atop the pillow, hair tangled over her mouth and nose like it wanted to strangle her.

"Look at you," I murmured when I set her shoes aside. Combing the hair from her face, I studied the lines of her mouth, jaw, eyes, and brow, noting the myriad scratches gouged into her pale flesh. Bruises darkened the complexion below her eyes and peppered the skin below her collarbone, exposed under the scooped neckline of her tanktop. More bruises and cuts adorned the length of her arms, the jut of her thin knees. Dirt had collected beneath her fingernails in black crescents—but the gashes on her knuckles drew my eyes away. She'd been punching things, clearly, but the twins had appeared unscathed.

Just what did Kuroko have Shizuru doing, anyway, to reduce her to this condition?

The apology came out on a whisper. "I'm sorry, Shizuru."

One baleful hazel eye cracked open. "What're you moaning about now?" she asked, voice a rasp of displaced air.

"I got you into this mess. This whole thing, it was my idea." I waved at her bloody, bruised, battered body. "And now you're…"

When I trailed off, Shizuru suggested, "Stronger?"

"Are you?" I asked. "Or are you just beaten beyond recognition?"

She managed to glower using just one eye. "Takes more than a few brats with fast fists to beat me, kid."

I didn't agree, looking instead at the torn skin on her hands. Shizuru's other eye opened, turning the glower into a full glare. She ignored me when I told her to lie down, rising up on her scraped elbows despite my urgings, winding one hand into the front of my shirt for purchase. I shut up when she hauled me down to eye level—and not merely to placate her.

The fire in her eye could've rivaled Hiei's, just then.

"Listen up, sugar. This might have been your idea, but I agreed to it." Her grip tightened, pulling me even closer. "Don't hog all the credit, now. You hear me?"

My throat lurched when I swallowed—and though I hated to admit it, in that matter, she was correct.

* * *

Shizuru listened to me in silence for almost an hour as I explained everything Kuwabara had kept from her—and the things even he didn't really know. She had burned through at least three cigarettes by the time I finished, sitting back in her chair with a fourth glowing between her fingers.

"Huh," she said, pensive. "Interesting."

I fidgeted in my seat at her kitchen table, hands a knot in my lap. "You're not freaking out."

Shizuru tapped her cigarette into the ashtray at her side, thoroughly unimpressed. "Kid, Yusuke got smashed into jelly by a car and then came back to life. Demons ain't _shit_." A long, dispassionate drag, smoke exhaled in a silver plume toward the ceiling. "So this Genkai. She'll make Yusuke and Kuwabara stronger?"

"Yeah." My voice dropped low. "And good thing, too, considering what Spirit World has already thrown at Yusuke."

"And considering my baby brother's habit of sticking his nose places it doesn't belong, he's got a snowball's chance in hell of staying out of it." Shizuru took another drag, longer and slower than before. "So who's this lady demon-slayer you mentioned?"

"Sanada Kuroko. She was the Spirit Detective before Yusuke." I didn't bother mentioning Sensui. Now was not the time.

Shizuru considered that a moment, eyes like a shark's—sensing everything, blood scented on the water, a drop in the ocean but still as clear to her as a summer day. If she heard the omission in my voice, she chose not to mention it.

"And this Sanada woman can make me strong?" Shizuru said. "Put me on baby bro's level?" At that she looked utterly disgusted, as if her cigarette had been packed with roach droppings. Shizuru muttered, "God. 'Baby bro's level'. Even saying that makes me nauseas."

" _If_ we can get her to agree to train you, she can do that—probably, anyway." It pained me to be so honest, but I had to tell Shizuru, "I have no guarantee she'll be interested in training you, but…"

"But if she isn't, I'll just find someone else. She's as good a place to start as any." Ever the practical, unexcitable woman I'd admired so much in the anime, Shizuru took another drag and shrugged. "So how do we find her?"

For a moment I couldn't speak. Much though I'd wanted Shizuru to agree to my plan, it hadn't taken much convincing at all to get her to agree—just a recitation of Yusuke's story, explanations about demons and Spirit World, and yet she was already on board. It had never occurred to me that convincing Shizuru would be this…well. This _easy_.

Things didn't typically come easily for me in this life. I guess I just wasn't accustomed to getting my way.

I said, "You want to train with her just like that?"

"Keiko, if I don't get on his level, baby bro is liable to get his dumb ass killed," she said with maddening calm. "Least I can do is make sure I can punch out a demon if need be, right?"

I stared at her. She stared at me, as unimpressed as ever, unflapped and unruffled even in the face of staggering impossibility—but even if I hadn't expected her to agree so readily, this was Shizuru we were talking about. She of the razor mind and hidden competency, the woman I'd long lamented had never been trained in canon to her fullest potential.

And now, here we were. Here _she_ was. Willing to be trained, and perhaps realize that potential at last.

I needed to calm down, I decided. No sense looking this gift horse in the mouth.

"Well—well, OK, then!" I said, forcing myself to smile. "I know Kuroko's husband and can call him right now, set up a meeting, test the waters and whatnot."

Her head jerked toward the kitchen proper. "You know where the phone is. Hop to it."

And with that, there was nothing else to talk about—not really, anyway. I walked to the phone, dug my datebook from my purse, and plugged in Sato Shogo's phone number. As the line connected and began to ring, I glanced over at Shizuru. The light from the kitchen window turned her brown hair gold, her eyes to chips of amber in her dusky skin. She leaned her chin on her hand, watching me, cigarette poised over the ashtray, smoke from its tip winding in lazy spirals around her tumbling hair.

She was so much older than the rest of the Yu Yu Hakusho gang—older, but still young.

_Still so young._

The words came out before I could check them. "You're sure about this?" I asked.

One expertly-plucked brow lifted. "I'm not in the habit of agreeing to shit I'm not sure about, Keiko." A smirk curled across her mouth like smoke from a cigarette. "And besides. No way am I letting my baby brat brother get the one-up over me."

The line engaged before I could reply. "Hello?" Shogo said.

There would be no going back after that. Shizuru had made that clear.

* * *

Even though the hand tangled in my shirt felt strong and sure of itself, the haggard, hollow cast of Shizuru's thin cheeks made the breath catch in my throat. "I just—is this too much? Did I put too much on you by suggesting this?" I asked, breathless with nerves and anxiety.

"Like I said. Stop worrying so much. It'll give you wrinkles." She smirked, that cunning curl of the mouth that made her bright eyes glitter and made my pulse start sprinting. Her arm flexed, pulling me another inch closer. "You're too pretty for wrinkles."

My cheeks colored in spite of myself, and I rolled my eyes. "Aw, shut up."

"I will if you will." After one more smirk, she let go of my shirt. The action sent her flopping back over the pillows again, head bouncing boneless atop her neck. She managed to summon enough strength to pull a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and pull one forth, filter catching between her chapped lips. "Now leave me be, kid." Her eyes fluttered. "I have a date with…my mattress…and…"

Shizuru lapsed into sleep mid-sentence, cigarette hanging from her mouth until her lips parted in a snore and sent the object tumbling. I plucked it off her shirtfront and set it carefully on the bedside table before covering her with a blanket. Was it just me, or didn't the exposed muscles of her arm seem more defined that before, the cut of her waist slimmer under her baggy shirt? Hard to tell. It had been a month since I'd last seen her, and then her curves had been hidden under a men's suit jacket and baggy trousers. However, if she said she was stronger, I had little choice but to believe her.

It's not like I had the spiritual sensitivity to check that claim for myself, after all.

Once Shizuru began her well-deserved nap, I headed into the living room. Shogo and Kuroko stopped chatting when I entered, greeting me with nigh-identical smiles and murmurs of greeting. I nodded in return, coming up behind the couch so I could grasp the cushions for support.

"You're not going easy on her, I see." My low voice carried in the quiet, echoing room. "Isn't that right?"

Kuroko's eyes thinned into merry crescents. "Of course. She'd never get strong if I went easy." The woman stood. "Would you like another glass of lemonade, Keiko?"

As she busied herself with fixing the glass, I sat down. Kuroko cut an impressive figure, one I couldn't help but admire even though I'd met her many times by then. So tall, with such trim and defined musculature beneath her simple jeans and loose black blouse—and that hair, long and shining and tied back in a simple, low tail. Had she been so inclined, she could've been a model in another life. Her cheekbones were certainly defined enough, and she would stun on camera with those liquid eyes and her lovely, delicate jaw.

Too bad her carriage ruined all of it.

Well, maybe 'ruined' was too harsh a term. It's just that she angled her body so her back never faced an entrance to the room, and even when smiling her eyes roved across the room in endless rounds, studying and cataloging and monitoring moment to moment in an endless loop. Her hands, too, moved with the surgical dexterity of a killer's, not a single movement wasted or unintentional. Watching her had unsettled me the first time we met, but it had taken a few visits to realize exactly why—not to mention the time she'd walked up behind me on silent feet and nearly made me piss myself when I turned and found her staring at me from no more than six inches away. She'd even regulated her breathing down to nothing, I noticed, rendering her as imperceptible as a shadow in the dark.

Kuroko, for all her pretty face, had the demeanor of an assassin and the calculating eye of a practiced hitman. To see her was to see death walking, even in spite of her pretty smile.

I tried not to stare as she poured the lemonade and sat down, though I know I likely failed. Words babbled forth to cover my unease: "So may I ask what you've had Shizuru doing? Now that I've seen her, I feel secrecy isn't necessary anymore."

Kuroko looked pensive, then laughed prettily behind a hand. "No, I suppose it isn't. And nothing special. Strength and endurance testing, plus mediation to hone her spiritual powers." She paused, then added, "Oh. And basic survivalism."

My brain conjured an image of Bear Grylls drinking his own piss; my nose wrinkled. "Survivalism?"

Shogo turned a warm eye toward his wife. "My darling Kuroko is of the opinion everyone should learn to start a fire, gut game, build a lean-to, and construct a deadfall in the event of pursuing enemies."

"Don't knock it, sweetheart!" Kuroko laughed. "Served me well hunting demons in remote areas. I'd be dead if I hadn't studied survivalism, and you wouldn't have such a lovely wife to dote on." Her gaze returned to me. "Nature tests your skills in ways a living opponent never could, and Shizuru has adapted flawlessly. She's a great student, your Shizuru." A wry smile twisted her lips. "Though I'm afraid she's taught my children some rather interesting new vocabulary."

"Sounds like Shizuru, all right," I said, unable to keep a smile at bay. "Thank you for training her."

Kuroko laughed again, hand waving in dismissal. "You always thank me when you come here, and you really don't have to!" A measuring look, though a humorous one. "So polite. Maybe I should get your mother to teach my little monsters some manners, since she did such a remarkable job with you."

That got me to laugh, too. "Yeah. Mom is a stickler for proper decorum, that's for sure."

"Perhaps she's why you overdo the thanks." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Really, Keiko. Shizuru is gifted. I was happy to take her on. And it's good practice for the day the twins start training in earnest." Kuroko preened a little. "Never thought I'd be a teacher, but I'd like to think I'm not half bad."

"I don't think you're half bad," Shogo assured her, and she swatted his arm and giggled.

"I don't thank you because of my mother."

Shogo and Kuroko looked my way with surprised looks, falls of their faces similar thanks to years of mirroring each other's expressions. I told clarified, "I don't thank you because of my mother. I thank you because it's warranted." I reached for my lemonade, hands slipping around the cold glass as I composed myself. "Shizuru is protective of her brother, and if he's associating with Spirit World, I want her to be safe if she starts looking out for him. To have the ability to fend for herself against all Spirit World throws at her." My smile felt brittle, somehow, like the fragile glass in my hands. " _That's_ why I have to thank you. Because you're safeguarding her wellbeing."

Luckily Kuroko got it, to some extent. Smile empathetic, she said, "I understand. Spirit World isn't known for their care of their employees. They truly embody the utilitarian Japanese notion of putting the good of many over the good of the individual." A glance askance at Shogo, loaded and dark. "I will admit that was my second reason for agreeing to this. All those who ally with the new Detective ought to be able to protect themselves."

"Right."

"It's just too bad I can't do much to help _you_ , Keiko." And suddenly she wasn't smiling anymore. No—quite the opposite, in fact, voice tinged with a worried resignation that made my pulse kick up. "I wish I could…especially considering the company you keep."

* * *

As Shizuru had before her, Kuroko listened to my story—the story of Yusuke, Kuwabara, Kurama, and Hiei, not to mention me—in silence. This silence didn't unnerve me as Shizuru's had. After all, Sanada Kuroko—the Detective two appointments prior to Yusuke's—knew about Spirit World and Demon World already. A lack of reaction from her seemed normal enough.

For the most part, anyway.

When I fell quiet, she didn't move. She merely stared at me with those liquid black eyes of hers, eyes tight at the corners yet revealing no emotion. I fidgeted under her gaze, under the unspoken tension in her presence, but eventually Shogo put a hand on Kuroko's knee. They sat huddled together on the couch like twin statues of the Buddha, watchful and still.

"Honey," Kuroko said, eyes locked on me. "What do you make of all of that?"

"She's sincere, if that's what you're asking," Shogo replied. "Furthermore, Hideki vouched for her."

Kuroko's eyes flickered to Shogo, the tiniest bit of recognition lightning them from behind—along with the barest zephyr of sharp regret. So Hideki's word _did_ matter to her, then. Not for the first time, I wondered at that relationship, though I knew better than to pry.

"And I trust her personally, as well," Shogo said. He managed to spare a smile, where before he had remained so stoic. "I read her palm, and I saw candor there."

Between the recommendations of Shogo and Hideki, Kuroko appeared satisfied—at least in part. She sat back in her seat, legs crossed, arms folded beneath her breasts. She gave me a long, slow onceover, then did the same to Shizuru. "Hmm. And you're the sister of the new Detective's best friend?"

Shizuru, lounging indolently beside me, didn't move an inch. In fact, her lips barely moved when she said, "That's the story." Mostly because a cigarette perched between said lips, unlit, but not wasted. Kuroko had made Shizuru put her cigarette out at the door. ("I hope she doesn't think she can make me give up smoking," Shizuru had muttered as she put out the light under her heel, back when Kuroko first asked. I got the feeling she kept the unlit cigarette in her mouth for comfort, even if she couldn't smoke it indoors.)

Kuroko's eyes returned to me. "And you're another friend of the Detective's."

"Yes," I said.

"The one Spirit World decided to turn into a…parole officer, was it?"

"A record-keeper, is the term they keep using. But yes." Hoping I hadn't botched my explanation of my duties, I repeated: "I keep an eye those two demons Yusuke defeated in a recent case, and I send written reports of Yusuke's activities to Spirit World."

Kuroko's eyes fell shut. Movements deliberate and economical, she rose to her feet and walked silently to the window beside the fireplace. Her back to me, I saw only the barely reflection of her face in the glass when she said, "You never should've taken that job."

At first, the comment refused to sink in. "Excuse me?" I managed to blurt.

"You never should've taken that job." Fatigue, old and creaking, turned her rich voice brittle. "Spirit World shouldn't have asked you, but you never should've accepted. Shogo's told me he thinks you're smart, but if you ask me, you have a lot to learn."

Shizuru inhaled through her nose, sharp and startled. I merely froze. Shogo, however, immediately sat up straight, pivoting toward his wife in his seat. Light from the window caught his glasses, obscuring his eyes from view.

"Kuroko," he said, words low and full of warning.

"No, Shogo." She turned, face finally full of emotion she didn't bother hiding—but I didn't see anger there, despite her heated tone. "You remember all the demons we fought back in our day. But do you remember the people they killed?"

Shogo started to speak. Kuroko shook her head.

"I remember," she said. "Their names, their faces, every last one of them. I remember them all." And then she rounded on me again, eyes blazing like coals. "That demon who took the body of a human boy, the _kitsune_ you spoke of—he may well have killed that soul to takes its place. Has that occurred to you?"

Amidst the horror of that suggestion, it clicked—what I saw in her eyes, I mean. It wasn't anger driving her in that moment, to make that suggestion and call me an idiot.

It was fear.

It was fear, raw as an exposed nerve, totally incongruous with what I'd expected of Sanada Kuroko. I'd expected…well. I'm not saying anyone who's afraid disqualifies themselves from being a badass (fear is too universal for that generalization), but in that moment, that's how I felt. The first Spirit Detective, _afraid_? What the heck was going on here?

"That's not what happened," I said, rising to Kurama's defense. "He didn't kill anything to become human."

"How would you know? You really trust a demon to tell you the truth?" Her words, despite their structure, didn't sound derisive—merely tired, edged with apprehension, and blunt as a club of wood. "I've seen things you wouldn't believe. Terrible things. And if those things taught me anything, it's that demons are not to be trusted."

The thought of Sensui invaded, that Detective who could not handle shades of grey thanks to his dependence on monochrome. Heart in my mouth, I said, "Surely it isn't so black and white as that."

Kuroko surprised me again. "No. It's never black and white," she said, with a toss of her long black hair. "I'm not so dense as to lump all demons together. I've met many who merely wished to be left alone, who didn't prey on humans. But the demons you're dealing with moved against Spirit World, to the detriment of the humans in their path. _That_ is what makes them what they are: their callous disregard for human life."

And yet again, my surprise rendered me speechless…because she was right, at least so far as Gouki and Hiei went. They didn't give a crap about human beings and considered them cattle for the slaughter.

Kurama, however…

It was as if she read my mind. Hands fisted at her sides in quivering lumps. "You might have found yourself going to school with a demon, Keiko, and he might do a convincing impression of a human boy, but don't forget what he is." Those eyes left no room for argument, no room for doubt. "Don't you forget that, not even for a moment."

It was all I could do to mutter, "He isn't like the others."

"Maybe not," Kuroko said, dry and muttering. "But from what I've heard, he had no problem allying with Gouki, eater of children. And we are the company that we keep."

The accusation stung, even if it wasn't aimed at me. Yes, Kurama had allied with Gouki in order to rob Spirit World, but then he had parted ways with Gouki, and on poor terms. Gouki had been a means to the end of healing Kurama's mother. That was it; that was all. It's not like Kurama had stolen the children's souls himself, right?

"Kurama wouldn't have approved of Gouki's behavior," I said, readying myself to defend him. "He was busy with his mom. If he'd known what Gouki would do, I'm sure—"

" _If_ he'd known?" Kuroko countered. She shook her head, tutting. "I'm sorry, Keiko, but the Rapacious Orb is used for the sole purpose of stealing souls. What else would Gouki have used it for?"

My words died. Kuroko shook her head again.

"Kurama was preoccupied with saving his mother, yes," she said, "but he didn't try to stop Gouki from hurting children, nor did he try to stop Hiei from using the Shadow Sword—not until after he owed _you_ a favor, and not until after he'd saved his mother. And that, to me, speaks volumes about the kind of demon this Kurama is."

Though she'd made a point—a point I hated to concede rang true—no pleasure or triumph colored her voice. She looked weary after pointing out the obvious, and nothing more than that. She didn't taunt or rub my face in her logic. She spoke with all the exhausted enthusiasm of a surgeon after a day's-long surgery, all facts and cold logic and tired, tired feet.

And I felt weary, too, hearing these words from her.

Kurama…he hadn't tried to stop Gouki or Hiei, even knowing what they might do with their stolen treasures. He'd focused on his mother and nothing else, with no thought to the innocent humans who might run afoul of his former partners.

On the one hand, I could rationalize this as a moment of selfishness. Kurama once admitted he had a selfish streak, especially when it concerned his mother. But here I was, trying to defend his honor, and even I had to admit his record of decency was not clean. That he wasn't totally virtuous, and had made decisions hat ignored the potential for collateral damage in his haste to complete his goals.

That fact made my heart hurt, like Kuroko had reached her hand into my chest and squeezed.

"And that's saying nothing of the fire demon," she went on. If Kuroko drew any conclusions from my silence, she didn't voice them. "That one tried to kill you, and you willingly monitor him for Spirit World. You willingly associate with a creature who tried to murder you, and harmed the ferry girl." She drew herself up to her impressive height, shoulders squared, feet spread. "You I can forgive, Keiko. You're still a child, and you're clearly an optimist. But Spirit World…they should be ashamed, putting this burden onto you, or onto your young friend Yusuke."

She nearly spat the name of Koenma's domain. A hundred forgotten histories lay in the pronunciation of that title, in the way she voiced it with contempt and—at last—barely-restrained fury. I got the sense her aggression in this moment didn't lie with me at all, even if I acted as her current whipping boy.

And of course, I was keenly cognizant that this woman had led a markedly different life than mine. This first Spirit Detective possessed a wildly different perspective than Keiko—and a perspective wildly different than Sensui, and even Yusuke, despite their shared title. Sanada Kuroko saw Keiko as an ignorant teen, and she saw demons as adversaries she had fought many times before. I couldn't fault her perspective, not knowing precisely all she'd seen—but that didn't make her judgmental words any easier to hear.

Against my thighs, my hands curled tight. Nails bit into my palms in cutting moons.

"I might be an idiot," I said, voice shaking in spite of my attempts at control, "but I'm not totally without a form of rationale."

Kuroko's brow lifted. Next to me, Shizuru murmured to hold steady, kid. I shot a glance at her and managed a shaking smile.

"That's why we're here, after all." Looking at Shizuru girded my nerves as if my bones had been replaced by steel. "To ask if you'll train Shizuru, and to see if you'll…"

"I can't make you psychic." Kuroko looked like she regretted saying the words out loud; when I'd asked for that from her during my earlier story-telling, she hadn't replied right away. Now, though, she spoke with apology in every syllable—apology that stung, because asking her for that favor was only slightly less important than seeing Shizuru trained by the former Detective. "It would help me sleep at night if I could, knowing you had a way to defend yourself, but I can't. I'm sorry." She glanced to my left. "You. Shizuru, was it?"

A curt nod. "Yeah."

Kuroko lifted a finger and trained it right on me, though she still addressed Shizuru. "If I train you, you'll protect her. Promise me."

I couldn't suppress a gasp. Shizuru, meanwhile, just shrugged. "Sure."

" _Promise_ me," Kuroko repeated—and her eyes were blazing again, on fire with purpose and passion and a ferocity I had only before seen mirrored in the eyes of my own mother, the day she marched up to Iwamoto and ripped him a new one at Yusuke's funeral.

Shizuru knew what that look meant. Her legs uncrossed. She plucked the cigarette from her mouth, sat up straight, and met Kuroko's glare head on.

"I promise," Shizuru said.

Her hand crept sideways off her lap to tangle with my fingers. Kuroko watched as our hands intertwined, and then something in her sagged.

"Then fine," Kuroko said. It was her turn to smile, lips thin and set in stone. "If you're going to tangle with demons, I'm going to make sure at least _one_ of you is prepared to take them on."

* * *

In the present, Kuroko heaved a heavy sigh. "It's just a pity you lack spiritual sensitivity, and that I don't know how to trigger it in others." Her wry smile held little humor—only kind remorse. "You looked so disappointed the first time you asked and I said no."

I got the sense Kuroko would've done it if she knew how, if only to afford me protection from the demons in my life. I told her, mostly sincerely: "It's OK. I'll figure out a way someday."

"I bet you will," she agreed. "And good thing, too. If there's one thing I'm all for, it's women learning to kick ass and take names." She aimed her following comment down the hall, voice raised. "Isn't that right, Shizuru?"

Silence replied. Shizuru did not. Kuroko giggled. Shogo coughed into his fist and said, "Perhaps let her sleep, dear."

"Oh, fine. Spoilsport." Kuroko settled back against her seat, favoring me with interest. "Tell me, Keiko. How go your duties? They never formally recruited Shogo or Hideki as my assistants, and I admit I'm still shocked they recruited you." Her eyes narrowed a fraction. "And that you accepted, of course."

That last line wasn't snide, nor even accusatory. Kuroko was above petty bickering or passive digs. I did, however, detect a current of concealed frustration—the same frustration that dogged all of our conversations about demons or my association with Spirit World. Last time I'd visited, I hadn't been careful enough with my temper or pride and had reacted badly to one such remark, innocent though I knew it was.

Her distrust of Kurama, however warranted given her past, still managed to strike a nerve with me.

"Listen, I get that you saw a lot of crap when you were Spirit Detective," I'd snapped during my last visit, when she muttered a remark against demons under her breath. "I get that you think I'm some dumb kid who can't see the forest for the trees, but Kurama and Hiei aren't like other demons, OK?"

We'd been washing dishes at the time, standing side by side as Shogo picked up the remains of lunch. Kuroko's hands stilled around her work, eyes sliding toward me askance. I don't think she'd expected me to hear the remark, much less react to it, but she didn't act overtly put off by my reaction, either.

Kuroko's smile came thin. "So you've said."

Her casual, dismissive reaction crawled under my skin and snuck there, a subtle but persistent parasite. "What, and humans are really so great all the time?" I shot back. "You ever read a book about prison camps, genocide, war? Humans aren't some paragon of virtue, y'know."

"I don't deny humans can be just as callous as demons, Keiko. I _never_ denied that," she said—as calmly as a parent arguing with a stubborn child, infuriating in her patience. "But you have to stop acting like a naïve girl. _Kitsune_ are famous for their preference for pretty girls. Do you really think that that fox of yours won't try to get a taste if you let him?"

I'd been spoiling for a fight, honestly, weeks of remarks rolling off my back finally too much to bear…but the suggestion that Kurama wanted a "taste" rendered me quite mute. Mute and red-faced like a tomato with a sunburn, much to my chagrin. Kuroko watched me stammer and blush before chuckling under her breath.

"So that's it. Teenage hormones, eh?" she murmured. "The fox is pretty, so he gets a pass?" But it wasn't a criticism, just a thought, and she began to wash her dishes again, no longer looking at me. "Demons bank on human emotion and attachment when hunting prey. It's just the truth of it. Keep an eye out. Demons do not change their ways, Keiko, and no amount of wishing will alter their true nature."

Thank my lucky stars Shogo is the perceptive sort, because I'm pretty sure that when he called Kuroko away to help him with something, he didn't actually need help at all. Her absence gave me the room to breathe, and to remind myself that she didn't know Kurama. That she was wrong, and she'd see it for herself eventually.

I just hoped I didn't cause a repeat of last time today. It was time to be on my best behavior, lest I incur another blow-up.

"They demons I'm watching aren't all bad," I said, voice pleasant and even and not at all defensive (I hoped). "At least Kurama is a good conversationalist."

But that little tidbit didn't bring Kuroko any peace of mind. "The fox. He worries me more than the fire apparition," she said with a slow shake of her dark head. "I tangled with more than one _kitsune_ in my day, and they are too tricky for their own good."

Ugh. This again, her fixation with the deviousness of the fox demons. A deep breath quelled my need to come to Kurama's defense—and gave me the calm necessary to agree with Kuroko, at least in part.

"Well, this fox certainly fits the tricky stereotype." When Kuroko looked startled by my admission, I added, "But he's also…softer. Gentler."

That pulled a laugh from her. "Gentler. No doubt thanks to his time spent in Human World."

My smile came polite and cool.

It was possible she was onto something with that theory.

It was also possible she was just plain wrong.

* * *

"Sooo… I need your help."

Kurama didn't bother to ask with what. He chuckled, said "I'll be over shortly," and hung up.

It was rare for us to talk on the phone these days. We called to request company, but asked little by way of explanation before coming to one another. It was nice to have such trust established, even if it left us in suspense from time to time.

I just hoped Kurama wouldn't turn around and march in the other direction when he heard what I wanted him to do for me this summer.

The midday rush had caught my parents in its tide, so we avoided small-talking with them when Kurama appeared in the alley behind the restaurant half an hour later. "And a good thing, too, because we'd be stuck with them for hours if I didn't sneak you up," I explained as we climbed the stairs. "They really roll out the red carpet for you."

"Do they?" Kurama asked, but in that too-innocent way that meant he knew damn well what I was talking about. "I can't imagine they'd treat me any differently than the rest of your friends."

"Of course you can't," I said, eyes rolling. "Mister Humility, that's you."

Another of his low, musical chuckles. He was well aware my mother thought him cute, and smart, and well-spoken, and certainly a fitting match for her darling daughter ("If only you'd relax your silly dating rules!" she'd lamented to me, well within Kurama's range of hearing at a recent dinner). Eyes rolling harder, I opened the door to my bedroom and ushered Kurama in. He'd been there a few times at that point, but even so, he entered the space with all the hesitant care of an explorer walking a slippery bridge over a plummeting waterfall. I sat on my bed and watched him make a circuit of the room—the same circuit Hiei had made when he crawled in my window, in fact.

And Kurama ended up in the same spot, too. Namely in front of my record player. Interesting. These two had more in common than I thought. Kurama showed the record player some interest, too, skimming one long, pale finger over the player's lid.

"I have this same kind at home," he said.

"Ah. Really?" It was rare for Kurama to talk about his home life, for all the theories and philosophies about our existences we'd shared with one another. "That rig is really nice. Great sound quality. My parents got it for me for my birthday last year. I told them not to get the good one, too expensive, get an off-brand and cheaper option, but they'd just opened the second location and wanted to splurge." Hyper-aware that I'd rambled, I added with haste: "Your mom get you yours?"

He hummed an admission, hand travelling from the lid and down to my collection of records, alphabetized by the names of their artists. He traced the titles one by one, eyes roving across their names as if to memorize them.

"So you like music?" I said. But then I shook my head. "Stupid question. Of course you do. _Everyone_ likes music. I guess it'd be better to ask what _kind_ you like."

His hand stilled. Green eyes narrowed, mouth turning down at the corners. My own mouth thinned in response. It wasn't often anything gave Kurama pause, much less a mundane topic like music. So why…

"I…don't, actually," he said.

I frowned. "What?"

"I don't know much about music at all." Kurama looked sheepish, or something close to it. "I'm afraid it's simply not my area of expertise."

"You…" My mouth worked around empty air for a moment. "Oh. Um. Well, what records do you have?"

"Just the ones the player came with," he said, shoulders rising and falling almost imperceptibly. "They, too, were a gift from my mother."

We lapsed into twin silences. Kurama continued to peruse my collection, ticking through the sleeves and observing the titles on the spines. I, meanwhile, stared at him, until my mouth moved of its own accord and a single word slipped through.

"…wow?"

His quizzical green gaze turned my way. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Maybe?" I swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Just…I guess I figured _everybody_ likes music. That's all."

While I'd never pegged Kurama as a true music junkie or anything, he'd listened to swing-dance tunes with me when we watched the Lindy Hoppers at our usual café. He'd abided the moments I played Megallica in the background while we chatted, and he'd never complained about pop music during nights at the karaoke lounge. Sure, I hadn't heard him express preference for any one song or another, but…to not like music at all? To have no preferences at all? That I hadn't expected. That I hadn't counted on in the slightest.

And here I thought I'd really gotten to know the guy. Joke's on me, I guess.

"I enjoy listening to music, when it plays," Kurama said with another understated shrug. "I simply don't have any opinions about different types."

" _Everyone_ has opinions about music," I said. But because that sounded super judgey, I made sure to say, "I mean, it's OK if you don't, but…are you sure you don't have any? Any at all?" My mouth quirked; humor rose to cover the awkwardness. "All I'm saying is, Megallica is an acquired taste, and I'd hate to subject you to too much metal if it's not actually your jam. You sure you're not holding out on me?"

Though I spoke the words (mostly) in jest, Kurama didn't take them as such. He pivoted on one heel, hands settling into the pockets of his jeans, eyes as hooded as they were distant. One hip leaned against my music stand with care, testing its heft until it bore Kurama's weight.

"To be honest, I didn't think I'd need any preferences," he admitted, voice low and somber and ponderous. "Music, art…those things are not part of life in Demon World." Verdant green darkened to deep teal. "Or if they are, they are comforts for the weak."

At first I wasn't sure what he meant. It hit me soon enough, however, when he once more caressed the top of the record player—eyes full of pain, emotion shuttered and guarded yet still visible beneath his composed veneer.

"You were planning on leaving," I said as realization dawned. "Why would you bother learning about human music if you never planned to hear it again?"

For a moment, he said nothing. But then the taut set of his shoulders slackened, and he sighed with a heavy look in my direction.

"Why develop a taste for human art when I didn't intend to enjoy it past my tenth birthday?" At that his eyes flashed with a spark of heated jade. "Why bother learning how my mother's gift operates, how _any_ human device operates, when I never intended to use them once I left this world?"

These were rhetorical questions, of course. I didn't bother answering them. I watched as Kurama turned back to the record player, not quite touching it, as though fearing it might break if he came near.

"But now you're staying," I said when the silence stretched long and thin.

It stretched even longer and thinner before he murmured his reply.

"But now I'm staying," Kurama admitted. "Which means, I suppose, that I should develop tastes of my own."

His fingers hovered over the record player's arm, not quite touching, not quite daring to get close. With a pump of leg I rose from the bed and walked to his side.

"Want me to show you how it works?" I offered.

He looked relieved, almost. "I recall the basic operations, but a refresher course might not go amiss."

With a grin and a flourish I reached for a record. "Lucky for you, I'm quite the music buff. Let's see. What to pick?" I spun a record between my hands, replaced it, and grabbed another. "I figure you for a classical guy, but maybe that's cliché of me to assume? So why don't we start you off with a universal favorite like Johnny Cash and go from there. _Everyone_ loves Cash." Handing him the record, I pointed at the player and the turntable on top. "So what you do is set the record here, take the needle, and…"

True to his nature, Kurama learned to use the record player in a flash—but even though he was such a quick study, I couldn't help but wonder at this little surprise. First Hiei had proven adept at using human tech, and then Kurama didn't? His reasons made sense, given he disdained humans until just recently, and had planned to leave this world until just recently, but still. This was quite the shocker, though I tried not to let him see my consternation.

I never truly could let my guard down in this world, could I?

No matter what I did, the people in it would never cease to surprise me.

When music filled the room, Kurama took a seat at my desk. I sat on my bed. It was rare for Kurama to relax, to stop his calculating brain on its constant track of thought—but for once, it seemed like he'd managed to find a moment's peace. His eyes closed as Cash sang, head listing to one side as though in sleep, shoulders free of the wary tension so typical of my friend the fox demon. It was nice to see, frankly. I was the overthinker of the two of us, but Kurama held deep tension in his own right.

"I have much to learn about this world, now that I intend to live in it," he said in a silent space between songs. "Thank you, Kei."

I couldn't help but be absurdly, stupidly pleased with myself at that statement. I ducked my chin, hoping to hide the hectic blush staining my cheeks by facing the wall. Yeah, the wall behind my bed. It was an interesting wall. Definitely worth looking at instead of the boy in the corner. Mmm hmm. Yup. Definitely.

"Don't mention it," I said to the wall, hoping I didn't accidentally burn a hole in it. "What're friends for?"

He laughed, all soft velvet amusement and satin warmth. "Speaking of. You asked for a favor on the phone. How may I be of assistance?"

Ah. Perfect distraction. I turned back to him with a chipper grin, hoping the blush might pass for excitement (though given the sudden conflagration in his eyes, I doubt my plan succeeded).

"It's a little weird, admittedly. And definitely against the rules of at least a dozen institutions, but…how good are you at breaking and entering?"

Kurama said nothing, but he did give me the most amazing dead-fish stare—one belonging to a person who was thoroughly unimpressed with me, which made me cackle like a banshee. Ah, so his past occupation was still a source of pride for him, was it? Good to know.

"Rhetorical question," I said. "You're the king of thieves. You'd be _amazing_ at pulling a B &E. You'd be _perfect_ at it."

He smiled, all curving lips and glimmering eyes and a dark, slow chuckle that made my toes curl. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Kei—even if I enjoy the way you make it sound."

"Ah. I see. Then how do you feel about begging? Because I'm afraid I probably can't afford a bribe." Clasping my hands under my chin, I batted my eyelashes and stuck out my lower lip. "How's this? Help a girl out, Kurama; you're my only hope. Pretty please?"

He laughed, louder than before but with no less enthusiasm. "Who am I to refuse such a polite request?" Kurama said. I wasn't sure if I was happy to see the interested gleam in his eyes, or if I should have run screaming in the other direction when he asked with barely-restrained relish, "And what, pray tell, is our target?"

"The target is Meiou High School," I told him—and judging by the shock in his green eyes, he hadn't been expecting to hear _that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YYH IS GETTING A NEW OVA/SHORT ANIMATION BUNDLED WITH THE 25th ANNIVERSARY BLU-RAY BOX SET.
> 
> NEW CONTENT. NEW YYH CONTENT. GO READ ABOUT IT ON MY TUMBLR. USER NAME LUCKYSTARCHILD. NOW GO. GO READ. NOW.
> 
> Ahem.
> 
> Second part of the frame-story-time-skip-chapter-that-covers-the-events-of-Keiko's-summer-break, ahoy! There will be three parts total of this.
> 
> Doing something a little ambitious. Another chapter (part 3) will come out…probably this Wednesday, though I'd like to have it out earlier if I can. Next Saturday, this story turns one year old (!) and I'd like to have this up to 52 chapters at that point. 52 chapters, 52 weeks in a year, I'm a sucker for symmetry like that…so consider it my Christmas/fic-birthday gift to all y'all. 
> 
> AND THE NEW YYH SHORT WITH THE BLU-RAY RELEASE IS THE BIRTHDAY GIFT TO THIS FIC, AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED, SO BOY HOWDY AM I A HAPPY CAMPER THIS EVENING, YESSIREEBOBJOHN I SURE LAWDY AM.
> 
> My return from hiatus was absolutely WONDERFUL thanks to you. All of you are AMAZING; this year of updates couldn't have happened without your support and well-wishes. Warm and fuzzy affection goes out to all of you!


	51. Surprises & Prophecy Fulfilled, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko prepares for the future.

One cool green eye flicked upward, away from the pale hands working deftly at the lock of the teacher's lounge. "You know. Typically when one breaks and enters, the goal is to steal something," Kurama remarked. "Not leave behind more than you found."

"Yeah, well," I said. "When have you known me to be typical?"

"Alas, never." And he looked at the lock again. "You certainly have a way of keeping one on one's toes…"

Shifting from foot to foot in the dim hallway, I glanced to our left and right with a shiver. Even with the summer heat bearing down around us, being in an empty school felt, in a word, creepy. Creepy as  _hell_ , actually. I just wasn't used to seeing normally busy place so dead, y'know? Every time I moved, the backpack on my shoulders rustled, sending sibilant whispers echoing through the darkened halls. Few things struck me as creepier than an empty school, that's for sure.

"And you do, too," I said to distract myself. "Keep me on my toes, I mean."

His eyes flicked up to me again. A click and a crack later, the lounge door opened under his hand. Kurama gestured me through ahead of him with a murmur of, "And how do I manage that?"

"I mean, you picked the lock with a paper clip," I said. Kurama laughed at my disappointed tone of voice. "I thought you'd use a magical plant or something. Or at least something more, I dunno. Flashy?"

Kurama chuckled as I surveyed the room. The empty lounge had been neatly arranged before the teachers left for summer break, chairs tucked in and papers placed out of sight in filing cabinets. I charted the space for a minute or two before heading for the far corner and the desk sitting in it.

"I hardly think breaking into a teacher's lounge warrants use of my so-called 'flashier' powers." Kurama didn't follow me, leaning against the lounge door with arms crossed over his chest. "Unless there's something about this venture you're not telling me, Kei?"

I put a finger over my lips and giggled before turning and pointedly ignoring him. The vent behind the desk was easy enough to pry open with the screwdriver in my backpack, and just as easy to fill with a few items from said container (which I secured to the side of the vent with a length of duct tape). Perfect. Exactly as planned.

"What have you been hiding in here, anyway?"

Kurama had approached on silent feet, craning to look over my shoulder, but I managed to wrench the backpack shut before he could see too much. I didn't blame him for being curious. I'd been vague on the details this whole time, and this was the fifth spot we'd hit up that afternoon. My backpack felt half empty at that point; I'd left behind quite a few gifts for my future self, all positioned at key points throughout the school.

From Former Not-Quite-Keiko to you, Future Not-Quite-Keiko. And good luck.

"Oh, nothing special," I said with a big, fake smile. "Just a few bits and bobs to make the upcoming school year a little easier."

Though Kurama looked thoroughly unconvinced by my explanation (not that I'd been trying very hard to lie) he merely quirked a brow and let me have my secrets. We hit up a few more spots around the school—library, gym, and classrooms, among others—before heading outside. Kurama watched with a bemused smile as I marched smartly for the PE shed around back of the school, a few dozen yards away from the greenhouse where Kurama spent so much of his time. The front doors had been secured with a heavy padlock and chain; the doors opened a few inches when I tugged on them, but they didn't part enough to allow even Keiko's small self to squeeze through.

"Do you need me to pick that lock?" Kurama said.

"No; I have another plan."

The shed wasn't air-conditioned (few buildings aside from the school library had A/C at all) and boasted only one window on either side, set far too high up the wall for anyone to see through. Peering through the crack in the door afforded me a look at some stacked vaulting horses and crates of soccer balls. I couldn't see the back wall from the front of the shed—which was actually perfect for my purposes. I had a hunch, you see…

"Score," I muttered, with a smile at the sports pun. "This is perfect."

"What is?" Kurama asked.

"This shed. It's exactly what I wanted." I brushed off the front of my shorts and added, "Or it will be, if it's got a certain feature."

Kurama frowned, dark hair burnished a deep ruby in the summer sunlight. He followed at a more sedate pace as I jogged around the hut's corner, toward the back of the shack near the brick wall that surrounded the school grounds. Some bushes around the sides and back of the shack concealed the baseboards—and while that was good in the long run, it made it hard to see what I so desperately searched for. I shoved my hands into the leaves and pried the bushes apart, peering through the foliage through squinted eyes. Trees just beyond the school wall made it quite shady and dark around back of the shack, though. If only I had keen fox eyes…

A hand, white in the gloom, grasped a sprig of leaves just to my left. Kurama smiled, green eyes somehow luminous despite the shade.

"May I assist?" Kurama asked.

Well, who was I to turn down an offer of help from Kurama when said offer involved plants? This I had to see. Stepping aside, I watched as he placed both hands atop the bush and closed his eyes. For a moment nothing happened, but then the bushes rattled—and then they shrank in on themselves, leaves curling and retracting as though I watched time lapse photography in reverse, summer foliage reverting to winter desolation in a few seconds' time. No shower of sparks or energy glow accompanied this reverse miracle, but even so, my jaw dropped.

"Dude," I said, raising one dumbstruck finger. "Now that's the flashy stuff I was talking about."

Kurama chuckled. "I see. But please be quick. Although I could keep this up for quite some time, I fear the plant's health might be endangered if I overexert it."

"Say no more."

With the bushes reduced to skeletal frames of bare sticks, all leaves out of sight within their swollen bark, it didn't take long to scan the perimeter of the shed and find my target: a small ventilation and drainage grate on the back wall, about three feet wide and two feet tall, held in place at the corners by screws. The screws were a bit rusted, sure, but I managed to remove them and take the grate off the wall in about a minute. When I peered inside I saw a bit of space between the back wall and the sports equipment—but even if it was too small for me to fit, I could make the gap bigger if I moved some stuff around.

In short: This was  _perfect_.

"Yup. Just as I suspected," I said, and Kurama's eyebrow lifted. "I've been scoping out the school ever since I transferred, and this makes a perfect bolt-hole, especially with a little hidden entrance like this." Experimenting, I wormed my legs through the hole, testing that it would indeed fit around my hips and shoulders. It's a good thing Keiko wasn't claustrophobic, unlike I had been in my past life. Thank my lucky stars for this difference between us.

Kurama's eyes clouded. "Much as I enjoy the suspense, Kei, may I earnestly ask what this is all about?"

I shrugged and went about replacing the grate. "I'm preparing for my future."

"Ah." He nodded at my cryptic reply. "I get the feeling I shouldn't ask, curious as I am."

"Sharp as always."

"And yet, ask I must." He offered me a hand when I started to stand, fingers cool and dry around my own. "Why do you expect you'll need a…what was it? A bolt hole?"

"Correct," I said. "A discreet little hidey-hole just for me when the going gets tough."

Kurama's eyes clouded further, and something around us rustled. For a minute I thought it was the wind, but I didn't feel anything on my skin, and then the scent of green and growing things perfumed the air. The leaves unfurled at the ends of their stems, bushes regaining their foliage in one enormous, shivering burst.

"Do you expect the going to get tough?" Kurama asked, voice as delicate as the hand he extricated from the nearly regrown bush.

"Yes," I admitted, though only after a healthy pause. Kurama had truly helped me today; I owed him at least enough of an explanation to soothe the worry clouding in his eyes. "For you, and for me, but in very different ways. And soon."

He considered that in silence, lips pursed, eyes sliding back to the grate hidden behind the bushes. Eventually he looked my way again, and I saw my explanation hadn't been enough. His eyes remained as clouded as a forest suffused in fog.

"May I ask what was in the bag?" he asked. "The items you left in the school?"

"Better you don't. I just hope I never have to use them at all." I had a hunch they'd become necessary, much as I hated the thought of using them. Head shaking, I said, "Anyway, that's it for me thanks to your lock-picking prowess. I'm done here. What next?"

Kurama blinked at me, apparently confused. "What next?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Anything you want to get up to today? Since we're already out and about and stuff."

Kurama frowned. "Oh. I don't have anything in mind." He looked only mildly discomfited when he said, "To be honest, if you hadn't called, I would've spent the day at home."

"Well, that's no fun." I jerked a thumb toward the teacher's gate we'd earlier hopped over. "Want to go hang out downtown, see what trouble we can scare up?"

"Not too much, I should hope," he chided. "I'd hate to worry Mother."

I imagine that if the account of my story were a manga, and not so many words scribbled in the journals under my mattress, the audience would see Kurama and me from above, strolling down the streets of Sarayashiki side by side. We spoke, but of nothing important, pointing out various shops and restaurants and sights, eating  _takoyaki_  off a stick as we baked in the summer heat. A bench in the cool shade of a ginko tree provided momentary relief. Kurama bought lemonade from a street vendor; we sipped in silence and watched the crowds pass by, until my curiosity got the better of me.

"Can I ask?" I said. Kurama eyed me askance, but said nothing. "What are your plans, now that she's better?"

It took him a long time to find the words—a long time filled with downcast eyes and measured breathing, hands and legs held perfectly still, as though he feared any sudden move might break the moment in half, send his intentions fleeing like a rabbit before the hunt. His hair looked nearly black in the shade, falling around his shoulders like shadow made solid.

"I confess I spend most nights pondering that question," Kurama murmured. "I never thought this far ahead, all things considered." He finally looked at me, smile wry and small. "I suppose I'll attempt to do well in school. Support her, as she has supported me. And then return to Demon World when she…"

He trailed off. He didn't need to elucidate. I knew what he was getting at. The pain and uncertainty in his eye said everything he couldn't.

"So that's possible for you?" I asked. "To wait so long, and then return to being a demon, as you originally planned?"

If my knowledge of his plans surprised him, he didn't show it. I suppose he was accustomed to me knowing too much by now. He merely shook his head. "I don't know, Kei. But my energy grows with every passing day." He raised a fist, staring at his closed fingers as if they did not belong to him. "More and more of my former power unlocks as I use my energy. I find myself…called, in a sense, to use it." The hand dropped back to his thigh. "I regret to say I do not know what consequences calling upon that power will wreak in the long term."

We lapsed back into silence. Kurama doubtlessly thought of his mother. I thought of the anime, instead. The  _Yu Yu Hakusho_  manga had skipped most of the fights in the Demon World Tournament, meaning Kurama's fight with Shigure—in which he vowed to never use his demonic energy again, and to live and die as a human—hadn't happened in the manga at all. Which version of canon would this world follow? Could Kurama eschew his demonic traits and live life as a human, or was he fated to regain his demonic traits and lose the part of him that had become so human?

The only way to find out, I supposed, was to wait and see. But that was so far off, and Kurama was uncertain now. Was there no comfort I could offer him? And comfort I wanted to offer, because the weary look in his eye sent a pang through my bleeding heart.

I crossed and uncrossed my legs. "Well. Whatever the case may be, your friends will be here for you, come what may," I said, because that was the only thing I could think of—and it was true, besides. Thankfully the words made Kurama smile, that tricky little smile that said he was about to make a joke.

"Friends, plural?" he asked. "So far as I know, I just have you."

"Give it time," I assured him, and then I placed a finger over my lips. "But I will say no more on the subject. Spoilers and whatnot."

He laughed—and some of the weight lifted from his eyes, deep green lightening to the colors of fresh spring.

We left the bench together, conversation turning back to nothing and everything, summertime a fizz setting carefree bubbles in the blood. Kurama was content to let me lead us through the city, our wandering aimless but pleasant. When we stopped for another rest, I caught him eyeing one of the nearby shops—or not a shop, rather, but something far more interesting. Jangling coins and the plink of digital music filtered out the open doors, perfect complement to the gigantic neon sign above them. Laughing kids scurried through the dark interior, faces awash with the glowing lights of their favorite games.

"Wanna check out the arcade?" I asked.

"I suppose," Kurama said, after a moment's thought. "I don't play many video games. A few here and there, and mostly when pressed by my peers, but…"

I frowned. He had been good at Goblin City in the Chapter Black arc of the anime—but then again, he had trouble working a record player. If Kurama wasn't good with technology, how was he good at games in the anime?

Interesting.

Interesting, and worrisome.

Maybe it was my job to teach him to play, or something. I certainly couldn't let this go unchecked. The Chapter Black arc depended on it, didn't it?

"Well, Kurama," I said. "Humans tend to have hobbies. Perhaps it's time you develop one of your own."

He only laughed when I tugged him after me by the sleeve, plunging us headlong into the glittering lights and sounds of the arcade. The place had that distinct arcade scent, carpet and plastic and plaster and burned wires, acrid and familiar. I spread my arms and spun in place, gesturing.

"So what's your instinct?" I asked. "Puzzle, fighter, racer? You've certainly got options."

Kurama's eyes looked almost blue in the light of the Galaga machine. "What would you recommend?"

"Well, I like games with story—role playing games like Final Fantasy and Dragon Quest. Those are more console-style games, not arcade games. I do love Mario, Tetris, classic stuff like that." I paused. "You'd probably enjoy a puzzle game like Tetris, if I had to bet."

"I haven't tried it. Lead the way."

Although Kurama claimed he'd never played the game, he took to it like a fish to water, clearing level upon level of blocks in short order. Only once the game progressed to a fast speed did he have trouble keeping up, but even so, he managed to make it onto the bottom of the leaderboard page on only his third game. I stood there with my mouth agape as it asked him to input his name, which he did—a cheeky KURAM, which he entered into the machine with what I swore was a subtle wink.

"I thought you said you'd never played!" I said.

"I haven't, but the concept is simple enough to grasp." He patted the machine. "I could grow to enjoy this. It's almost meditative, and with practice I'm sure I could go longer. But I wonder…" His smile was unmistakably devious. "Is there a harder version?"

I almost blurted that yes, there was a harder version, and I'd damn well like to see him get cocky playing it—but then I cut the words back.

The harder version was on the Goblin City machine: that version of Tetris that incorporated mathematics, where numbered blocks only cleared when they added up to the number seven. Three-Sevens, it was called. But should I introduce that game to Kurama so early? Come the Chapter Black arc, Amanuma would be killed by that game, and at Kurama's hand. And although the kid would come back to life, would teaching Kurama Three-Sevens make me, in some small way, partially responsible for Amanuma's death?

But if I didn't show Kurama this game, was it possible he'd lose to Amanuma?

The thought of those consequences made the decision for me.

"Um. There is, actually. Over on the Goblin City machine." I pointed in the appropriate direction. "But you have to play other types of games beside the Tetris-type-one to win."

"Oh?" he said. His eyes gleamed, and not from the dancing arcade lights. "That sounds interesting."

Feet heavy, I led the way to the machine, explaining the rules as best as I remembered them. Truth be told, I'd avoided playing Goblin City in this lifetime, simply for its association with Amanuma's eventual demise. Kurama took to that game (and all of its mini-games) as readily as he'd taken to Tetris; I felt only lightly disturbed by his abilities. Somehow, I think I'd expected this to happen. He was fated to be very good at this game, after all, and he was especially good at Three-Sevens when it appeared in the game's rotating challenge roster.

Kurama had no way of knowing that his new hobby (semmingly so innocent, seemingly so human) would one day lead to the death of a human child. Watching him stand at the machine, none the wiser as fate's strings wheeled around him, I wondered if I made the right choice.

Only time would tell, I supposed.

"I like this one, I think," he said when the game ended (he didn't win and kill the Goblin King, although he came quite close...for now). "The variety is a challenge all its own. You never know what task you'll be faced with next."

"Yeah. You never know." And although I'd rather lost my appetite, I slapped on a smile and asked, "Anyway, you hungry? It's about dinnertime."

Kurama hummed an affirmative, and because I wasn't quite in the mood for more surprises like the arcade, my feet took us back to my parents' restaurant. This time we didn't avoid my folks, partially because I wanted to see them this time around (even though they inevitably made a big deal of Kurama's presence). Bickering and bantering with my parents over dinner brought my mood up and away from how I'd felt at the arcade. They were good people, my parents, and I valued the way they never failed to bring my spirits up.

Too bad for me, they only seemed to bring Kurama's down.

He remained quiet through most of dinner. Even when my dad joked around with him, that old line about someone finally getting their too-serious daughter to do something besides studying on her summer break, Kurama merely offered a polite smile and said, "I think it's the other way around, rather."

"Oh?" Dad said, confused—and then he winked. "Are you sure? Because my Keiko sure looks livelier when you come calling."

My chopsticks fell to my plate with a clatter. "Da-ad!"

He didn't look sheepish at all, reaching over the bar to ruffle my hair. "Well, it's true, honey!"

"I  _know_ , but you don't have to say it out loud," I grumbled. Batting my dad's hand away, I said, "Don't mind him, Minamino; he's just teasing."

"I'm sure he is," Kurama said—but his smile looked brittle, and he watched my family's repartee with expression subdued.

I learned why once we went upstairs. It didn't take long after shutting my bedroom door behind us for Kurama to ask, "How do you do that?"

I frowned and sat on the edge of my bed, heels hooked into the frame below for purchase. "How do I do what?"

Apparently he hadn't expected to need to articulate his observations. His mouth opened and closed twice before he explained, "Your relationship with your parents is so…warm. And I wonder how you manage, given your circumstances." A low chuckle. "But I suppose this is the second set of parents you've had, isn't it. Shiori is the only parent I've ever known."

I considered him, watching as he crossed the room and sat next to me—about six inches away, but close enough to feel the mattress dip under his weight. Leaning forward, weight braced on my knees, I studied his face in profile, cataloging the curve of his jaw and the way his hair fell around his ears. His features, delicate and sculpted, bore a look of resignation I didn't quite understand.

"Did you not know your first set of parents?" I asked.

"No. Not in any sense you would recognize." He looked at the wall opposite my bed as though he could see through it, through the world beyond it, to something beyond even my imagination. "Foxes are weaned early. We part from our families before our memory even begins."

Though he spoke without emotion, I couldn't help but feel rather taken aback. To not remember one's family? "That's…"

Kurama shrugged. "It's the way of the natural world, neither good nor bad." When he looked at me, and saw my expression, the distance in his eyes closed a little. Kurama assured me, "I remember a feeling of safety and warmth, but my mother…she wasn't a demon. She was merely a fox: ordinary and wild."

"Right," I said. I'd researched this when I realized what world I inhabited this lifetime. " _Kitsune_  start life as normal foxes and earn their demonhood over time. Is that how it works?"

"In a sense," he said. "Some are born powerful demons, of course, but others earn their abilities through cunning and longevity. With longevity comes power. Those  _kitsune_  who are born with their demonic power certainly owe that power to an ancient ancestor who started life a mere animal." And then that distance was back, framed by green the color of primeval trees and deep forest pools. "I barely remember the time before I ascended to demonhood. My memory starts with that feeling of warmth, and then I became what I am today." His eyes narrowed a fraction. "Or what I was, rather."

The implication sank in soon enough. "So this really is your first childhood," I said.

"In all the ways that matter…yes."

His gaunt smile, as effervescent as smoke, rendered me mute. There was something so tragic in that confession, in the idea of Kurama never truly experiencing the carefree life of a child, protected by a parent and allowed to freely grow under their watchful, loving eye. The animal world—and the demon world, no less—was a cruel place. Had Kurama spent his adolescent years on the run from stronger predators, never playing, never relaxing, never knowing what it felt like to simply  _be_  without the fear of death dogging his steps? How sad. And he had been born in this world already planning on leaving it. He hadn't been a child here, either.

Kurama caught my gaze, then. I swallowed and tried not to look horrified. I did a poor job, though. Kurama laughed under his breath, eyes fluttering shut, lashes sooty against his porcelain cheeks.

"I suppose that's why I have such trouble bonding with Shiori, much though I've come to love her," Kurama said. "I haven't had the practice you have, bonding with parents."

My grimace came of its own accord. "I don't know that that's it."

An interested glance. "Oh?"

"I wasn't close to my parents in my past life. So this whole 'darling daughter' stuff is new." I could only shrug, match his placid delivery with stoicism of my own. "I do my best to be a good child since I feel guilty about…well. You know." Judging by his wince, he knew what I meant; no need to state that I felt guilty for stealing another person's life aloud. I continued, "Maybe I'm eager to play the darling daughter role in this life because my parents and I were never close in my past life."

That seemed to surprise him. "Why was that?"

"It's complicated. My mother and I were too much alike to get along, for starters." My nose wrinkled. "And I'm relatively certain my dad was a narcissistic sociopath, but…I don't want to talk about that right now."

That part of my life was something I tried not to think about if I could help it. It wasn't like I was shy about how poorly I'd gotten along with my parents, but at the same time, I wasn't keen to relive all the crap they'd put me through.

Still, though. Kurama looked curious, angling his knees my way, eyes intent on my face. I heaved a heavy sigh and ran my fingers through my bangs.

"If it helps put things into context, they told me my grandmother was dying through a text message," I said. "That was the level of distance between us."

Kurama frowned, still looking at me. When he didn't speak, I scowled at him.

"What are you staring at?" I asked.

He looked away. "Nothing. But…may I ask what a text message is?"

I nearly smacked myself in the face. Ugh. Stupid of me; it was too early in the 90s for that term to have entered common parlance. "Ah. Right. Technology. Um…imagine a pager that can send a few paragraphs of text at a time, back and forth, and through a cellphone. Like instantaneous sending of letters, only digital."

His brow furrowed, but understanding sparked behind his eyes. "It sounds efficient, but I can't imagine it's a terribly personal method of communication. Much less in a situation such as the one you described."

"Exactly!" I said, absurdly pleased that he'd picked up on that so quickly. "You'd think I'd get a phone call, but nope. Just a text. It's not a good way to send a somber message, much less to your only daughter." Though a part of me wanted to keep this to myself, something about the moment begged me to admit, "I know I'm going to sound callous when I say I don't particularly miss my parents, but…I don't." And then I had to cover my face with my hands, peering at Kurama from between cracked fingers. "God. I sound like a terrible person." I'd feel guilty about this for weeks, I was sure.

However, Kurama shook his head. "Kei…"

"Don't get me wrong," I went on. "I care about my past parents' wellbeing. Objectively I know they'll be sad that my old self died, and I worry about that, and I worry about what they'll do now that I'm gone. I mean, they're my  _parents_. It's tough knowing my parents are out of my life for good—but I've never gotten homesick for them specifically, and that's just the truth. Maybe I just miss the idea of parents, and not my original ones in particular." Admitting that didn't make me feel like a terribly great person, but at the same time, admitting that truth for the first time in this lifetime felt like the breaking of a glutted dam. "We'd go months without talking after I moved out of the house, after all. So this is just years instead of months this time around."

"Months without speaking?" Kurama said, eyes narrowed again. "Did they live far away from you, in your old life?"

"They lived about a mile down the highway."

His eyes widened. "And you'd go months without speaking?"

"Well, yeah." I shifted atop the mattress, not understanding the intensity of his stare or the odd, dawning comprehension in his eyes. "Right before I died, we were getting better at talking, but even so, we'd go for long periods out of touch."

Kurama continued to stare. I continued to shift—because while I'd wanted to emphasize that my past parents and I weren't close, his horrified expression and that strange realization didn't make sense.

Just as I began to ask what the matter was, however, it hit me.

We were Japanese, and in Japan it was common for several generations of family to reside together under one roof. In fact, households like mine and Kurama's—with just our parent or parents and ourselves—were in the minority amongst our peers at school. Since Japanese culture was the only human culture he knew, my distance from my old parents must sound even worse than it would if he'd been raised American.

Ugh.

My American friends had tended to be surprised by the distance between myself and my family, but to Kurama, that distance must seem utterly atypical of humans at large—which would make that distance seem all the greater.

I'd lost myself in thought, I suppose, because when he put a hand atop mine, I jumped. Cool fingers curled lightly around and under my own, firm but not constricting. Like he thought I might flee if he tried too hard to keep me still.

"Kei," Kurama said, tone low and urgent. "We've talked before about the ethics of our situations. But…no matter how guilty you insist on feeling regarding your presence in this world, I'm glad for one thing."

It occurred to me that we had never gotten this physically close before, and I'm reluctant to admit that my heart went a little nuts, beating against my ribs like a caged animal. "What's that?" I said, making every effort to keep calm.

Kurama smiled—a warm smile, if not a little sadder than perhaps even he intended.

"I'm glad you have a chance to find a family, in this life," Kurama told me.

We held that gaze for a long time. Of its own accord, my fingers laced through his.

"Thanks," I whispered. "And I'm glad for you, too."

Kurama's head listed to one side, curious.

"You have that chance, as well," I reminded him.

He looked surprised, for a second—like the thought that hadn't occurred to him yet, despite all the thinking and overthinking I know he must have done on this subject, so many times, so many nights, so many days spent wondering what he deserved and what his future held. He looked at me until a smile crested across his mouth, and then his eyes cast down—down to our hands, still laced together, the hands of two people who understood the other better, perhaps, than they understood themselves.

"Yes," he said. "I suppose I do." And he smiled at me again. "We're both lucky, in that respect."

"Lucky children indeed," I joked—and his laughter filled the room, darkness in his eyes forgotten.

* * *

The late afternoon sun sent golden rays through the living room window, dust motes sparking in their depths like microscopic fireflies. The rays turned Shogo's black hair mahogany and set his glasses to gleaming, coins in silver frames. After a moment of silence he glanced at his wife, smile open and optimistic. "So the fox demon wants to live as a human being, Kuroko. Isn't that interesting?"

Kuroko had listened to my story about Kurama without speaking, gaze trained steady on my face as I told the tale. I suspected she'd find Kurama's willingness to help me break into the school even more interesting than his thoughts on family, but I had left that part out on purpose. Stuck to the good bits about Kurama's desire to honor his mom and, y'know—be a good person? Trying to salvage his reputation as best I could, I guess…

Kuroko regarded me a minute, cheek braced against her forefinger and thumb, remaining fingers curled over and concealing her mouth. Shogo and I stared at her with obvious apprehension. At last she sighed, hand dropping as she sat up straight.

"While I wonder at his sincerity, this does give me some comfort," she admitted—but she held up a finger in warning when my eyes brightened. " _Some_ , Keiko. I'll be more properly convinced if he sticks to playing human in the long term. He only did just make this change, after all, and old habits are hard to break."

My smile couldn't be contained. "He's the type who keeps his promises, so hopefully…"

"Yes," Shogo echoed, with a warning glance at his wife. "Hopefully he proves us wrong. Isn't that right, Kuroko?"

She gave a rather absent yawn, face turning to the window near the fireplace. The bright sun lit her dewy skin from within, smoothing wrinkles beside her eyes and curing the scant strands of silver from her dark hair. I felt my breath catch in spite of myself. Shogo had really lucked out, marrying a woman like her. No matter how much her stance on demons frustrated me, there was no denying her strength, presence, or poise—and that's saying nothing of how pretty she was. Hell, if she'd been single and I'd been in my old body (hello, late-twenties), she'd actually be my type. But that was in another life, and I needed to not be such a damn lecher.

"Well, it's getting late," I said. I tore my eyes from her and stood up with a low bow. "I should get going before the last bus leaves. Thank you very much for having me." As Shogo and Kuroko rose, I cast my eyes toward the hallway under the stairs. "Wanted to talk to Shizuru, see when she's coming home, but I think I should let her sleep."

"Someday you'll have to spend the night instead of running off so soon," Kuroko said. She walked to husband and pushed an elbow at his ribs. "Shogo makes a mean plate of pancakes."

"Next time, for sure," I said—because pancakes, oh my god, now that was a blast from the past I could get behind. "Any idea when Shizuru will be coming home again?"

Kuroko screwed up her eyes, finger on her chin in thought. "Let's see. I have one final test in mind. Two weeks, perhaps? She's developing a technique I'd like to see fully realized before I let her go."

It was tough to conceal my interest when I asked, "And what technique would that be?"

"Do you really want to spoil it?" Kuroko said with a light laugh. "I'd rather you see it in action than hear about it from little old me."

"Oh, give me a hint, at least," I groused. "Is it a spiritual technique?"

But Kuroko was not so easily led astray. "Let's just say Shizuru will be giving demons a run for their money in short order," she said—and while that wasn't an admission, something in her eye's proud sparkle promised greatness.

Seeing Shizuru in action would be like Christmas morning, when the time finally came. Hell yeah, motherfuckers; this was gonna be good.

As Shogo fixed me a to-go dinner to eat on the train ride home, I slipped down the hall to give Shizuru one final once-over. She slept in the same pose as earlier, serene even when I pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and whispered a 'good luck' in her dreaming ear. Kuroko and Shogo stood by the front door when I returned, one kerchief-wrapped bento in Shogo's hand.

"I'll walk you to the road," Kuroko said as Shogo handed me the bento. "The woods get dangerous as the day grows long."

I nodded an affirmative. While Kuroko had never explicitly stated demons lived in the woods around her home, the creepy horned skulls lining the mountain path spoke volumes—as did the people in the nearest town, who had warned me away from the haunted mountains the first time I asked for directions here. Still, even with the threat of dark-born demons, I wondered if I wanted her walking me to the road at all. Despite my admiration for her capabilities, conversation came easier with Shogo than it did with Kuroko. We could talk about books, and writing, and—

Oh. Right. I almost forgot.

Digging through my backpack, I pulled out the one object the twins had passed over when they tore through my stuff: a three-ring binder full to the brim with printed pages. I clutched this to my chest when I asked, "Sorry, Shogo-san, but can I ask a favor?"

The man frowned. "Yes, Keiko. Of course."

A deep breath, as necessary as it was comforting. "If it's not too much to ask…I know you're busy and I don't want to intrude on your time or energy, but my friend Kaito and I were talking, and, well, sorry to do this, but if it's OK—I'd be honored if you'd take a look at this manuscript I wrote," I said, words rushing like a riptide. Before he could say no, or even give me a beleaguered look (because surely people asked him for this all the goddamn time and it must be super annoying), I dropped into a low bow, notebook displayed atop my hands. "Very sorry if this is asking too much!"

That had been my other project that summer: writing one of the stories I'd dreamed up in my old life, and completing the novel I hadn't had time to finish before I died. I wanted to realize the dream I'd so unexpectedly lost in the event of my death. This time around the book possessed a thoroughly Japanese aesthetic I hadn't counted on, of course, but that made sense considering my new life experience. When I grew weary of the novel, I turned back to my many journals and the log of activities I'd been keeping—including this one, where I'm recording my interaction with Kuroko. This notebook is doomed to live under my mattress with all the other journals, though—and that meant my fictions manuscript was the only bit of my writing that would ever see the light of day in this lifetime. I wanted to share that work with Shogo, because frankly, I was tired of all my copious writing existing in secret.

I didn't dare look up when I felt the notebook lift from my fingertips. The pages rustled in the quite living room before Shogo said, "You've written a novel."

He didn't sound upset, or annoyed—just curious, and more than a little surprised. Straightening up, but still not daring to look anywhere but at his shoes, I said: "A good portion of one, anyway. It's been my summer project. If you don't have the time to read it, it'll serve as a handy doorstop, so…" And then I had to bow again because my cheeks were on fire and my heart had started to run its own private marathon inside my chest. "I apologize if I've imposed. I just don't really share my books with anyone, and I'm not used to asking for stuff like this, and I don't want to be a bother—"

"I'd be honored to look it over."

My head snapped up. Shogo regarded me with a kind smile, eyes crinkled at the corners, lips turned up with warmth and good humor—the kind of smile I didn't feel I deserved in the slightest, and one that made my nerves rise up like a swelling tide.

Luckily Kuroko knew how to break the mood. She shot me a sunny beam and said, "Oh, me too, me too! I'll read it!"

But Shogo tucked the notebook under his arm with a firm shake of his head. "Not so fast, my darling. Sharing a manuscript is a sign of immense vulnerability and trust. Writers don't ask just anyone to read their unfinished work." He patted the book's black spine, expression more adamant than perhaps I'd ever seen it. "You'll only read it once I'm finished,  _and_  if Keiko explicitly allows." Another kindly look in my direction, followed by a bow of Shogo's own. "I'm honored to accept this task, Keiko. Thank you for trusting me with your manuscript."

And with that, my nerves evaporated. That interaction, though brief, encapsulated why I valued Shogo so much. He was trustworthy, supportive, kind, and understanding, but more than that, he was a writer—and at the core of me, that's what I am, too.

Kuroko seemed less appreciative. "Oh, you're no fun, either of you. So serious all the time!" She cupped a hand around her mouth and whisper-shouted, "Shogo never lets me read his work, either, that spoilsport!"

"Now, now," Shogo chided. "You always get to read it before it hits shelves."

"But I'm your wife!" Kuroko teased. "I should get more privileges than that, shouldn't I?" She looped an arm around my shoulders. "Keiko, back me up!"

Too bad for her, I was definitely on Shogo's side—much to her lighthearted chagrin.

* * *

We were halfway down the mountainside when Kuroko spoke, voice cutting through the sound of buzzing cicadas like a candle flame through tissue.

"Keiko," she said. "You know I say those things about demon because I care for you, don't you?"

A warm wind stirred the shaved hairs on the back of my neck, tossing my side-swept bangs over my face. A bead of sweat trickled down my collarbone and under my shirt, between the cups of my bra. I didn't look at Kuroko or pause in my steady, even stride.

I didn't want her to see the uncertain look in my eye, for fear of what comment it might bring.

Her assessment of Kurama, I'm ashamed to admit, had struck a nerve. I'd had time to reflect on it during our walk down the path to the road, and my conclusions…well, they disturbed me. Kuroko was right about him in one crucial area: Kurama hadn't cared enough for humans to stop Gouki and Hiei after they acquired the treasures. Although he now wished to remain in Human World for his mother's sake, did that goodwill extend past his family and to humans at large? Was he different now, or would he still not care about the collateral damage of his actions in Human World? How far along in his character development was Kurama—and how far along was Hiei, for that matter? It's not like there was an easy way to tell. They didn't have Friendship Gauges like the boys in  _otome_  games and dating simulators.

A gauge like that would certainly make dealing with both of them easier on me, that was for sure…

I shook my head, banishing the image of Kurama and Hiei dressed in tuxes, little meters below them showing affection for some nameless  _otome_  protagonist. Now was not the time for mental fanart, Keiko. Get your shit together.

"I know we haven't known one another long," Kuroko went on, "but I feel protective toward you. You remind me of myself at your age." She attempted a joke, then. "Plus, my husband has taking a liking to you, you see. I'd never hear the end of it, if you got killed on my watch. He has a critique of your manuscript to deliver, after all!"

She was trying so hard to break through to me, to ease some of the tension between us. Much though we disagreed on the demon issue, and much though she'd gotten under my skin, my feelings for her softened.

"I know you care about me," I said (and I was happy to see Kuroko's shoulders sag with relief). "And…I know we met only recently, like you said, but I hope I've proven myself at least a little trustworthy."

She looked confused. "Hmm?"

"When I tell you Kurama and Hiei aren't like other demons, I hope you can trust my instincts to be good ones." I tried to keep my tone even and earnest. "Those two are capable of change, I swear to you."

Although Kuroko had put doubt in my mind, when I got home, I resolved to read my journals. I resolved to read all the recaps of the anime I'd written and revel in the evidence of Kurama and Hiei's capacity for change. I resolved to read my writing, because it would make me feel better.

I had to feel better. For the sake of the story. For the sake of this world.

_I had to._

"I can't vouch for any other demons, but those two…they're not what you think they are." I looked her dead in the eye to say, "And if I can't prove it to you, someday, I believe they'll do the job themselves."

We'd reached the end of the path by then. The cicadas sang around us, a thousand warbling violins heralding the end of summer. A few birds joined the chorus as uninvited soloists. Amidst the din I clearly heard Kuroko speak, dark, liquid eyes brimming with the same tired hopelessness she wore every time I defended my precious demons.

"Maybe they will," she said. "I confess I look forward to the day I'm proven wrong."

For the time being, that had to be enough. I dipped my final bow of the evening, low and long and heartfelt. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Kuroko. I appreciate all that you do."

"You're welcome, Keiko," she said.

I'd already turned my back on her and walked out the gate, past the sign that warned of vicious dogs, when her voice floated after me—another party-crashing singer raining on the cicadas' parade.

"You know, Keiko," Kuroko said. "I might never be able to change my mind about demons. Not completely."

I stopped walking. She stood with her hand on the "BEWARE OF DOGS" sign, eyes nearly invisible under the shade of the overhead trees—nearly invisible but for the twin glimmers of affection, stars against a deep night sky, staring out at me.

"Perhaps this dog has gotten too old to learn new tricks," Kuroko said, "but I do hope I'm wrong, for your sake."

"I hope you're wrong, too," I said. For all our sakes, but I didn't say that aloud. Instead I lifted a hand in farewell and called, "Tell Shizuru to call me when she wakes up?"

"Of course," said Sanada Kuroko. "Night, Keiko."

"Night, Kuroko."

I walked away into the oncoming twilight, and she did not call after me again.

That evening at the bus stop, a frail old woman passed me, a member of the village below Kuroko's secluded home. When I told her that yes, I'd come from the eerie mountain above the village, she took my hands in hers and prayed. It was an old prayer, as ancient as the mountains themselves, and it warded against all demons—literal and physical—that haunted human hearts.

She had no way of knowing how well that prayer suited me, and that the demons in the mountains paled in comparison to those waiting for me at home.

* * *

Ayame flipped the folder of papers shut before tapping it with the back of her hand. "Your reports are getting...how does one put this? Spartan?"

"Sorry," I grunted. "Busy summer."

"A level of activity not reflected in your reports," came her silky-smooth counter attack. "Reading this, once can only assume you spend most of your time watching paint dry."

I tried not to roll my eyes, standing with feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped tightly in front of my stomach. The clearing we'd made our weekly meeting spot had grown lush over the summer, grass rising high around my knees. Somehow Ayame in her perfectly draped kimono never had trouble walking through the undergrowth. Not a hair out of place even after fording through the brush. Me, I wore long pants and tennis shoes every time we met, and I had to spend an hour picking sticker-burs off my shoelaces after each report. Maybe Ayame was a ghost from the waist down or something. That would explain how soundlessly and easily she moved, for sure…

"What can I say?" I said, trying to look reticent (and probably failing hardcore). "With Yusuke away, not much is going on."

"I can see that," she said, with an accusatory look at the slim folder in her hands. "Your reports during the school year were twice as long as this. And these are so bare. Not at all like your previous descriptive efforts."

I suppressed a smirk, fighting off the urge with a renewal of my polite mask. Ayame wouldn't be saying that if she knew about the extensive, exhaustive journals I kept in my room at home, where I logged every last scrap of my life with the boys…not to mention my snarky remarks about Ayame herself, plus my theories on Hiruko. Ayame only got a watered-down version of said journals (like the one in which I'm writing this reflection on the matter) in my weekly reports. She didn't need the whole truth, and frankly, I didn't think Spirit world deserved it.

These journals were—and are, I guess—for me, and me alone. She didn't need to know about them, that was for sure.

"I'll attempt to make my reports more detailed in future," I said.

Her bland smile was about as interesting as watching paint dry; she had some nerve, criticizing my writing skills when she always looked like that. "Spirit World appreciates the effort. However, you start school next week, correct?"

"Yes."

"One hopes you will have the time to make good on such a promise, given the burden of your schoolwork." A subtle way of expressing doubt, all silky and polite and definitely not as nice as she sounded. My Texan grandmother could've given her a run for her passive-aggressive, double-speak money, though. Bless your heart, Ayame…

"I'm sure I will have the time even after school starts," I assured her. "Maybe the productivity of homework will infect other aspects of my life."

"One can only hope." So dry; seriously, I preferred paint drying to talking with Ayame, even when her eyes did glitter with that clever streak she liked to pretend she didn't possess. "Any word from Yusuke regarding his return?"

"He can't call me," I informed her. "It's in the report."

"Ah. Yes." It had been in every report this summer, though she still asked every fucking time she laid eyes on me—like maybe she suspected I was lying. I dunno. "Do inform me when you next hear from him. He is difficult to monitor at Genkai's compound." And a flicker of real annoyance managed to break through her milky demeanor. "She's rather the paranoid sort, I'm afraid."

"Yeah. I can imagine." Genkai likely warded her place better than Fort Knox against Spirit World spies. The thought of Koenma banging his head against the wall, unable to sneak a peek, almost got me to smirk. "She dislikes interference from outsiders."

"Indeed," Ayame replied with a bow. "And I suppose with that, I will bid you farewell, Keiko."

I bowed back and murmured a goodbye—but before she could swim out of sight and into the trees, I said, "Oh, Ayame?"

She paused, one cool eye regarding me over her black-clad shoulder.

"Before you go, tell me—have you heard from Botan?"

It was like watching storm shutters closing, her eyes went so cold and her mouth went so thin. Ayame recovered well enough, pasting on a sympathetic expression, but I caught the flash of chill in her features like I'd been gusted by an arctic wind.

"She is convalescing," Ayame said, tone betraying no emotion whatsoever. "She will be better in short order, I'm certain."

"Forgive me for being blunt, but so you've said every week for the last month, and she has yet to return." I didn't bother hiding my annoyance the way Ayame hid her emotions. "No messages from her? No letters? No scolding Yusuke for…being Yusuke?"

Ayame shook her head. "Not that I am aware. However, I will be sure to ask the next time I see her." And with that she turned her back on me, very clearly done for the day. "Goodbye. I shall see you next week—with a more robust report in your hand, I hope."

"Yeah," I said as she vanished between the trees. "Sure thing, lady."

After trudging through the woods and picking the sticker-burs out of my shoelaces (damn Ayame and her perfect kimono and her ghost-feet), I headed for home. It was just midday, the whole of my Saturday ahead of me, but even with just a week left of my summer break, I felt little more than a sense of uneasy anxiety clawing gently inside my chest—like a ferret scrabbling at my esophagus, sort of, persistent and annoying more than anything truly dire. It was tough to enjoy my break when my mind kept drifting to the future and the perils that would surely accompany it. True to my promise to myself, I'd come home from Kuroko's place and re-read all my  _Yu Yu Hakusho_  notes—but while they'd given me comfort regarding Kurama's emotional turnabout, they'd triggered other worries I just couldn't shake.

Yusuke and Kuwabara were due back soon. Soon after (perhaps a matter of days after) the Saint Beast arc would begin. Keiko didn't have an easy time of things during that arc, and without Botan around, she'd be facing the lackeys of Suzaku all by herself—or all by  _my_ self, rather. There I went disassociating again…

I hadn't just asked after Botan because I was worried for her, is Point The First. I asked after Botan because I was scared to face the future without her help. Having an ally during the attack would certainly give me peace of mind, even if I'd taken several precautions over the summer to ensure my safety.

Point The Second was that shit was getting perilously close to hitting the fan, and I still wasn't certain if I was ready for it. Were Hiei and Kurama ready to aid Yusuke? And was Botan ever coming back? And when the heck were Yusuke and Kuwabara going to show up, anyhow?

…but, I realized as I kicked a rock down the sidewalk, that was just about everything bothering me. And that was a pretty short list, so long as you didn't count the looming Hiruko bullshit. The little asshole hadn't contacted me in ages, after all, so even with my anxiety, it was sometimes hard to feel he posed any urgent threat.

(Though some nights I'd see his face in my dreams, brief flashes of pink hair and sea-blue eyes and a smile like a lightning strike, and I'd wake in a cold sweat and skip a meal or two. But that didn't happen often, and the summer went on and on like a movie made of gold.)

All in all, the summer had been good to me. I often went days without seeing anyone from  _Yu Yu_   _Hakusho_  (aside from my reflection in the mirror). Between cram school and days spent reading books in my cozy bed, life almost seemed…normal. Like I lived a typical teenage life, even if Hiei did pop in to take baths sometimes, and even if I did get lunch with a fox demon every week. Despite my worries and overthinking, with summer had come a sense of serenity I hadn't experiences in…well, it felt like ages, to be honest. Now that summer was coming to a close, I felt more centered. The conversation with Kuroko stirred up some doubts, of course, as had the meeting with Ayame, but…

It had been a great summer.

It had been a wonderful, lazy, relaxing summer, and my mental health felt all the better for it.

That's probably why, when a familiar voice called my name, I didn't freak out. I didn't scream, or bolt, or panic. I merely turned in the direction of that familiar sound and, eyes like metal drawn to a magnet, looked straight through the Saturday crowd on that bustling city sidewalk and into his gleaming eyes.

Right into  _their_  gleaming eyes, one set and then the other in turn.

We said nothing for a moment, the three of us. But then Yusuke started grinning, and Kuwabara followed suit, and then I was grinning, too, and we were all staring at each other and smiling like crazy people who'd somehow escape the looney bin and were trying to start a boyband.

"Hi," said Yusuke.

"How's it goin'?" added Kuwabara.

They stood twenty feet down the sidewalk, side by weary side, covered in scrapes and bruises and dirt and who knows what else. Passersby stared at the banged-up boys without regard for subtlety, just as fascinated by the bandages on their cheeks and the blood on their clothes as I was—but I was the only one smiling, the only one whose eyes had started to well at the sight of them, at the gorgeous fucking sight of their numbskulls faces.

It felt like a giant had wrapped its hand around my heart and squeezed—but in a good way, like my soul had become too big for my skin, overflowing with the love and affection bubbling from somewhere deep inside until it flooded every nook and cranny with thrilling, electric light.

 _The boys are back in town_ , I sang inside my head, but no words came out aside from their names. "Yusuke," I said, eyes travelling between them. "Yusuke. Kuwabara."

"Long time, no see," Kuwabara said. His hair had gotten long, curls nearly falling into his dark eyes—but his eager, goofy grin hadn't changed a bit, even though he had a nasty split lip. "Did you miss us?"

"Maybe she did," Yusuke said out of the corner of his mouth, "but why's she staring like that?" His hip jutted out, cocky as all hell. "Forget what we look like or something, grandma? Didja go senile? It hasn't been  _that_  long!"

Error. Keiko.exe has ceased to function. Snappycomeback.exe has likewise become unavailable, and cuttingretort.exe is nowhere to be found. The only option available in my stunned programing was bigalbatrosshug.exe, which my CPU performed with gusto. I darted through the crowd of staring onlookers and launched myself straight at my boys, throwing an arm around each of their necks. Yusuke whined in protest as I pulled him to me, but Kuwabara put an arm around me, too, and mumbled something about how good it felt to be home when I buried my face into his shoulder. They stank the way teenage boys stink when they play outside too much and don't give a crap about basic hygiene, but even though my eyes watered, I didn't even make fun of them, because it didn't matter.

"You're back," I said, because  _that_  was what mattered. "You're back.  _I'm so glad you're back_!"

"See, Kuwabara?" Yusuke gloated. "I told ya she'd get mushy."

"Yeah, yeah, you win," Kuwabara said. I felt his face press against my hair when he said, "We missed you too, Keiko," and I hugged him all the harder.

"Aw, now  _you're_  getting mushy, Kuwabara?" Yusuke whined. "I don't have the strength for both of you to get all weepy!"

"Neither of us has the strength for  _anything_ ," Kuwabara shot back—and then a tremor went through him, and a tremor went through Yusuke, and somebody's knees buckled and our three-headed Cerberus of friendship magic staggered, boys falling forward, their weight on me instead of mine on them. I shrieked as my own knees bowed.

Yusuke's devious chuckle sounded in my ear, and I knew exactly what was about to happen.

"Good point," Yusuke said—and he let his weight go completely.

Kuwabara followed suit, of course, and the next thing I knew, both of them had collapsed on top of me right there on the sidewalk. I shrieked and gibbered under the onslaught of boneless, smelly teenage boy, berating them for embarrassing me in public like this, but then Yusuke started laughing, and Kuwabara started after him, and I was helpless to resist the tide of humor. We lay there in a gigantic heap of guffaws and giggles, gloriously uncaring of the looks we garnered from the innocent bystanders, living wildly in the moment without a thought to the future ahead.

There would be a journal entry about this later, I promised myself.

I'd go home and write it all down. Every last scrap of information, every last emotion, every last detail. I'd describe what it felt like to see them, touch them, be near them (and even smell them), etch all of it on paper and into memory as indelibly as words carved in stone. I'd crystallize the moment for eternity, take it out and treasure it when times got tough and the world seemed bleak—because the moment was just that perfect and  _good_ , a golden bookend to a golden summer, a shining memory I vowed to never let go.

My boys were back.

 _My boys were back_.

Lying there under their reeking weight, laughing as tears rolled unchecked down my cheeks, the future didn't seem so scary after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I then imagine Keiko had to literally carry both of them home on her back, people openly staring, because they weren't just playing a joke when they collapsed: they were both nearly dead with exhaustion from Genkai's training and literally couldn't walk anymore. What an image! Have had that in my head since the story started.
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on the first birthday of this fic, this Saturday, the 23rd. Double update this week is my holiday gift to you, meager though it may be. Love and hugs!
> 
> In my head, this has always been a literal copy of the journals (some of them, anyway) Not-Quite-Keiko keeps during her time in the YYH world. There's a bit of a plotty reason for this waaaay in the future; excited to get there, someday.
> 
> Each comment left last chapter absolutely made my day. This fic wouldn't exist without you gorgeous creatures. Biggest, most grateful thanks to you lovely folks.


	52. This Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the ball gets rolling, and Not-Quite-Keiko must go it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will edit this for typos tomorrow. Sorry for the mess. Balancing this with Xmas travel (not to mention this week's double update) is tough!

Despite my best efforts to sneak in unnoticed, Mom's bat ears somehow heard the click of the back door over the clangs of the closing kitchen. "Keiko, honey! Where have you been?" she said, sticking her head out of the kitchen doorway. I froze with my foot on the first step upstairs and slowly turned my head over my shoulder, like a cartoon cat with her hand in the canary cage. Mom's brow furrowed under her white hat when a drop of water fell from my hair to the clean wood floor. "And look at you. You're soaking wet!"

"Sorry, Mom. Was visiting Yusuke." I tugged on the edge of my bangs, squinting at their water-matted length. "The forecast didn't predict this, though."

Mom looked sufficiently mollified by my explanation, thank my lucky stars. She knew Yusuke and Kuwabara had been away that summer and supported my efforts to get in touch with them now they had returned—but the pair had spent the entire previous week (our last week of summer!) sleeping like the dead, only waking to groggily down a meal and then collapse again. Between the two of them, they'd probably spent a grand total of six hours awake. Genkai's training had really kicked their asses, that's for sure, which was good news for their power levels, but bad news for my nosy streak. They hadn't been awake long enough to tell me anything about Genkai, hardly, even though I spent quite a bit of time staked out at their various bedsides since they'd gotten back.

Thunder rumbled, then. Mom cocked a worried eye toward the ceiling as rain drove in harder gusts against the roof, pattering and plinking off the shingles like tiny shards of glass.

"It's really coming down," she said. "Your father spends all that time listening to aviation radio, but it caught even him off guard. He says there might even be hail tonight."

Another thunder rumble, another gust of wind, and I shivered in my sodden socks. Hair clung to the back of my neck like grasping hands. Mom looked me up and down, then shooed me off with a tut.

"Well, don't just stand there! Hot bath, pronto," she said. "You have your first day back at school tomorrow and you don't want to get sick."

"Don't remind me," I grumbled, and I did as she instructed.

I drew my bath and lingered for quite some time in its warm depths, luxuriating in bath salts my father had got me as a Christmas present the year before. Kuwabara and Yusuke had both taken Epsom salt baths since their return, mainly at my urging since every time they were awake, they both groaned and groused about various muscle aches. Would they be ready to come back to school in the morning? I'd spent half the day at each of the boys' homes, and neither had stirred from their beds. Kuwabara snores like a freight train when truly exhausted, I learned, and Yusuke mumbles under his breath.

He doesn't say anything useful, though. Nothing about his training, and certainly nothing of the future.

Since both of them refused to give up their impressions of dead and-or-hibernating bears, I left notes for them both on their besides. _Meet me at the ramen shop after school_ , I'd written, and I'd named a time. But odds were against them waking up in time to see it, given their current sleep schedule.

With a sigh I slipped under the water in the bath, not daring to open my eyes amidst the salted water. Speaking of schedules, Shizuru hadn't come back from her training, either—though that wasn't alarming. It had only been one week since Kuroko made her estimate of two weeks left in Shizuru's training, so we were on schedule so far as I knew. Still, it was maddening not having her back yet, especially since the boys were here and Kuwabara's few lucid moments had all included questions about his sister. As in, where she was and why the heck she hadn't come to see him since he came back.

And of course, Shizuru wanted to keep her training a secret, because apparently she wanted to make my life more complicated than it already was, which meant I had to lie. Or maybe not lie, per se, but at least play dumb—but I considered lying by omission the same as out-and-out lying, so my conscience remained quite guilty. Too guilty for even the perfumed bathwater to scrub clean.

When the water went tepid and my skin pruned beyond recognition, I got out, dried off, and dressed, heading down the hall to my room with a towel draped over my soaked (but warm) hair. Vigorously rubbing at the towel with my hands, I was basically blind as I kicked the door shut behind me and headed for my closet—but before I could get there I heard a noise, a click and then a rustle from over by my desk, and then an unseasonably chill wind stripped past. A smattering of icy drops peppered my bare feet like hail. Cursing, pulse leaping into frenzy, I yanked the towel off my head and turned.

Hiei crouched on my sill, frozen in the act of lifting the window off the sill, one muddy boot placed squarely in the middle of my desk. He sat there frozen like a raccoon caught in the beam of a headlight, eyes wide enough to show white all around his blazing irises. I muffled a shriek with my towel and backpedaled on reflex, back colliding with the door to my room with a whump. The noise startled Hiei from his animal trace, scarlet eyes narrowing like the wings of flying birds.

"Quiet, Meigo," Hiei snapped. "It's only me."

"H-Hiei." My voice came out in a whispered stammer. "W-What are you doing?"

He stared at me a moment, nonplussed, before turning his head toward his own hand—still cupped under the window frame, holding the pane of glass aloft. _I'm opening the window_ , _dolt_ , he said without saying anything.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I get that, smartass. I mean, what are you doing _here_?"

And those were the magic words, apparently, because the smug look on his face vanished. His eyes slid downward and away, chin tucking into his threadbare scarf like he wanted to hide behind it. But then, just as quickly, he lifted his chin again and glared at me down the length of his pert nose.

"You said I could sleep here if it rained," he said, brusque as a winter wind. "It's raining, and I—"

"Oh. Oh." I _had_ offered that, hadn't I? "Right. Um."

My hesitation rankled his nerves, apparently; his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. "If you didn't want me here, you should not have offered."

"It's not that, Hiei," I returned. "You're such a pessimist. Of _course_ I want you here. It's just like the bath thing all over again. I didn't expect you to ever say yes." My eyes alit on his boot, still planted firmly atop my desk, as another chill breeze swept in—bringing with it a blast of cold water, which splattered all over my desk and _oh my god my schoolbooks were stacked in my chair and they were totally going to get soaked_. I strode forward and tangled my fist in Hiei's sleeve, pulling him off his perch. "Well, don't just sit there—come on in and get the hell off my desk!"

Hiei didn't budge, apart from his burgeoning scowl. "What? Why?"

"First of all, you know better than to wear shoes in my house, especially if you're going to stand on my desk, and even more especially when you're soaking wet. Get down from there this _instant_!"

It was with much snarking and insulting and complaining that Hiei did as I asked, followed by even more fire demon sass when I fussed at him to take off his shoes, followed by still more acerbic asides when I fussed at him to take off his sodden cloak. Soon I found myself standing in the corner while he change into a set of Yusuke's old clothes, draping his cloak and scarf and pants on the drying rack on the back of my closet door when he handed his shed clothes to me (read: when he threw them over my head from behind, that jerk).

"You're sure you don't want a bath to warm up?" I said as I hung up the last of his clothes.

"I was just in the rain," he shot back, as if I were the stupidest person he'd ever met. "A bath would be redundant."

He stood in the middle of my room with arms crossed over his chest, and I probably would've found his white-hot glare intimidating if he hadn't been wearing Yusuke's little league shirt and athletic shorts. Plus his sopping hair had clumped up and flattened a bit, weighted down as it was with water. He looked far more like an adorable drowned kitten than he did a homicidal demon, especially when he tossed his head and his bangs flopped into his face with a wet smack. Very emo-chic, that hair-toss. I'd been friends with kids in middle school who'd have been jealous.

"Come here, Mister Rain Bath," I said, swiping my discarded towel off the floor. Hiei snarled when I draped it over his head and began towel-drying his hair, but I dodged his hands and kept ruffling. In English I muttered, "You shower with rain. Of course you do."

"I heard that," Hiei said, voice muffled under layers of towel. "What's so wrong with bathing in rain?"

"Well, for one thing, it's not sanitary, and for another, soap is—wait." I stopped and swiped the towel off his head, staring at him. "Hiei, do you speak English?"

He shook his head.

"Then how did you know what I said?"

His eyes dropped to my feet. While he didn't look guilty, he looked…shifty. Sketchy? Something like that. A suspicious surfaced at the sight of his downcast eyes.

"Did you read my mind without asking?" I said.

Scarlet gleamed like a prism under a laser pointer. "I skimmed the surface for your meaning, Meigo. I delved no deeper than that. What _else_ would you have me do? Be insulted where I cannot understand?"

"Oh." And even though I felt a bit miffed at that, I couldn't fault him. I draped the towel back over his head and started rubbing at the water again. "I guess speaking a foreign language in front of you is just about as rude as you reading my mind without permission, isn't it?"

Hiei let out one of those low, rumbling growls of his and snatched the towel from my hands. Hair now fluffy and damp instead of matted and soggy, he stalked off and sat against the wall next to my closet door, one knee bent, one elbow draped upon it—full of Hiei Anime Pose, which was neat to see. I admit I stared at him for a minute or so before finding my wits and heading for the hall closet. When I returned, arms full of bedding, Hiei shot me one of his typical scowls (the type that wasn't angry, just confused, and upset at his own confusion).

"What is that?" Hiei asked as I unrolled the _makura_.

"A futon," I said. When Hiei hadn't replied by the time I finished laying out the mattress, I raised a brow at him. "Y'know. For sleeping?"

Hiei snorted. "I'll sleep _here_."

My brow lifted higher. "Against the wall."

"Yes. No one can sneak up on me."

"For the last time, you aren't getting attacked in my house," I said—but at Hiei's grimace, I shook my head and sighed. "But fine. If you need a wall for a security blanket, have at it."

Even so, I still went back into the hall for the futon's comforter and pillow, plus sheets. Hiei watched me tuck and arrange everything together in silence. When I sat back and smoothed the comforter with my hands, satisfied by my neat handiwork, he made a tetching sound between his teeth.

"I said I didn't need it," he told me.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But you're my guest, and I want to be sure you're comfortable." He only glowered at my sunny smile. "I'm sure the wall is great, but just in case you change your mind, I want you to have options." Under my breath I added, "And I want you to not wake me up in the middle of the night if you get a sore back and decide you want somewhere soft to sleep, instead."

He eyed the futon for a moment before his eyes flickered to me. After I moved back, perching on the edge of my bed, he moved with the grace of a cat and crawled atop the futon. His glare almost dared me to come close or make a comment, under penalty of death, but still he lay down atop the comforter inch by careful inch.

And then he popped off of it just as quickly, a jack in the box propelled on the end of a coiled spring.

"Feh! That is far too soft for sleeping," Hiei spat. He settled against his chosen length of wall with a satisfied smirk. "This is much better. No wonder you humans are so soft, sleeping in such soft beds."

I rolled my eyes and chose not to dignify that remark with a reply and instead headed for the door. "I have some last-minute prep for school to do before bed. Will you be fine on your own for a bit?"

"I have no need for a babysitter, Meigo."

"Of course you don't." I popped my head back into the room only a second after I left. "Have you eaten tonight, by the way?"

Hiei looked left. Hiei looked right. Hiei admitted: "No."

"Are you hungry?"

"…yes."

"Good! Dinner coming right up."

I fixed dinner in the private kitchen upstairs before gathering up my school things, ironing my uniform for the morning, and bidding my parents goodnight (mostly so they'd stay out of my hair, not to mention Hiei's, for the rest of the evening). Upon my return I found that Hiei had put on a record, Soundgarden like last time, and had once again climbed atop my desk. He'd settled in the window, this tile, staring out the pane and into the rainy dark beyond (emo edgelord supreme, that's Hiei). I put my food on the desk near him and sat on my bed, watching as he ate the rice balls and soup without once glancing in my direction.

"You know," I said. "You've changed."

The reflection of his eyes glimmered in the mirror's glossy surface, red gems on black satin. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you're not trying to murder me every time you see me." Hiei's lip curled at the suggestion; I held up one pacifying hand. "I know you can't legally hurt humans since Spirit World has its eye on you. I'm just saying is that you don't seem as eager to see humans dead as you did the day we met, that's all."

Hiei growled deep in his chest. "Humans are _scum_."

My hand dropped at the dark light in his eyes. "OK, never mind, then." I swapped a book off the floor next to my bed and opened it across my knees, grumbling. "Nothing's changed at all. My mistake."

But things had changed, hadn't there? Hiei was in my bedroom wearing Yusuke's old clothes, eating the food I made for him and not trying to murder me. That was some kind of progress, much though Hiei maligned the very idea of coming around.

…but had he come around?

Was he different now?

Or was I just thinking wishfully, hoping against all hope that I'd somehow triggered the change in him that the anime and manga had never explained, aside from Togashi simply being an inconsistent writer? Maybe my time was better served thinking of Yusuke as opposed to Hiei. After all, it was Keiko's bond with Yusuke that allowed him to defeat Suzaku in the anime. Was my bond with Yusuke strong enough, and of the right tenor, to serve him in this story arc?

"I…there are things I can't remember."

My musings cut short at the sound of his voice. Hiei stared out the window, still, but in the glass's reflections his gaze trained on me. The scarlet seemed uncertain, for once, still smoldering with all of Hiei's typical inner fire—but in then confusion flickered, as though even he did not understand quite what he was saying.

"The day we met," he said. "I remember what you said to me. I remember what I did. But I don't remember—no." He looked away with an audible gnash of teeth. "Forget it. You wouldn't understand."

I had no idea what he was getting at (or rather, all I had was an inkling, and I needed more information to make a full prediction). Setting my book aside, I swung my legs off the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, giving Hiei my full attention. Something told me this conversation deserved it.

"Wouldn't I, though?" I said, gentle but firm. "You were in my head that day. You saw, and you know better than anyone that I have a memory problem."

And that was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Hiei physically bristled. "I don't have any problems," he snapped. He looked at me in full, red eyes an inferno against tan skin, every word ejected from between his teeth like venom. "A haze fogs the days I possessed the Shadow Sword, admittedly, but make no mistake, Meigo. My actions were my own. Nothing about my opinion of you pitiful humans has changed in the _slightest_ since that day."

An impressive statement—one belied by his presence in my bedroom, which I indicated with a look at the record player, the empty plate at his side, my bedroom at large. Hiei glared, turning back to the window with shoulders hunched.

" _You_ are merely tolerable because you have become useful to me," he said.

"Oh? In what way?"

"Heh." He slid further down into his hunch, chin to chest, eyes on the darkness outside. "That's my secret."

"…it's because you like my cooking, isn't it."

Hiei scowled, but he said nothing, which in Hiei-speak is basically an admission of guilt. Still, I wanted to know, because sometimes he met the truth with sass, and I wasn't well-versed in his ways enough to know which one this might be. I grabbed a decorative pillow off my bed and chucked it at him (he managed to catch it, of course, and ruin all my fun).

"Hiei, you jerk!" I teased. "Tell me. I don't handle suspense well!"

"Good," he said, all smug and smirky and _Hiei_ as he threw the pillow back (I did not manage to catch it; curse Hiei's throwing arm!). "Then you'll suffer not knowing."

"You jerk," I repeated, but before I could launch a counter offensive, a plaintive chirp sounded at my window. With a gasp I got up and darted over. "Oh. Sorei! Let him through, let him through!"

Hiei grumbled when I shooed him off the window sill, but he didn't move far as I opened the window and reached onto the shingles beyond for my cat. Sorei, shivering and soaked, willingly let himself be held, curling against my chest with another chirp. "Hi, my little phantom, are you cold? C'mere, let's warm you up."

I held the cat in the towel, which Hiei had discarded on the floor, buffing and rubbing at Sorei's soaked fur until I got most of the water out. He bore this indignity with the faintest of purrs, blinking slowly up at my face. He smelled like petrichor and motor oil, which I chided him over ("Stay out of people's garages, you goose!"). Once his fur stopped matting together with wet, he struggled against the towel; I put him down at once, because otherwise I'd get a face full of claws and one very pissy cat hissing in my corner. Hiei looked utterly bored at these proceedings, merely cocking an eyebrow at Sorei when the cat wandered over the futon in his direction. The cat sat down and stared at the demon with unwavering yellow eyes, tail lashing with precise movements against the floor. Hiei glared right back, and I couldn't suppress a giggle. It was a meeting of Keiko's very grumpy stray cats. They were in good company whether they knew it or not.

"Sorei is pretty antisocial," I said, retaking my spot on the bed, "but if you hold out your hand, let him smell you…"

Hiei shot me a look that said I was being ridiculous and he despised me for it—but then he did as I asked, extending one calloused hand in Sorei's direction.

"Good." I decided not to remark on Hiei being social, even if it was just with a cat. "If he decides you're OK, you can rub his ears a minute. But don't chase him if he walks away because he'll get grumpy."

Another don't-be-an-idiot glare; like Hiei would ever stoop so low, chasing a cat around the room (hoo boy, wait till he met Kuwabara). Hiei watched from the corner of his eye as Sorei rose soundlessly into a crouch, head craning so he could take a few small sniffs at Hiei's fingers. I figure Sorei would turn up his nose at Hiei's offering, stalk off with tail held high and ignore the interloper, but the cat surprised me. He butted his fluffy head under Hiei's palm, clearly asking for pets.

"Wow," I breathed.

Hiei looked as surprised as I felt, eyes wide and mouth parted at the cat's acceptance. He rubbed a thumb down Sorei's forehead once, twice, three times before Sorei finally disengaged and walked away, sauntering over to my bed with the swagger required of a stray tom. Sorei paused just long enough to run against my ankles, fur as soft as dandelion down, before crawling under my bed and out of sight.

"Aww, he likes you," I said with a beam at Hiei. "You got to pet him for a whole three seconds!" When Hiei's eyes narrowed, I added, "No sarcasm; that's good in Sorei-speak."

Hiei smothered a pleased expression with a shrug and a sneer. "Whatever. It's just a cat."

"A very cute cat with high standards. You should feel lucky."

"You're the lucky one, lost child. Not me."

"Hey—you have a very understanding parole officer who feeds you and gives you baths and lets you sleep in her room, so you've got some luck going for you."

"Hmmph. So you say."

I had to laugh at his stubborn and persnickety attitude. "Fine, fine. I'll drop it. You ready for bed?"

"If it gets you to be quiet for few hours, then yes."

He meant the phrase to cut, but I just giggled, and giggled harder when he looked thoroughly put out by my lack of reaction. "Who knows? Maybe I talk in my sleep."

Hiei looked horrified (AKA, Hiei looked angry and slightly disgusted). "I'll cut out your tongue if it comes to that."

"Vicious," I said, pretending to sound impressed. I pulled back the covers on my bed and crawled beneath, saying as I reached for my bedside lamp, "Night, Hiei."

Hiei did not reply (because of course) as the room bathed itself in dark. I turned and faced the wall, covers tucked up under my chin, listening to the rain patter against the window. Fog on the glass turned the light from the streetlamp outside milky, clouding it like Hiei's clouded memory. He'd begun to talk about his time with the Sword, though he hadn't given me enough information to come to a conclusion. Still, the fact remained that he apparently had trouble remembering his time with the Sword, and that was a factor worth mulling.

Hiei had done such a dramatic heel-face-turn in the series, it didn't seem natural. One had to wonder if the Sword had something to do with it. Had possessing the Sword made him more vicious, perhaps? Or had his bloodthirst regarding humans begun before he stole it? Perhaps Spirit World really had brainwashed him on some level, compelled him to take the Sword, caused this whole mess in the first place. Fandom would have a field day with that one, for sure.

Whatever the case, and despite his protests, I did feel he'd changed. This version of Hiei had changed enough to accept food and shelter from a human, and that had to count for something.

I just hoped it was enough.

My shoulder ached, so I rolled over, catching sight of Hiei's eyes in the dark. He was staring at the window yet again, a watchful guard dog standing vigil in the night—not that Hiei would ever cherish such a comparison. I debated asking him more questions (perhaps the darkness would bolster him, allow him to talk about what made him vulnerable, and his altered memory) but I stopped. He wouldn't appreciate that, and so long as he was willing to ally with Yusuke, I shouldn't violate his privacy.

"I don't even have to bother reading your mind." Hiei's voice cut through the dark and the quiet like a sword. "You're lying there _thinking_ , aren't you."

I curled up a little tighter in my bed as his eyes flickered my way. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," he said, as though he found the act supremely distasteful. "Don't you have school in the morning? You need to rest your pathetic human head for your 'big day'."

"Ha ha, very funny, Hiei." And with that, I rolled over again and shut my eyes. "Good night and sweet dreams."

No reply came, and I faded into the depths of sleep like sugar dissolving into water.

Halfway through the night, however, I woke, and blinked groggy into the dark. Hiei stood out against my wall, a dark shadow in the gloom, and at his feet lay a small grey lump. Sorei sat just barely touching Hiei's leg with his little furry butt, sound asleep on the futon at the demon's feet. Hiei's eyes remained shut, even as I smiled at them, and even as I whispered a second goodnight.

I fell asleep smiling into my pillow, and I dreamed of Sorei's soft fur against my cheek.

* * *

Amagi was waiting by my locker when I arrived at school the next morning. She'd cut her hair over the break, soft black hair hanging in shiny waves beside her ears, framing her dark eyes and heart-shaped face with softness and silk. Pretty. Amagi was so pretty, but I couldn't let on that I thought so for the sake of my moral compass.

"Fifteen years old, Keiko," I muttered as I walked up. "You're a dirty old lecher and she's fif-fucking-teen years old."

Amagi spotted me right away and trotted over before I could even reach the shoe lockers. Her hand wrapped around my arm, heat radiating through my thin shirt as she leaned in close and whispered in my ear, "It's happening."

Any and all butterflies that came as a result of her closeness tore themselves to bits, cannibalizing themselves into a jolt of acrid nerve. "It?" I said, staring with mouth agape. "As in, _it_ -it?

"The thing you warned me about this summer, yes," she said.

"Oh god." My feet moved of their own accord, backpedaling toward the exit. "Not here, not here."

Amagi understood the need for secrecy without explanation, bless her, following me out of the school and around back to the PE shed. We stopped in the shadows of the trees behind it, heads bowed together so we could discuss in relative private.

"I see them," Amagi said. "I see the _things_ you warned me I might."

I couldn't help but glance up at the trees, toward the school, at the shed. "Here, now?"

"Not in the school. Not yet. But I walked through downtown today and saw them exactly as you described." She held up her hands spaced maybe six inches apart. "Bugs. Enormous, ugly bugs no one else can see, iridescent green and absolutely disgusting."

My eyes fluttered shut.

Damn.

It was already starting.

Although I cursed how fast this was happening, at least I'd managed to get some warning before it surprised me out of the blue. It was good I'd made the call this previous summer, and even better Amagi had accepted my words without undue concern. She didn't freak out at the prospect of giant bugs that could control people, and she agreed to watch for them and let me know if she saw any without fuss. Since I couldn't see them, I needed her to act as my eyes. Amagi had agreed to be said eyes with alarming speed.

"Really?" I'd stammered into the phone. "You mean you're not freaked out?"

"No," she said in her smooth voice. "Once, when I was a child, I saw an insect crawl into someone's ear. They became immediately violent. No one else noticed. It was one of the first times I realized I can see things others cannot. I am happy to help you, Keiko."

Like the people in the village near Kuroko's home, who talked of demons like they were no more uncommon than hiker-stalking bears, Amagi seemed rather chill about the supernatural. Interesting. And the fact that she'd seen things similar to the Makai Insects was just icing on the cake. Amagi was a perfect ally in this matter.

It didn't hurt than she didn't ask questions, either, and did not question how I knew these bugs would someday appear.

In the present behind the PE shed, I flipped on my All Business switch and took a deep breath. "How many have you seen today?"

"Six. And no one else seems alarmed; it was obvious I was the only one who saw them." Her head tilted to the side, black hair falling like satin along one pale cheek. "Is this indeed what you warned me about?"

"Yeah. Totally." I threaded my fingers through my hair, the feel of the soft hair grounding me in my body just a bit. "Oh, man. First day back and this is already happening."

"You don't seem surprised that it's happening at all," Amagi said, "but I won't ask." And that's why Amagi is perfect. "This is bad, isn't it?"

I pulled my hands from my hair and tried to reengage Business Mode; no use freaking out Amagi. "Yeah, but we're still in the calm before the storm, so don't panic. Things are going to go bad soon, but not yet." I lowered my voice and tried not to sound scared, myself, but Amagi deserved to know what was about to happen in our city. "I don't mean to scare you, but there will be rioting, looting, people attacking each other. Be careful and make yourself scarce today."

"I will." She swallowed that as readily as she'd swallowed the idea of the Makai bugs. "When will it get bad?"

"I'm not sure. But not till later. I'm pretty sure not till after school." The fact that I couldn't give her a better answer set my teeth on edge. "Go home after school and sit tight, and warn anyone you can to do the same."

"Right." She gave a nod, turning as if to walk away—but she stopped, and put her hand on my arm again. "Keiko. Do you need help?"

Yes. No. Yes? The answer died and revived on the end of my tongue over and over again, until finally I put my hand on hers and squeezed.

"No," I told her. "I've got all the help I need."

It was a true statement in some ways, and a falsehood in others.

But even if Botan wasn't here to help me, no way would I ever risk Amagi's life and make her take Botan's place.

* * *

The three men—who had attacked us like clockwork as soon as we set foot downtown—fell under punches from Kuwabara, Yusuke, and myself in seconds. Happened too quickly for me to get a good look at the boys' new techniques, sorry to say, though Yusuke let out a low, impressed whistle at the sight of my new-and-improved roundhouse (thanks, Hideki-sensei). Kuwabara stepped back and rubbed his fist, glaring at the men on the ground.

"Man. At least they went down easy," he said—and then his eyes went wide, and he leveled a finger at one of their gaping, unconscious mouths. "Ugh—gross! Look at that!"

Yusuke gasped; Kuwabara looked like he was about to be sick, probably because he was seeing a gigantic bug crawl out of a person's mouth. I, of course, saw nothing but the three dudes who'd followed Kuwabara, Yusuke, and myself since we left my parents' restaurant. The boys had indeed found my notes, but no sooner had we set off to find something to eat had these goons started following us. And then the fight had happened, and there we were, watching a bug make its escape.

Well. Some of us were watching that, anyway. I just stood there and sighed as the boys started squabbling.

"Squash it, Kuwabara, squash it!" Yusuke said, jabbing at Kuwabara's arm with a fist.

"Me? Why me?" Kuwabara said. "I _hate_ bugs!"

"Yeah, but—"

They went quiet when a new, smooth voice cut in to say: "If you'll allow me the honor, gentlemen."

I sighed again as the boys did a series of comical double-takes, spinning in place to the mouth of the alley and the woman standing in it. Ayame, dour and drab in her black kimono, minced forward atop her wooden sandal and bent at the thugs' sides. A spray bottle from the sleeve of her robe produced a fine mist, which she squirted across their faces as though selling them perfume. Yusuke and Kuwabara gasped again as (I assume) the bugs disappeared, or maybe disintegrated, or perhaps even blew up.

Not that I'd know. I couldn't see anything.

This whole no-powers thing was really starting to grate on my nerves.

Kuwabara muttered something about who this chick was in my ear, but I didn't reply. Ayame straightened up and favored Yusuke with one of her long, measured looks, expression a cross between boredom and supreme, longsuffering patience.

"Yusuke," she said. "So I see you've already gotten wind of Spirit World's latest crisis?"

"Ayame," he returned. "So you're still kicking around, huh?"

Kuwabara's eyes lit up. "Ayame. I know that name. This the Spirit World lady who took Button's place?"

" _Botan's_ place," Yusuke said. "And yeah. That's her." Brown eyes slid my way for just a second. "The one Keiko's been working for."

Ah. So Yusuke had filled Kuwabara in already regarding Spirit World and the Detective position. There hadn't been time enough to ask about that today. We'd gone from seeking ice cream to ass kicking in no time flat. So much for us getting to play catch-up…

If I'd been worried I might say something suspicious, reveal I knew too much about the Saint Beasts before getting debriefed, Ayame soothed those worries by being a loquacious showboater. I listened to her explanation of the Saint Beasts with only half an ear, preoccupied by my next move, but she seemed to hit all the points in the anime and manga. Of course, that included a lack of explanation regarding the Beasts themselves—no mention of their powers or what to expect from the, just like in the show. Another case of Spirit World's irresponsibility in action, I guessed. Of all the thigs to match canon, why did it have to be that?

"Any details about the beasts' powers, their abilities?" I said when she finished explaining the need to destroy the Makai Whistle. Ayame's brow furrowed, so I added: "You're sending these two in blind. More intel would serve them well."

But even with my intervention, Ayame shook her head. "Unfortunately, this has all transpired too quickly for me to do thorough research." A confident smile, one I wasn't sure looked genuine. "But I trust these Beasts will be no match for our Detective and his friend."

More elusiveness and prevarication from Ayame. Ugh. But I couldn't say anything to Yusuke—who hopped from foot to foot in anticipation, eyes bright and eager—without giving myself away. Keiko had no way of knowing the details I possessed, so I merely watched, uncertain, as Ayame bade us follow her from the alley and through a door in a nearby, random building. Just like in the anime, a wooden hatch in the floor, like the hatch to a storm cellar, opened over a poor of deep, swirling blackness with no bottom. Clearly a portal. Did it look different in Yusuke and Kuwabara's eyes? Did they seem more than just deep, dark black, stretching down into a void without end?

Yusuke looked as eager as ever, still doing his little dance of anticipation. Kuwabara, however, stared into the portal with an apprehensive frown. I put a hand on his arm and smiled. He smiled back, cheeks coloring, before turning his gaze toward Ayame.

"So that's it, then?" he said. "You're just showing us the portal and saying 'jump'?"

Ayame's head listed to one side. "I have not asked, nor implied, that you would be joining Yusuke on this mission, Kuwabara."

But Kuwabara just rolled his eyes. "You gave that whole explanation to Yusuke right in front of me, ma'am. No way would I let him go alone after hearing all that, and besides—this is my home town we're talking about, and no way am I letting it go to the dogs." He paused, blinking. "Er. Go to the demons?" His head shook like an aforementioned dog. "Aw, hell, you get the idea, though! You'd have to tie me to a tree to keep me out of this, and it'd have to be a really, really strong tree to keep me back!"

Ayame smiled, chin ducking like a demure young lady. "Wonderful to have you aboard. But to answer your question, no. We're not just showing you the portal and saying 'jump'. I must add that Spirit World will be monitoring your progress as best it's able, but please keep in touch using your Communication Mirror." Her delicate brow lifted. "I trust you have that on you, Yusuke?"

Yusuke's face turned red; he rubbed the back of his neck and started to blather some sort of excuse, but I cleared my throat, reached into my pocket, and held his Mirror out.

"Figured you'd need it," I said.

Yusuke took it from me, glaring without teeth. "Hey, you stole my Mirror!"

"More like rescued it," I retorted. "You kept leaving it on your floor where Atsuko might step on it."

Yusuke grumbled at me, cowed. Ayame let out a silken laugh (something she rarely did, actually; maybe she had a heart, after all).

"Good. Then it's settled." She bowed to us. "Now is the moment I say 'jump.' We will be there to assist as best we're able. Good luck, in the meantime."

"What about Keiko?"

My head swung to Yusuke, mouth dropping in shock. He stared at Ayame through narrowed eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at her. She hummed, questioning, and his eyes narrowed further.

"What about Keiko?" he repeated. "She's just gonna stay here, and what, fight these crazy bug guys?"

"I could go with you to Demon World," I offered.

But the boys replied in sharp unison, deadpan and unrelenting: "No way in hell."

I didn't bother arguing with that, merely muttering a dejected, "Spoilsports." I'd offered merely for the sake of it, on the off chance it might work—but knowing all the while it would not. I knew better than anyone that without powers, I was a dead weight and a liability. Trying to come along had been a matter of dignity more than anything.

Not that I had much dignity at all these days.

I hadn't yet seen their powers, nor heard of their ordeals, but I knew the gulf between Keiko and the others had only grown since their trip to train with Genkai.

Was it even possibly to close that gap now?

Would Keiko ever become more than a side character in this narrative? Or was I destined, once freaking more, to just sit on the sidelines and watch then action from afar?

"Anyway," Yusuke was saying, "these jerks are vicious. And Keiko's a badass, sure, but to leave her here alone…"

"Your Mirror has two frequencies, one that connects with myself, and the other with Keiko's Mirror, which we gave her when she took her role as record keeper," Ayame explained. "You'll be able to keep in touch while you're in Demon World."

That did little to mollify Yusuke, however. "That doesn't make me feel better," he said.

"Yeah, seriously." Kuwabara turned my way with worried eyes. "If things get as bad as she says, I don't want you anywhere near the blast zone, Keiko."

Although they had every reason to worry, there was no sense telling them that. I slugged them on the arm in turns, declaring with a grin, "I'll be fine, you two. And somebody's gotta watch out for our hometown while its top punks are off on a field trip, right?" Before they could protest, I continued my show of bravado by asking, "Ayame, tell me how I can help from here. What can I do here in Human World to make a difference?"

"Unfortunately, since you lack spiritual awareness, you're unable to see the Makai Insects." Her flat tone held no comfort at all, no sympathy, and in response my grin shrank somewhat. "Your best course of action is to hide, and convince your friends to keep off the streets."

"Great." My shoulders sagged; I couldn't help it. "I'm _useless_."

Kuwabara was quick to jump aboard the Boost Keiko's Confidence Train, hovering at my side to say, "No you're not, Keiko! You're really useful! You're—"

"Don't baby me. I know I'm just dead weight without powers."

The words had just slipped out, coaxed into speech by frustration and expression. Kuwabara pulled away, affronted; oh shit, Keiko, don't snap at the poor guy!

"Sorry, Kuwabara; I'm just frustrated. I didn't mean to bark." I ran a hand through my hair, peering up at him through my bangs—and he smiled to tell me all was forgiven. Feeling immediately better, I turned to Ayame. "You don't have a handy spirit energy drink I can take to grow some, do you?"

"Afraid not," she said. "My apologies."

"Figures." Taking a deep breath, I rounded on my friends and planted my hands on my hips. I'd let my feelings get the better of me before, but I did not intend to let that happen again. I raised a finger at them and declared, "Listen up, you two. I might not have a power that makes me useful, but I'm damn good at giving a pep talk when need be, and that's gotta be useful in its own way, right?"

The boys exchanged a glance, worried. I cleared my throat and they snapped back to attention, though, with twin "eeps" of fear and surprise.

"You two are all that stands between our hometown and four nasty-ass, wannabe demon kings," I said, "but y'know what? Demons ain't _shit_."

Ayame tittered. The boys, however, laughed. The laughter spurred me on like a kick to a horse's haunch.

"You two, meanwhile, are _the_ shit. You stared death in its wrinkled face this summer. This is _nothing_ compared to that." Forming a fist, I glared at them over the top of my knuckles. "So kick ass, take names, and don't let our town down, you understand me? And when you get back, there'll be dinner waiting. My treat."

Yusuke's roguish grin gave me life and cleared my skin. "Well, when you out it like that, how can I disappoint?"

"Yeah, Keiko—your cooking is motivation all its own!" Kuwabara concurred.

"I'm glad to hear it. But just in case it's not enough—if you two die, I'm marching into the afterlife and straight up murdering both of you all over again." My glare could've melted rock, I was sure. "Is that understood?"

Kuwabara let out another "Eep!" Yusuke, however, just tossed his head and laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, grandma," he said. "Y'know, you sound just like another grandma I know."

Genkai, obviously—and though the reminder we still hadn't had a chance to catch up send a spike into my gut, I shrugged it off. "You'll have to tell me all about her when you get back from kicking demon ass. Another reason to come back in one piece, eh?"

"Heh. Sure. And have we got some stories for you, in that case." He put his back to me and walked abruptly for the portal to Demon World, one hand raised in casual farewell. "Don't wait up, Keiko." But he did spare the time to throw one last grin over his shoulder. "I'll be home in time for dinner, I swear."

"I'll hold you to it," I said—and then as Yusuke started to climb in, I turned to Kuwabara. "Both of you."

His bashful smile held as much regret as my heart. "I'm sorry we didn't have more time to catch up about the summer before this happened. Crappy timing, huh?"

"Yeah," I agreed, but there was a lump in my throat that kept me from saying more.

The lump did nothing to deter Kuwabara, of course. Stepping toward me, hand hovering over my arm but not quite touching, he told me: "I have a lot to tell you, Keiko, a lot I want to talk to you about. This summer, it was…" He trailed off, but his face said everything he voice could not: this summer had been what he needed, the centered and confident cast to his dark eyes as obvious as his bleached hair. He swallowed, and he smiled, and he said, "And it's all thanks to you."

I just swatted his shoulder, though, with an exaggerated scowl. "Oh, hush. I didn't do anything. That was all you. You're amazing." I swatted him again, harder this time. "And you're going to keep be amazing until those demons try to crown you their king."

He drew himself up, chest puffing. "Demon King Kuwabara. I like the sound of that!"

"Me, too." I spun his by the shoulders and pushed him gently toward the portal. "Now go make Sarayashiki proud."

"Roger that." He reached up and closed his hand over mine, my hand caught between his and his shoulder. "You stay safe, Keiko."

"Yeah, Keiko!" Yusuke called, with one leg already hooked over the hatch and into the portal. "Don't do anything stupid!"

I glared around Kuwabara's bulk. "Who, me? I think you have me confused with someone else."

"Nah. I'm definitely talking about you!"

"Oh, really? Because I'm pretty sure being stupid is _your_ job, Yusuke, not mine."

He rolled his eyes, but he smiled, and in his eyes glittered heartening mirth. "Ha ha, very funny. Now c'mon, Kuwabara, we don't got all day."

Yusuke swung his other leg into the hatch and sat on the edge. Shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and then he looked over his shoulder at me—and his hand rose in a brief thumbs-up, aimed at me, eyes on mine in a way that spoke of promises kept and promises remembered.

And with that, Urameshi Yusuke began his first trip into Demon World.

Leaving me behind, alone—the first time Keiko would be left here in favor of the pull of Demon World, but certainly not the last.

"Right," Kuwabara said unaware of destiny swirling all around us. "See you on the other side, Keiko. And stay safe, yeah?"

"You, too," I said. "Good luck."

Kuwabara followed Yusuke, smiling at me with reassurance before making his own leap into the unknown. He'd joked about being the Demon King, and he had no way of knowing that fare belonged to Yusuke, not to him.

The irony made me smile, even if getting left behind stung so much.

"A touching display," Ayame said. "But like they said—do try to stay safe."

I turned to her with a scowl. "There's seriously nothing I can do to help them?"

"No. Not without spiritual sight." Her head lowered in farewell. "I must return to Spirit World. You can contact us with your mirror if anything goes awry."

I muttered an agreement, because there wasn't anything else I could say after such clear dismissal—but as Ayame walked out of the alley, something clicked. I stumbled forward with hand outstretched, calling a frantic, "Wait!"

Ayame stopped, looking at me over her shoulder. She did not speak to me, but that was just as well. I was too busy searching desperately for words to listen.

"That's it?" I said, though I knew those weren't the right words.

She quirked one thin eyebrow. "Is there something I'm missing?"

"You're just sending the boys in there…alone?" But those weren't the right words either, dammit.

"Yes. After training with a renowned spiritualist like Genkai," Ayame said, "the demons should prove no match for them."

"Are you sure about that?" I asked. "It's four against one, if I heard you right." Or four against ten, if you count Suzaku's Prism of Seven technique, but Keiko shouldn't know about that. Head shaking, because apparently I needed to be more direct than this, I said, "Look. There are two powerful demons in this city who might be of use today. Why aren't you using them?"

Those were the right words at last, it seemed. Ayame's brow furrowed, black lines on her pale brow. "And how might we do that?"

Holy hell, why was I the one having to explain this? Pushing that aside, I said, "Send Hiei and Kurama after Yusuke and Kuwabara. Kurama will do it if I ask, and Hiei…well, he'll take convincing, but maybe if Spirit World sweetens the deal…"

"What are you suggesting?" she said, affronted. "A shorter sentence?"

"Maybe. Up to you." And then I couldn't keep the most obvious question inside anymore, because what the hell was going on here? "You mean to tell me Koenma hasn't considered the possibility? Because I find that hard to believe. Why else would he keep Kurama and Hiei under surveillance if he didn't have plans for them?"

Ayame said nothing, but her chin lowered as she lost herself in thought. I did the same, truth be told. Why was I the one coming up with this plan and pressing this issue, anyway? This didn't make any sense.

Unless...

Was this the difference between Botan and Ayame?

And if the difference here was that we had Ayame instead of Botan, what the heck did that indicate about Ayame? Why in the world did Ayame not want to send Kurama and Hiei with Yusuke and Kuwabara?

Ayame finished thinking, eyes lifting back to mine with a glimmer. "Interesting."

My turn for a quirked brow. "What is?"

"You go to bat for Kurama and Hiei with such enthusiasm." Her head tilted as she studied me, a cat watching prey. "Why is that?"

I shifted from foot to foot, nervous. "Well, I've spent a lot of time with them this summer…"

"Yes. And your reports indicated a shifting in their allegiances. They could act as allies to Yusuke indeed, if your report holds true." She paused to study me a moment longer. Soon her head inclined, lips curving in a confident smile. "Then it's a good thing for you that I believe, as does Koenma, that Kurama and Hiei would be fitting additions to this mission."

Wait.

_Koenma_ believes, present-tense? But he wasn't here, unless Ayame could talk to him inside her head somehow. But that wasn't possible, was it? When had he decided that, if Ayame was making such a big deal over the mere suggestion of sending Kurama and Hiei after Yusuke?

_What the hell was going on here?_

"So why…?" I said. "You…?"

Her eyes shut as she chuckled. "Truth be told, Keiko, the thought of sending those demons after Yusuke did occur to Koenma. In fact, if you hadn't said anything, my instructions were to contact both demons myself." Dark eyes opened, pools of endless, glittering shadow. "But I wanted to see how you would handle the situation, if I did not bring it up myself."

We stared at each other. My mouth opened and closed, working for words that would not come.

"You—you manipulated me," I eventually managed to grate out.

"Tested, rather," Ayame said, maddening in her calm. "But perhaps I quibble. You seem to see it as the same thing, after all." She gestured behind me, at the open hatch. "The portal to Demon World will be open until midnight. Make the appropriate calls to your demon friends, Keiko. And good luck."

And with that, Ayame left me there in that alley, the yawning portal to demon world gaping dark and heavy at my back—and in dire need of a payphone, stat.

* * *

Hiei and Kurama showed up together, little more than fifteen minutes after my call to Kurama and garbled explanation of the situation. Hiei stood with hands in his pockets off to the side as I delivered a more in-depth summary. Kurama listened with rapt attention, eyes flicking every now and again toward the portal to Demon World.

I wondered, vaguely, if the scent of it called to him—and Hiei—on some primal level, but that was a question for another day.

"I'll admit, it sounds too good to be true," he said when I finished speaking. "Spirit World isn't the type to offer mercy generously."

"Well, you have me vouching for you, and that helps."

Hiei shot me a skeptical look at that. " _You_ vouch for _us_?"

"Of course I do, Hiei." I kept my tone patient, light, and open. "You're my friends, after all."

But Hiei just scowled. "Feh. Friends." He shoved off of the alley wall, all tense lines and rigid muscles. "Make no mistake, Meigo. I need no friends. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can." Patience, Keiko, patience. "But I'd like to help, anyway. Take this job, and you'll get a reduced sentence. It's a step closer to freedom."

Hiei's scowl deepened nearly into a snarl. "You work for them, and yet you wish me my freedom? Why?"

Enunciating every syllable, I said, "Because I trust you to use it wisely."

I don't think he expected that, an expression of trust from the human he'd only met a few months prior. He stared, silent, until I smiled at him.

"And I mean," I said, "it'll get you closer to Yusuke. Which in turn gets you closer to…"

I trailed off. I didn't need to specify a certain sister to Hiei—not for understanding to crystallize behind his eyes. He turned and walked away, the barest of smiles gracing his small face.

"Heh. I've been looking forward to a rematch with the Detective, anyway," he said. "Especially after all the stories you've told me about him."

The summer had seen quite a few of these stories told to Hiei over dinner, my prattle inevitably turning to my friends in this world. "I'm sure he'd be happy to oblige just as soon as the Saint Beasts fall," I said. "Just so long as they do, in fact, fall."

His dark chuckle was like a hammer against iron. "Excellent." One finger lifted, pointing at me from across the alley. "Watch your back, Meigo. It would be a shame for the only decent cook in this whole damn city died, given even with a reduced sentence, I'll be stuck here for god knows how long."

It was the only compliment he'd ever paid me, and I couldn't help but grin at its crass delivery. "Good luck to you too, Hiei," I said—and he needed no further instruction. As he took a flying leap through the portal, I turned to Kurama and said, "And to you, Kurama."

"I'd ask you to stay out of trouble, but somehow, I suspect such a promise would be made for you to break," he mused, green eyes locked on my face.

"Probably. But I can promise to be careful, at least."

"That will have to do." He stepped close, voice low and urgent. "You remember your bolt hole?"

"Of course."

"And where you hid—?"

"Which one of us is supposed to be the albatross again?" I snarked. Patting his arm, I said, "Quit the mother hen routine and go kick some ass." One of my wild, crooked grins, as proud as it was devious. "'Bout time you got a chance to show off, right?"

He didn't seem as confident, however, demurring with a mild, "Perhaps." Another step, even closer this time, enough for me to get that whiff of mint and earth he carried on the air around him. "But Kei. Be careful."

"Always am." I let myself squeeze his arm, let him cover it with his own, let myself meet his eyes and not look away from nerves and teenage embarrassment at his beauty. I told him, "Take care of them, Kurama. You're the most level-headed of the lot. Spread those albatross wings. Take care of my boys—and don't forget you're one of 'em." At that he managed a soft smile, all warmth and appreciation and maybe a touch of pleasured surprise. But I couldn't let him get away without a bit of a dig, now could I? "No gaping holes in the stomach this time, eh?"

That got him to laugh. "I will try my best to manage that."

I almost shied away when his free hand lifted, but I managed to hold still when he reached for me. The tip of his finger brushed down the length of my bangs, tucking them back and aside with touch so gentle I almost didn't feel it. The finger ghosted down my cheek and over my jaw before falling to his side once more.

He held my eyes, and I held his—a moment that stretched long into infinity, unbroken and unfathomable.

"See you again," he said.

"See you," I agreed—or promised.

I wasn't sure which.

As soon as he left, I shut the hatch behind him. I went back to the pay phone and called everyone I loved—from Kagome to my parents to my friends at school—and warned them to stay home. I'd heard bad news on the radio, I said, and everyone should lay low.

Then I ran back to my school, because I sure as hell wasn't going to lead Suzaku's asshole flunkies to my parents…and little did they know that this version of Yukimura Keiko wasn't some damsel in distress.

Little did they know that this version of Yukimura Keiko came prepared to kick some ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Here we are. One year to the day this fic was released. NQK starting a new story arc as this fic starts a new year feels fitting indeed.
> 
> I'm not going to spend time talking about this chapter here. Instead I want to devote this space to all of you out there reading this. I started this fic as an escape during the illness and death of my grandmother. I didn't think anyone would read it. And then people did, and with gusto, and here we are today.
> 
> Although I write this story primarily for myself, I do have to wonder if I'd have gotten this far into the story this fast if not for all of you. In fact, I highly doubt I would have. You have motivated me, encouraged me, and built me up in ways I can't even try to describe. I owe all of you a debt of gratitude that is indescribable.
> 
> In short, I know don't know you, but in a very real way, I love you. Thanks for being there while I grieved, and for giving me something to look forward to each week...all 52 weeks this year, and all 52 chapters therein.
> 
> Here's to another year with you. I'm looking forward to every minute.
> 
> (Edit: I managed to post this to FFnet one year to the minute later, at 7:29 PM, and I'm SO NEEDLESSLY EXCITED.)


	53. Good Thing or Bad Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko sees many familiar faces, but isn't sure if that's good or bad.

His cheek looked the color of a ripe and bruised tomato, skin scraped and raw after an unforgiving encounter with the sidewalk (the sidewalk had won said encounter, of course; Yusuke had a hard head, but even he had trouble breaking concrete with it at the tender age of ten). He stared at the floor, sullen as an October day, as I bandaged him up on my bedroom floor. The muffled clatter of pots and pans echoed through the floor underneath us, vibrating against my tailbone and the sides of my crossed calves.

"You know," I said as Yusuke flinched away from my hands and the iodine-soaked cotton in them, "there are ways to get back at the big kids without resorting to violence."

"There are ways to get back at them without resorting to violence," he repeated, voice high and whiny in mean mockery of my own. Enormous brown eyes rolled like a cement mixer. "You're such a square, Keiko."

I pursed my lips, but I didn't retort. This was the fifth fight he'd picked with the sixth graders in a month. Sooner or later they'd stop going easy on him, really pound him into the pavement—which, yeah, they'd already done, but they'd do it worse if Yusuke kept antagonizing so many at once. This time it had been four against one. The previous week it had been three, and when Yusuke nearly won, they brought in reinforcements. And since it was my goal to keep him alive (so he could get killed at an _appropriate_ moment in a few years, ironically) it was time I stepped in.

"Fine," I said, shrugging. "Then I _won't_ help you embarrass them into next Wednesday, I guess."

Yusuke's sneer turned curious, those huge eyes of his blinking like a startled owl. "Embarrass them into next Wednesday?" he repeated—but he didn't mock my voice this time. "How would you do that?"

Another shrug as I tried not to smile. "I thought you said I was a square."

Yusuke scowled. "Fine. I take it back. You're as square as a triangle." He caught my wrist and leaned toward me, peering intently into my face. "So how would you do that? Embarrass them, I mean."

"You just apply a bit of chemistry, that's all."

"Chemistry?" His nose wrinkled. "What, you want me to do homework?"

"I know better than to ask that of _you_ ," I said (and Yusuke looked rather proud, that little punk). This time I couldn't suppress a small, devious smile. "Still, though. We will need to go to the library, if you want this weapon."

It was like someone had like a firework inside him, and all the sparks showed in his grinning face. "A weapon. Now we're talking." But excitement faded as his nose wrinkled again. "But what kind of weapon do you find at the library that uses chemistry and embarrasses people?"

I giggled. "The kind you get from a chemistry book, of course."

Yusuke looked unconvinced. "A book?"

"Yeah. A book." I shut the first aid kit at my side and stood. Yusuke took my hand, looking skeptical still, but I just smiled, all teeth like a leering shark. "Books are the best weapons in the world."

In another life, Yusuke could've been a chemist. He certainly mixed the formula for stink-juice and sneezing powder with all the solemn accuracy of a dedicated researcher, mischief turning his normally scattered brain quite focused. The bullies never picked on him against after the science project Yusuke inflicted upon them.

"You were right, Keiko," Yusuke said when he returned home triumphant (if not a little smelly). "Books do make good weapons, so long as you get the right kind."

He was right, of course, and seeing this, I copied down a series of chemical formulas with the same care Yusuke mixed them.

Said formulas—and the weapon of a book they came from—would prove infinitely useful protections come the inevitable, fated future.

* * *

In order to serve the whim of fate, I had to play things very, very carefully.

Although I had a bolt-hole—safe and dark and tempting—I had to use it judiciously. I couldn't just hide and wait for this all to blow over. Not right away, at least.

Upon timing, I surmised, hinged everything.

Suzaku would eventually sic his mind-controlled lackeys on Keiko in an attempt to psychologically torture Yusuke. In turn, Yusuke would be invigorated by the threat of Keiko's death—the exact opposite of Suzaku's intentions, which would lead the phoenix king to his demise. If Keiko disappeared, hidden away from the threat of her pursuers, Yusuke would not see her in peril. He would not power up, and he would lose.

Visibility, therefore, and risking myself to death, was a necessary part of fate's design.

(Provided Yusuke cared for me deeply enough to be so inspired by a threat on my life.)

(Provided I hadn't fucked it all up and treated him too much like a sister treats her brother.)

(Provided my inability to love a goddamn teenager hadn't ruined everything—an unfair and ironic consequence of my desire to be ethical.)

(But I'd have to worry about that another time. It was too late now, after all, to change my relationship with Yusuke.)

After the boys entered the portal to Demon World, I hoofed it back to the school. Much as it pained me to abandon my city and not fight the hordes of infected people terrorizing it, I valued my life far more than my pride and city's reputation. Plus, no way would I ever lead Suzaku's minions to my parents or friends. The school was to be my battleground—and a well-stocked battleground it was.

While I intended to fight a war there, I also intended to be quite comfortable whilst doing it.

I had just taken an enormous bite of _onigiri_ , mouth full of rice and fish, when the communication mirror in my pocket chimed. Hand over my mouth, trying desperately to swallow (and wondering if I could somehow put the mirror's ringer on silent) I flipped open the compact and held it up, mumbling a "Hello?" through my full mouth.

For a moment the mirror reflected my face—bulging chipmunk cheeks and all—but soon the image rippled and Yusuke's face swam into view. He blinked at me, squinting, and said, "Keiko, are you…are you eating dinner?"

"Yeah." I managed to choke the _onigiri_ down at last. "Just riceballs and a canteen of soup. Nothing fancy. How goes the mission?"

"It's going OK, I guess." I saw the barest gleam of a stone wall behind his head, the interior of Maze Castle I was certain. "We haven't killed each other yet, which is a plus. Was touch and go there for a second, though." His eyes lit up, memory clearly exciting. "Ya see, there was this big falling wall thing, and—"

He told me all about the Gate of Betrayal, not to mention Hiei's mad dash to save them and his play-acting the role of turncoat. It happened nearly identical to the anime, I was pleased to note. Perhaps this meant Hiei's character development was on schedule, after all. The thought had my shoulders sagging with relief. Seemed I hadn't screwed up too badly, although Yusuke took my relieved sigh a different way.

"Hey, Keiko, it's OK. We're doing fine and kicking ass," he assured me—and then the sarcasm returned. "I mean, yeah, for a little while there I was pretty sure Hiei would stab us all in the back when we weren't paying attention, little three-eyed jerk, but it turns out that's not his style, even after everything that happened with the Shadow Sword." A sheepish grin. "But then Kurama said that you'd sent him and Hiei, and I knew I had to at least give him a shot, right? And then Hiei saved our asses so it all worked out in the end."

"Aww—I didn't realize my recommendation would mean so much to you," I teased. As Yusuke turned red and sputtered, face dipping momentarily out of frame, I had to grin. Even if we weren't romantic, he trusted me. He valued me. That had to count for something.

"Yeah, whatever, Keiko," he said, rubbing at his nose as he popped back onto the mirror's round monitor. "Gloat all you want, but you're gonna be a fat load of help now that we've got the Hiei situation squared."

The reminder sent an icicle of apprehension through my chest. "So you face the Beasts next, I take it."

"Yeah." He rolled his eyes, brown glittering with a bit of orange and gold—nearby torchlight, perhaps? "Not that Koenma told us shit."

"I remember. Y'know. Since I was there and whatnot."

"So you understand why I'm pissed." He shrugged, resigned to Koenma's incompetence. "I dunno what we'll face next, but I'll check in if anything big happens. So where are you right now?"

"Yeah," cut in a deep, gravelly voice. "Are you somewhere safe?"

The video shook and shorted, black lines racing across the picture as it trembled and danced. I caught glimpse of several pairs of shoes, a pair of legs clad in distinctive magenta, and a flash of scarlet eyes before it stilled—this time showing me two faces squeezed together, each glaring at the other with teeth bared. Kuwabara had his hand on Yusuke's forehead, trying to shove him away, and Yusuke's fist clutched tight to Kuwabara's shirtfront.

"Ouch, Kuwabara!" Yusuke snapped. "Quit pushing!"

"You quit pushing!" Kuwabara shot back. "I wanna talk to Keiko, too!"

"I'm sure we can all speak to her if we're careful," came Kurama's longsuffering voice. The Mirror once more jostled, floating up to show me an expanse of stone ceiling before centering on a pair of green eyes and brilliant red hair. Kurama held the mirror at an angle above his head, arm a magenta streak to one side of the frame, camera trained down to encompass himself, Yusuke, and Kuwabara all at once (Kurama would have mad selfie skills once smartphones came about, lemme tell ya). As Kuwabara and Yusuke crowded over his shoulders to see better, Kurama asked, "I trust you've found a quiet place to lie low."

"Oh, shit, yeah!" I said, popping to my feet. "Lemme give y'all the grand tour."

The PE shed didn't have a light source of its own, but I'd rigged a glowing lamp out of a headlamp and a plastic milk jug. I rotated in a circle, holding the mirror at selfie angle just like Kurama, showing my friends my hidey-hole in the lamp's pearlescent light. Behind the barrier of the dusty vaulting horses I'd arranged a circle of milk crates and a place to sit, complete with blanket, decorative fringed pillow, and even a small Megallica poster that had come with their latest album. Home away from home and all that. It's the little things that keep you sane.

"It's actually pretty cozy," I said. "Had to sneak it in bit by bit, but I have a radio, a cooler full of rations, and best of all…"

Kuwabara's face screwed up. "Is that—is that a beanbag chair?"

"Yup!" I walked toward the bright pink lump to give the boys a better look. "Stole it from the drama department."

Kurama chuckled. "Resourceful."

Yusuke asked, "But why did the drama department even have a beanbag chair?"

"Apparently they did a 1970s rendition of Hamlet, or something similarly atrocious. Kaito didn't want to talk about it. Poor kid seemed traumatized."

Yusuke and Kuwabara, being exactly who they were (as well as people who didn't know Kaito), didn't understand the hilarity of that mashup, but Kurama shut his eyes and chuckled behind his hand. From off-screen a scratchy voice (belonging to a person who also didn't get my jokes because he is nothing but himself) snapped, "What the hell is a bean bag chair?"

Kurama's lips quirked at the corner. "It's a bag full of beans that you sit on like a chair, Hiei."

"Wow, shorty," Kuwabara chortled, face turned to the left. "You _seriously_ didn't get that from just the name? Sounds pretty obvious to me!"

_"Mock me again and you'll lose your tongue, oaf."_

"Oaf!? Why I oughta—"

Expression resigned (but eyes glimmering with the barest hint of amusement) Kurama glanced first at Kuwabara and then off screen, look of reproach silencing Kuwabara before he could lob a retort. "Now, now, you two. We learned from the Gate of Betrayal that it's important we work together."

"I need no lecture on teamwork from _you_ , Kurama!" Hiei snarled back. He stepped into view behind the rest of the boys and glared at the back of Kurama's head. "Do not speak to me as if I am a child!"

Although the altercation pulled a giggle from me, I had to wonder: Hiei had glared at Kurama when I sent them through the portal, just as he was glaring now. Were the two of them on good terms? The last time they'd interacted (to my knowledge, at least) Kurama had been in the middle of aiding Yusuke in his fight against Hiei—a betrayal if there ever was one. Did Hiei still resent Kurama for that insult? Had they met up over the summer to work things out? I didn't know. In fact, I'd avoided asking either of them for fear of getting in the middle and ruining whatever loyalty they might forge…and also I didn't want to encroach on their feelings. That, too. They were both such private people, after all. At least they'd gotten through the Gate of Betrayal in one piece…

"Hiei, do at least _try_ to be nice," I said, but with a smile so he wouldn't think I was mad. "You're a team now!"

He merely glared, scarlet sparking like banked coals. "And now _you_ lecture me, Meigo?"

Kuwabara tossed a look over his shoulder, lips pursing. "Wait. Meigo?" His eyes popped wide open, darting back and forth between Hiei and the mirror in shock. "What the—?! Do you two know each other?"

Kurama smiled. "Yes, they do. Kei and Hiei are friends, Kuwabara."

Hiei sputtered something that sounded suspiciously like a denial, but Kuwabara ignored him. He was too busy staring at Kurama with that same look of confusion and shock, eyes travelling between Kurama and the mirror—between Kurama and _me_ —in turn.

"Wait. Kei?" And once more his eyes widened; he leapt back with a dramatic point Kurama's way. " _A_ re you tellin' me that _you two_ know each other, too!?"

I performed a vigorous rendition of jazz hands at the mirror. "Surprise! I know literally everyone ever!"

Kurama glanced my way and chuckled before nodding at Kuwabara. "Yes, we know one another. We're classmates, actually."

"Classmates?" He at Kurama blinked a little, processing. "And you have a nickname for her?" At that he turned on Hiei. "And _you_ have a nickname for her?" He counted on his fingers, eyes screwed up in concentration. "Hiei calls her Meigo, Kurama calls her Kei, Yusuke calls her Grandma…" His hands dropped, along with his blocky jaw. "Everybody has a nickname for Keiko but me!"

"Seems like it," Yusuke said.

"B-but!" Kuwabara said, face growing redder by the second. " _But_ —!"

Before I could tell a stammering Kuwabara that it was OK, and to not be upset, he could make up a name for me whenever he wanted, we were still besties and we always would be, Yusuke stood on his tiptoes and snatched the mirror out of Kurama's hand. The picture swung wildly across the screen before settling on a tight shot of his face, eyes narrowed, mouth set into a thin line. It wasn't often I saw Yusuke look so serious, and the comforts building on my tongue died like sprouts in frost.

Even so, though. Knowing he was so concerned for me wasn't all bad. Perhaps our relationship was deep enough, after all…

"So tell me, Grandma," Yusuke said, low and urgent and not joking even a little bit (so unlike him, so unlike my Yusuke). "You think you'll be OK tonight?"

His voice brought a ball of nerves to my throat, but I choked it down to speak. "I hope so. I've been monitoring the radio." I angled the mirror down so he could see the headphones around my neck and the small portable radio clipped to the waistband of my track pants (I'd changed from my uniform to the workout gear I'd stashed in my hidey-hole, of course; no sense fighting in a skirt). "There's been reports of violence and they issued a riot alert for downtown, but it's nice and quiet this side of town. I'll let you know if that changes."

"You'd better." His voice dropped even lower. "Just sit tight, Keiko. We'll smash that whistle and fix all of this soon, you'll see."

"I believe in you," I said—and because the lump was coming back and I didn't want them to hear it in my voice, I smiled and waved goodbye. "Stay safe, guys."

"Roger that. Over and out!"

Yusuke's hand flashed across the screen before it darkened; he'd closed the compact, and our connection along with it. With ponderous fingers I closed my compact, too, and stashed it inside the cup of my secure sports bra.

The boys were about to face Genbu, a creature of earth who would fall under the weight of Kurama's flowers. After that came Byakko, the one feline Kuwabara would ever care to harm, and then Seiryu, whose ice would challenge the heat of Hiei's flame—and foreshadow the dragon that would rise from it someday.

Not much time left until Suzaku, the phoenix, would face the boy who had risen from the ashes and returned to life.

They had their battles to fight.

Meanwhile, I had mine.

It was time to make an appearance, I decided, and I crawled out of the PE shed's small grate.

* * *

"Wow, really?" she said. "That's terrible!"

"Yeah," I said. "They're saying everyone should go home before the rioting spreads from downtown—and definitely before nightfall."

A round of emphatic nods from her and her friends. "We really need to get going!"

Although the looks of fear on their faces sent a spike of guilt through my chest, I merely smiled—tight-lipped and silent—as my classmates gathered their things and told me goodbye. I watched them from the school's second story, tracing their path through the courtyard and out of the school's front gate.

Good. Another batch of students sent safely home. They hadn't believed me at first, but lending them one of my radio's earbuds so they could hear the Mayor's distress broadcast had certainly done wonders for my legitimacy…

Once I lost sight of them I resumed my prowl, hunting down another lingering pack of teenagers over by the library. Told them what was happening in the city, played the radio broadcast, urged them to get moving—lather, rinse, repeat the same steps I'd performed ten times that afternoon as I got rid of the final stragglers. I'd gotten my tactic down to a science…and good thing, too, because the broadcast had started playing on a loop, crowding out the local news with warnings of encroaching violence.

Things were going dark, fast.

As I patrolled the halls, flushing out the various wings of the school like a bird dog on the hunt for quail, my hand returned again and again to the mirror hidden safely in my bra (bras are far superior to pockets, says I). The boys had only contacted me the once, almost two hours prior. Surely defeating Genbu wouldn't take Kurama this long, right?

I could only pray they'd just gotten too busy for a check-in, and hadn't been felled by the Beasts.

Once the school felt deserted enough for my tastes, I headed for the only bit of ground I hadn't covered. The faculty wing still had its lights on, unlike the rest of the school, which told me at least one or two teachers remained.

Was that a good thing or a bad one? Good because Keiko needed to see and be seen in order to draw Suzaku's fire (in order to keep the goons away from her family, and for the sake of Yusuke's power-up), but bad because a teacher was fated for infection. Unlike in the anime, however, no teachers at Meiou were as terrible as Iwamoto—and that meant even the worst of them probably didn't deserve infection, let alone the beating I'd give them.

I tried not to think about that, though, as a door rattled open down the hall ahead of me. Out stepped a lone figure, lean and tall, face momentarily obscured by his gleaming glasses.

"Yukimura?" he said, glare fading to reveal the pinched and dour face of Hamaguchi-sensei. He narrowed his eyes, stringy bangs pattering against his forehead. "You're still here?"

"Sorry, sensei," I said, trying to look contrite (even as my heart decided to dance the samba in my chest). "I left my bag somewhere and I'm trying to find it."

"Hmmph." He shoved his glasses up his nose and turned. "Well, don't take too long. You'll disrupt the faculty."

"Yes, sir."

I watched him stalk off down the hall and disappear into another room, tongue clenched between my teeth. Hamaguchi was, of course, that teacher who had at first disliked me after hearing rumors from Iwamoto—but after he'd seen my grades (not to mention the fact I never cut up in class or skipped school) he'd stopped picking on me. In fact, he'd even praised my work a few times (if not grudgingly because I so often challenged his literary theory). I didn't hate the guy at all. I didn't think he hated me, either.

Still. Out of all my teachers, he was the one I pegged as most likely to attack me, his presence probably preserving Keiko's teacher-battling fate. Even though I had made a few half-hearted attempts during the school year to antagonize him just for the sake of the Saint Beast Arc, he had never truly become my enemy. Too bad I'd have to kick his ass when wasn't even a tenth the asshole Iwamoto had been.

Good thing or bad thing, Keiko? Good thing or bad thing?

I flinched and swatted my chest when something fluttered against my heart, but it was only the compact mirror vibrating—turns out it did have a silent setting, which I'd located after a few minutes of frustrated fiddling after the first mirror call. I power-walked down the hall and to a small nook where architects had tucked away a water fountain. The boys (Kurama once more holding the mirror in prime selfie position) stared back at me when I opened the compact, all of them holding up three fingers on their hands. Hiei sulked in the background, however, hands jammed petulantly into his pockets.

The breath stilled in my chest, held tight and quiet.

It hadn't occurred to me before—too caught up in our conversation, I guess—but today marked the first time I'd seen them all together. All four boys, the fated team of Spirit Detectives, united at long last, all four of their precious faces in one place for me to see. Granted, I saw them on a screen instead of in person, but still. The sight of them swelled my chest near to bursting, filled my head with delighted fizz like I'd chugged too much champagne.

My eyes pricked. I squeezed them shut and breathed again, pasting on a happy smile—a genuine one, even if I wouldn't indulge the happy tears threatening my vision.

"Ta-da!" said Yusuke.

"Three down, Keiko!" Kuwabara added.

No wonder they'd been silent for three hours. Three down accounted for Genbu, Byakko, Seiryu, and all the various wandering they'd have to do through Maze Castle. "That was fast!"

"Yeah, and the last one doesn't stand a chance," Yusuke gloated. "You still doing OK?"

"Yeah, the school's deserted. I sent all the kids home so they'd be safe." But not for long, if I had to guess. With three Beasts down, Suzaku would sic the insect-possessed goons on me any minute now. "I'm going to find a place to sit tight, in the meantime. So far the rioting is still contained to downtown."

"Good to hear," Kurama said. His eyes searched…well, the screen, but probably my face depicted upon it. "You will continue to be careful, won't you?"

"Of course!" I chirped (and I meant it, because now that Keiko had been established at her high school, there was no more reason to risk exposure and stay out in the open). "Soon as we hang up, I'll head for the shed and—"

"Keiko?"

I froze. Kurama, Kuwabara, and Yusuke all froze too—because none of them had said my name, and I certainly had no reason to say my own name, and that had definitely been a _girl's_ voice, right? I heard the creak of my own joints in my adrenaline-soaked ears as I peeked around the corner of my alcove. My jaw dropped like an anchor through warm water when I saw her.

"Amagi?" I said. "What the heck are _you_ doing here?"

She stood a ways down the hall, wearing jeans and a blouse—street clothes. She'd gone home after school, I was certain, and the clothes attested to that, but why the heck had she come back to school?

"I came here to check on you." Her dark eyes, perplexed and narrowed, searched the hallway at my back. "Who were you talking to?"

And right on cue, Yusuke's voice echoed her through the compact's tiny speakers. "Hey, Keiko—who are you talking to?"

Amagi's eyes slipped from my face to my hand. Uh oh. I lifted the compact up and patted my hair, lips stretched into a manic grin so huge it would make Pennywise jealous.

"Nobody, just—good luck and goodbye; I have to go!" I said through my clenched teeth, and before Yusuke could reply, I slammed the compact shut on their stunned faces. Shoving it back into my bra, I trotted forward with hands outstretched. "Amagi, you shouldn't be here!"

Her lips pursed, and normally I'd be distracted by how pink they looked, but just then all I could notice was the shake in my knees and the hitch in my worried breath. She said, "I called your house. You weren't there, and your mother said you were staying late at school to help with something. But you'd told me to leave school, and I wondered why you had come back." She pointed at the windows lining the hallway, at the dark trees standing just beyond them. Sunset's light caught her black hair like lightning on oil. "There are more bugs than before, and they started flying toward the school. I just thought—"

The shake in my knees stilled. "Flying _here_?"

A slow nod and a worried eye. "Yes."

"Oh. Oh _no_." And with that the shake returned in full swing, power lines in a gale. "You can't be here, Amagi. You have to go home, now."

"What? Why?"

"Remember how I said things were going to go bad, and soon?" I took her arm and nudged her around, turning her back the way she'd come. "Well, now it's really _really_ soon, probably within the hour, and—"

I never got to finish that thought, of course. Nobody ever lets me finish thoughts. Throat like sticky flypaper, the words caught there and died as a door down the hallway slid open with a hiss. Footsteps echoed in the quiet air as Hamaguchi-sensei—eyes unfocused, jaw slack, hand loose around the base of a freakin' gymnastics trophy, of all things—stepped into view.

Amagi tensed under my hand.

Hamaguchi-sensei's face swung toward us—and then that slack expression vanished. His jaw clenched like an angry fist before he spoke.

"Yukimura," he slurred.

I didn't think about it. I put myself between Amagi and him with a quick side-step, hand forcing her back and behind me almost of its own accord.

Hamaguchi's mouth split in a wide grin—too wide, too gleaming, all teeth and no smile whatsoever. "I told you not to disturb the teachers, Yukimura."

"Oh my god." Amagi's breath ghosted across my ear like graveyard mist. "He's _blue_!"

He looked perfectly olive-toned to me, but I supposed (in a distant way, thought barely registering amidst the cold suffusing my chest) that my lack of psychic sight had something to do with this. But to Amagi I only murmured, "The bugs got him."

"I told you, Yukimura," my teacher said. He took one step forward, foot dragging the ground like a gunshot in the echoing hall, little leaping girl atop the trophy glittering. "I _told_ you."

It's easy to be afraid. It's easy to see someone advancing on you wielding a gymnastics trophy and run for it, turn around and bolt because your life is in danger—but when my foot slid back, flight trying to win over fight, it bumped the toe of Amagi's sneaker. I looked down with a gasp, staring at that white toe with my mouth open.

Something inside me stilled.

"Amagi." My voice held steadier than it had any right to as the cold in my chest solidified, spread, sharpening my eyesight and quickening my breath, the feel of the air on my face and the clothes on my skin more tangible than they'd ever been before. My commanding tone impressed even me. "When I give the signal, you run. Run as fast as you can to the school gate, do you understand me?"

Her voice, however, still shook. "Uh. Uh huh."

"OK." My shallow breath ran deep for just one moment. "OK. Get ready."

"You always were a bad one, Yukimura," Hamaguchi said in a sing-song voice. He took another dragging step, and then another, but the fighting chill Hideki had beaten into me wouldn't let the voice of fear sing its siren song. "A blight on this school, and on the school that was so right to kick you out." A single bead of spittle trickled from his grinning mouth. "And if I have any say, I'll do the same to you!"

He lunged. Amagi shrieked, but I whirled away and under his arm, hand flying up to smack against the underside of his wrist. The trophy went flying, clattering against the ground as I spun into a crouch under my teacher's chest.

"Amagi, now!" I bellowed—and she did. Amagi ran as I grasped _sensei's_ wrist and sent him flying over my shoulder, his back slamming onto the ground so hard I feared I'd broken him.

I didn't stop to make sure I hadn't.

Instead I aimed a kick to the side of his head, and when his skull bounced like a hollow coconut against the tile floor, I turned and sprinted after Amagi.

She was taller, but I was faster, grabbing her hand and tugging her like the Doctor tugs a companion away from certain death. The girl gasped as she ran, obviously not an athlete despite her slim waist, but she made it all the way down three halls and a flight of stairs to the shoe locker room before wrenching her hand from mine and leaning against a wall to catch her ragged breath. A quick scan of the empty atrium revealed no enemies; I skirted toward the glass-paneled front doors, keeping low and close to the wall, and peered around the door frame and into the yard beyond.

"Coast clear," I said, eyes roving across the empty courtyard. Only a few tall lamps at the edge of the school wall and the main building lit the huge space, but even the shadows looks clear to me. Amagi, breathing still labored, crept to my side when I gestured for her to follow. "We can't wait. Can you keep running?"

Amagi nodded despite her shaking chest and the fear in her eyes, face brave despite the fact a teacher had just tried to beat us to death with a trophy. This time Amagi took my hand of her own accord, gripping tight as I stood and pulled her after me out the door.

"Which way's your house?" I asked before we started running. "Left or right out the gate?"

"Left," she said.

Left. We needed to run, turn left, and then we'd be—well, not home free, but able to plan our next step, because _goddamn it and fuck I hadn't counted on her being here and this threw my whole damn plan into disarray_. But there was no way I could involve Amagi in this mess, nor leave her to get murdered by the bug-infested masses. I needed to take her home and double back once she was safe. We just had to run across this courtyard (wide open, exposed, sitting ducks, totally not the kind of terrain Hideki- _sensei_ would approve of), turn left, and run some more. Easy-peasy, right?

Dammit, I sure hoped so.

Her feet slapped the sidewalk at my back, each running step far louder than my own quiet footfall. I flinched at every smack of sole on pavement, neck prickling as we left the shadow of the school and entered open terrain, but a smile slipped across my mouth when we reached the midway point and passed it without incident. The gate seemed to inch toward us, perception skewed both fast and slow by adrenaline's discombobulating pulse. Almost there, almost there, keep on running, Keiko, because you're almost there—

But things are never that easy, are they?

Amagi sensed them before I saw them, hand in mine weighing like an anchor between one step and the next. I shot a glance over my shoulder, and at the sight of her wide black eyes and color-drained face, my feet tangled with each other and sent me stumbling. We stopped, both staring at the open gate ahead, eyes locked on the darkness beyond—the darkness that grew darker as the sun beat its final retreat over the distant horizon.

"More of them!" Amagi gasped.

For a moment I held fast to the hope she was merely paranoid in her panic—but then, there in the shadows, I saw them move.

" _Yukimura_."

I'd been so intent on the shadows—those stumbling, shuffling shapes in the dark, silhouettes of slumped shoulders grey against the black—I hadn't thought to look behind us. I whirled to put myself between Amagi and Hamaguchi, but that left her exposed to the people in the shadows, so again I whirled, spinning on my heel with a curse. Hamaguchi stood only a dozen feet away, hands hanging limp on the end of long, swaying arms. A gash on his temple bled freely, fluid trickling down his arm to coat the scissors in his hand with gleaming red blood.

The color of it wasn't lost even in the fitful light of the streetlamps. The sight sent an electric shudder across my scalp.

"Yukimura." His head ticked to the side like a marionette on the end of drunken strings. "Hitting a teacher, Yukimura? It seems Iwamoto was right about you."

Amagi's hand found its way into mine again. Her pants sounded more like sobs as something shuffled at our backs—the people in the shadows slinking forward, eyes vacant and mouths agape. Men, mostly, but a few women, too, all adults, all holding bats and broken bottles and even a razor blade in their rigid hands.

Amagi let out a true sob, then. "The bugs—th-they're crawling _everywhere_. In their m-mouths, in their ears—"

My hand around hers tightened—and perhaps my lack of power wasn't such a bad things, after all, if it spared me the sight that made strong Amagi weep.

Good or bad, Keiko? Good or bad?

"He was right," Hamaguchi went on. "You're a violent, arrogant, juvenile delinquent who—"

As soon as my eyes turned his way, the horde slid forward. Fencing us in, keeping us corralled, blocking escape routes. I tugged Amagi's arm to get her moving, uncaring—or at least not letting myself care—when she gasped in fright.

"Follow me, and keep quiet," I murmured.

She obeyed.

* * *

It took at least two laps of the school and quite a bit of creative maneuvering on my part (including at least one ingenious escape through a window) to lose our pursuers, but I managed to guide Amagi back to the PE shed in one piece. I shoved her through the bushes concealing the ventilation grate first and followed after, replacing the grate as quickly and as quietly as I could behind us. Amagi sagged in a heap on my beanbag chair, huffing and puffing like a wolf trying to knock down a house, face a shiny mess of sweat and tears. Despite feeling winded, however, she managed to hold her breath as the horde pounded toward us, still hot on our heels even after my evasive maneuvers, ring of feet vibrating the tin walls of our hiding spot. Her face got even redder, which I wouldn't have thought possible, but I shut off the light of my headlamp-and-milk-jug lantern before I could decide if she was mulberry or maroon.

I found out (mulberry) when a shaft of light cut the gloom, a vertical ribbon of silver slashing the wall above our heads. The chain holding the shed's doors rattled, but held fast, as one of the infected tried to wrench it open. Amagi clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes bloodshot and nearly bulging from her skull.

I held my breath, too, every nerve singing with electricity and fear.

"Even girls their size couldn't squeeze through that," one of them said.

"Keep looking," Hamaguchi replied. A fiendish giggle. "They can't have gotten far!"

The door swung shut, and the silver ribbon disappeared.

Amagi gasped, muffling her face with the pillow she'd found beside the beanbag chair, but her devotion to secrecy—while appreciated—wasn't necessary. The voices of Hamaguchi and the others faded, the sing-song sound of my surname growing more and more distant as they wandered off over the grounds, searching. "Yukimura! Yukimura! Come out this instant!" Hamaguchi said before his voice grew unintelligible, waning into obscurity as distance grew between us and them.

My heartbeat—steady but ferocious, athletic and strong in a way my previous heart had never been—began to slow its frantic pace. I released my held breath at last, ears straining to hear the enemy over the sound of Amagi's labored breaths. Luckily I didn't hear much: just the murmur of searching voices, footsteps too far away to make out.

Still, Amagi wasn't stupid. She spoke in a voice barely above a whisper when she asked, "What is happening here, Keiko?"

A deep breath to steady my nerves. I sat back against the wall, lowering gingerly against the panel in case it creaked. "They're after me."

"Yes," Amagi said. "I gathered."

Even through a whisper I heard her desiccated voice, unamused and skeptical. We had only the light from the window, indirect and dim, to go by, but still her eyes managed to glitter in the darkness—chips of onyx bathed in ink. I met them and didn't bother smiling, both because I didn't feel like it and because she couldn't see it, anyway.

"No matter what happens, you have to stay in here," I murmured. "You have to stay in here, and stay quiet, you understand?" I groped for her hand. Found it. Gripped it tight. "I won't let them hurt you. I promise you, Amagi, _I won't let them hurt you_."

Her fingers, cold and clammy, clamped around mine right back. "I know you won't. I trust you. But why? Why are they after you?"

I didn't bother to hide my grimace; the darkness did it for me. Still, I hated the truth as it spilled off my tongue: "Because my friends are trying to stop this, and much as I hate to admit it, I'm their weak spot."

Much the way she'd taken my warning of psychic bugs in stride, so too did she take the tale of the Saint Beasts and Suzaku's whistle without flinching. I didn't bother lying to her, though I left out mention of demons, Suzaku implied to be nothing more out of the ordinary than a human psychic. Amagi listened without commentary, merely nodding when I finished. She hadn't let go of my hand while I spoke; I didn't bother correcting that. If this brought her comfort, so be it.

"So what do we do now?" she asked when I was through.

" _We_ do nothing. _You_ have to sit tight." I shifted against the wall, blood flowing back into my aching tailbone. "I'll draw them off, keep them away from you."

"No." Her hand tightened around mine. "You're not going out there when we have such a good hiding spot."

It almost made me laugh, the fact she wanted to take care of me when she was the one put needlessly in danger. "I don't plan on taking unnecessary risks, Amagi. I'll go out, make an appearance, hide again. Gotta keep them on campus while the boys take care of the source of the problem."

"But why? Why not stay hidden?"

"So they don't go after my family. I wouldn't put it past them to threaten Keiko's mom and dad to draw me out."

She didn't reply right away, and for a moment I deluded myself into thinking she would accept this, too, without question. But I was wrong.

" _Keiko's_ mom and dad?" she said.

Oh, fuck, there I went talking in third person again. The dark helped me to tell a convincing lie, since I could put all effort of deception into the tone of my voice. "I disassociate when I'm stressed," I said, shrugging. "Regardless, I gotta keep those assholes here, away from people I care about."

"And I just made matters worse," she said, despair turning her voice brittle—but she drew in a breath and her hand steadied against my knee, resolution rallying her nerve. "Do what you have to, Keiko. I'll stay here if that's what's needed." Her confidence only lasted for so long, though. "It's just, the thought of you facing them all alone…"

"Oh. I'm not alone." I patted her wrist with my free hand, touch conveying comfort in the dark. "Not entirely, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"I've got allies hidden in the school. Sort of, anyway." I let go of her hand so I could sit up and reach under the nearest vaulting horse, and for the cardboard box I'd hidden beneath it. "And a few squirreled away in here, which is good for you."

The line of Amagi's shoulders wore the barest of silvery outlines, a silhouette of indirect illumination and perhaps a trick of the desperate eye. Her back straightened as she tried to see what I was doing, craning her neck over toward me. I grabbed a blanket off the crate beside her and draped it atop the two of us like children building a fort, dragging my water jug lantern underneath, too. I'd tested this before: with the help of the blanket, the light didn't show from outside the shed unless someone put their face against the tiny window on the east wall, and since said window was six feet up…

Still, though. Better make this quick.

"You don't happen to have any martial arts training, by any chance?" I asked as I rummaged through the box.

"Sorry." Her face had regained its usual white pearlescence, even if her eyes still carried a terrified glint. "I don't."

"Probably shouldn't give you a close quarters weapon, then, which leaves…here."

I handed her the red bottle with the pump handle set into the lid and the hose snaking off the top. It looked a bit like a fire extinguisher, though the hose ended in a thin, foot-long wand with a small opening at the tip. Amagi took it with unpracticed hands, fingers tracing over the pump, the hose, and the reservoir.

"Pepper spray," I explained. I pointed at the pump handle, then at the hose. "Pump it up if you hear them coming, then point and pull the trigger, but _don't get any on your hands_. If they get near, spray 'em. This has a two-meter range, so that'll keep you out of most fights, and the spray will put them out of commission for a while but won't cause any lasting damage. I hope." I winked, an ineffectual attempt at levity given Amagi's blanched face. "I couldn't get ahold of any Bhut jolokia, but Dad's imported habaneros will still do the trick." He'd inspired me to make pepper spray in more ways than one. Good ol' Dad.

Her mouth fell open, then closed again. She looked…not impressed, exactly. More like stunned? Which wasn't bad, but I'd hoped to impress her a little with this—not that I wanted to impress a teenager! Nope. Not me. Stop being a perv, Keiko, jeez—

"Keiko," Amagi asked, every word a battle slow. "Where, precisely, did you get this?"

My chest puffed. "I made it."

"You made—" Another mouth-open-and-then-shut-with-a-snap moment. "You made pepper spray?"

"Yeah. A continuous-spray-pepper-flamethrower, basically!" And I was proud of myself, too, for creating something that would hurt my enemies but not do lasting damage. "I mean, I didn't make the bottle. It's what Mom used to use to spray pesticide before she decided her garden was too much work. But the actual chemical spray—"

Her face dropped momentarily into her hand. "Dare I ask how you figured out how to make that?"

"Books." I cracked a grin—the same one I'd given Yusuke all those years before, when I taught him to make the same sneezing gas I'd hidden (among other things) in the school to aid in my impending war. "Books are the best weapons in the world."

She opened her mouth to reply, but the distant murmur of voices grew louder, recognizable words swimming through the haze. I snuffed the lantern as soon as I heard my name, bathing our hideaway once more in darkness.

Amagi waited for the voices to fade before saying, "The fact that you spend so much time with Kaito near the library is rather worrisome, in retrospect." A pause. "What about you?"

"Hmm?"

"If you're not taking the pepper spray, what weapon do you have?"

"Oh, don't worry. There's more where that came from, and there are heavy hitters in the main building." I scooted close to her on my butt, leaning an elbow against the creaking softness of the beanbag. She dipped toward me, scent of sweat and old perfume a cloud around my senses. "It's actually pretty cool. I've got—"

I wanted to tell her about my more ambitious projects, the ones that had taken real ingenuity to push past prototype phase, but before I could dive in (mostly to distract her, because a distraction was definitely in order amidst such dire straits, and maybe also just the tiniest bit to impress her again _oh my god shut up you stupid teenage hormones_ ) another shout rang up outside. This one sounded closer than before; the beanbag made a low _kssshing_ sound as Amagi stiffened. The shout rang up again, and then a third time, followed by a meaty thump we heard even over what seemed like quite a distance. Hard to tell in the shed.

It wasn't hard to recognize a terrified screech from inside the shed, however. Not when it was so loud, so close, and so shrill.

Amagi stayed blessedly quiet as I sat up, murmured a request for stillness, and crawled beneath the vaulting horses. Luckily I'd practiced this in the daylight, winding my way through a somewhat complicated tunnel between and below the horses until I reached the eastern wall. A crate a few feet to the left of the window gave me a boost upward, but I didn't go directly to the window for a look outside. Instead I angled an ordinary compact mirror—full of makeup instead of magic—at the glass, peering into it for a glimpse outside so no one would see my head poking up over the sill. Took a second to scan the area outside and hone in on movement, but soon I managed to get a bead on a knot of infected humans congregating nearby.

They stood about a hundred feet away, over by the corner of the school where the front courtyard turned into the grassy side yard homing my PE shed. The goons formed a tight pack, facing inward like a battalion of zombies gorging on a corpse—that scene from _The Walking Dead_ where they consumed that poor horse who didn't deserve such and undignified death, but that was a rant for another day. I couldn't see what they attacked, squinting in vain at the pack in the darkness, but a few of them fell backward and hit the ground. A figure vaulted over them, sprinting pell-mell away from the ravenous creepers and toward the back of the school, head bent below the concealing cover of a baseball cap.

As they ran, however, the cap flew off—and from under it streamed the flag of a long ponytail.

The runner paused, doubling back to grab the hat off the ground. The light caught their hair when they ran back under the flood lamp illuminating my secluded backyard, and when I saw the gleaming color of their hair, so brilliant and so bright, my heart near 'bout stopped beating. I hands gripped the mirror hard enough to make the hinge creak.

_No._

_It couldn't be._

_Was I seeing things, or—?_

Rustling sounded at my back as Amagi found her way beneath the vaulting horses, but I gave her no help, eyes locked on the figure as they shoved their hat back on and stumbled over a rut in the grass. The zombies were on her in seconds; she let out another terrified shriek, but then metal flashed, and she knocked them back with another stroke of her trusty, destined baseball bat.

Amagi put her hand on my shoulder, pulling herself up atop the crate at my side. She peered over my shoulder at the mirror with a frown. "Who is that?"

Oh. So Amagi saw her, too. I wasn't hallucinating. While this comforted me, I said nothing. My heart lodged between my teeth as the woman outside swung her weapon, terror fleeing in the heat of battle as she screamed a feral war-cry.

A war-cry, and a bellow of my name, syllables ringing like thunder in the dark.

"Keiko!" she roared. "Keiko, _where are you_?"

And then the infected descended, and she had no time for talk.

"Keiko," Amagi said with rising urgency. Dark eyes searched my face, but I can't tell you what they saw there. "You know her, right?"

I swallowed. It was difficult, but I managed.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I know her."

A deep breath. A deep breath to keep from screaming, from throwing up, from running out the front door and throwing my arms around her just to prove she wasn't some illusion dreamed up by my desperate, hoping brain.

I took that breath and held it, then let it out and said: "That's Botan."

Amagi said nothing, because the name meant nothing to her. I said nothing, because the name meant everything to me. Botan waved her bat and brained one of her attackers over the head, blue hair like the heart of a flame in the floodlight's soft glare, unaware I watched her from the safety of the PE shed while she fought and battled and tried desperately to find me, but was it a good thing or a bad thing that she was here, destiny and fate all muddled and mangled just the way the horde wanted to mangle her, too, and—

The mirror fell from my hands with a clatter.

"Oh my god," I said, horrified.

" _Oh my god—that's Botan!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a ton of fun to write. Plus we got Botan back, sort-of-kind-of, so that's neat! And I'm clearly mourning the latest Regeneration given the Doctor Who references in here…
> 
> My boyfriend got me a Megallica shirt for the holidays, which is super-duper inspiring and AWESOME. Pics on my Tumblr (username LuckyStarChild). I wrote the last chunk of this chapter wearing the shirt and I swear it's my new lucky Lucky Child charm. Also on my Tumblr: A moodboard for this chapter, and moodboards many previous chapters. Hope you like them!
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH, everyone who chimed in last week! I'm so excited that y'all're excited for this new arc and all the shenanigans therein, and I'm so happy we're starting this new year of LC together. Many thanks to all of you!


	54. Big Guns & Goodie Bags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keiko and Botan channel their inner "Home Alone" kid and FUCKING WRECK SHIT.

 

The baseball bat—pilfered from the PE shed, a perfect match for Botan's weapon of choice—made a sick crunching sound as it collided with the side of the infected man's head. One by one I beat the assholes back until I stood alone above the blinking, slack-jawed Botan.

I thrust out my hand and said, "Come with me if you want to live."

If Botan understood my movie reference, she gave no sign. She just gasped, took my hand, and ran after me without a word as I pulled her along toward the main school building.

In spite of the situation's dire tenor, I ran with a smile on my face.

_I'd always wanted to say that,_ I thought—but I didn't gloat.

I just kept running.

* * *

Thanks to weeks spent studying the school's blueprints, I knew a few handy rabbit-holes to bolt to when the PE shed went out of reach (the PE shed where Amagi waited for me, hidden and safe). The infected I'd stunned out would be on their feet again in short order; I could hear more of them (including the vociferous Hamaguchi) in other parts of the campus, screaming for me, so I booked it as fast as I could to a nearby-but-not-too-nearby hideaway and hunkered down.

This particular hideaway lay at the far end of the science wing, in one of the chemistry labs where we'd dissected frogs weeks earlier. Thanks to the nature of the classroom, this one had frosted windows along the hallway side, obscuring the classroom's interior, plus huge metal ventilation hoods over the work benches to whisk away the scents of formaldehyde and chemicals. And thanks to the emergency lights still illuminating most wings of the school, it would be easy to spot silhouettes of passing goons through the aforementioned windows. All in all it felt like a pretty nice place to escape to, especially considering the number of roomy cabinets lining the space—one of which I unceremoniously crammed Botan into before slipping in beside her, grabbing her bat and leaning it behind me in the corner.

Lucky for me, Botan knew better than to argue with this less than dignified treatment, going graveyard quiet the second the cabinet doors shut behind us. We stood there in the dark, faces lit only by the stripes of light filtering through vents in the doors, breathing hard from our frantic run, air in the cabinet growing slightly staler with every exhaled breath. Along with the bats, a broom and a mop near my elbow threatened to bang against the cabinet's metal back if I moved too much; I forced myself to be still, eyes shutting long enough to center my focus and control my breathing the way Hideki-sensei taught me.

Even the briefest moments of meditation, he'd taught me, could spell the difference between victory and defeat.

Too bad this quiet moment couldn't last for long.

When Botan threw her arms around my neck, brim of her baseball cap biting into the skin of my nape, the bats and broom behind me fell against the cabinet wall with a sound like a metal gong. She gasped; I grabbed the bats and broom and held them upright, away from the wall. For a moment we stood in silence, breaths held, listening for feet to start heading our direction—but this part of the building remained quiet, our safe place a secret for just a little longer.

"I'm sorry!" Botan whispered, hands fluttering at my arms, touching as if to make sure I was still there. "I'm just so happy you're OK, Keiko! Just so happy!"

"I'm happy to see you, too." I couldn't help but touch her back, but a hand on her shoulder to make sure she was real, that I hadn't risked my hiding space to rescue a figment of my desperate imagination. Her body felt cool to the touch, like perhaps she didn't run as warmly as I did, but she was as solid as granite and definitely not a figment. "Where the hell have you been, though? We've been worried sick!"

Even with just five stripes of radiance crossing her face, I saw the grimace, saw the flash of worry and fear in her magenta eyes. She hesitated, teeth glinting as they worried her lower lip. When she ducked her head, the brim of her cap shaded her eyes from view completely.

She reached up and touched that brim, then, running her finger along the edge like she traced a precious artery.

"Sorry, Keiko. I know silence isn't like me." To my horror, her pink lips trembled, jaw quivering with emotions I couldn't name. "But I promise I didn't stay away so long on purpose, or because I wanted to."

Well, that was certainly ominous. I patted her shoulder to let her know I wasn't mad, a warm squeeze hopefully conveying comforts I didn't know how to voice. "Hey, hey, it's all right. We were just worried, that's all."

Her eyes met mine, then. They swam with tears, magenta nearly scarlet amidst the swim.

"Oh, Keiko. It was  _terrible_." Her voice broke; she took a deep breath, tugging on the brim of her ball cap with shaking fingers. "After the fight with Hiei, everything went dark. I woke up a hospital in Spirit World, but they wouldn't let me leave."

"Wait. They wouldn't let you leave?" I felt as appalled as she looked. "But why?"

Botan shook her head, ponytail whispering around her shoulders in the dark. "Safety reasons, they claimed, but to keep any free citizen of Spirit World locked up for so long is just unacceptable."

I said, "It's a civil rights violation, is what it is!"

The shafts of light slanted across her eyes just long enough for me to see them look askance. "Yes, though I see why they were concerned—at least first. There are some persistent side effects of exposure to the Shadow Sword, but nothing out of the ordinary, nothing worth mentioning. I've been fighting fit now for weeks, but still they kept me trapped."

Although the cast of her eyes made my own eyes narrow, I couldn't read her tone in those whispered words. Was she telling me the whole truth? I couldn't say, but we were too short on time for a proper interrogation. I asked, "So how'd you get out and come here?"

At that Botan's head bowed. A low, nervous laugh echoed softly in the metal cabinet. "You haven't met Koenma, but if you ever do, take care to say a kind word to the blue ogre who follows him around, would you? I'm afraid I owe him an apology, and Jorge is such a gentle soul."

"An apology?"

"Yes, and I feel very,  _very_  guilty about why, too." She shifted from foot to foot, hesitating. "He visited me almost every day during my convalescence, far more than even Koenma did." Clear hurt rang in her whisper, somehow. "And certainly more than  _Ayame_  did."

I put two and two together quickly enough. "Did you convince Jorge to let you out?"

"Yes!" But she bit her lip again. "Well. No. Not exactly. Sort of?" More of those shifty eyes, jumpy fidgeting, hesitation. "He was late for his visit yesterday, and when he arrived at the hospital this morning he told me about the case Koenma sent Yusuke on—the Saint Beasts?" She searched my face for confirmation, and when she got it, she grimaced. "He said Koenma hadn't the faintest memory of what the Saint Beasts are capable of, meaning he was sending Yusuke into hell  _blind_!"

I swatted at her shoulder, excited. "Right! I noticed that too!"

"Oh, I'm so glad to hear that!" she said, happily swatting me back. "I was furious that he'd send my best project into battle so unprepared!"

"And I was furious he'd send my best friend into battle so unprepared!"

"Exactly!" Botan crossed her arms over her chest with a huff. "It's irresponsible and I'm disappointed in him! Koenma is a good leader, but I was shocked when I heard, just shocked. I knew I had to get to the bottom of it." Her fire faded, making room for more awkwardness. "So…so I…"

"So you what?"

She took a breath and held it. One moment turned to two, then three, as she scanned my face in the dim light. When I smiled, something tightened behind her eyes.

Botan said on the power of that held breath: "The truth is that I knocked out Jorge and stole his keys because he has a copy of Koenma's master key and I used it to escape the hospital and flee to Human World and I'm just sick about what I did to Jorge but, you see,  _it had to be done_!"

My jaw dropped. "Oh my  _god_."

"Speaking of whom!" Botan soldiered on, not paying my stunned expression any heed. After I escaped, I went right away to get to the bottom of things with Koenma, but by the time I got to his office, it was too late to stop Yusuke and the others. He'd already sent them on their mission." She clasped my hand, fingers cool and dry and smooth. Worry clouded her eyes when she asked, "Is he all right, Keiko? Is Yusuke all right?"

I grabbed her hand right back. "He's fine. Probably fighting Suzaku now."

She looked infinitely relieved, sighing so hard her shoulders sagged. "Thank goodness." That relief was to be short-lived, however. Her eyes filled with tears again, and this time they managed to fall. "I just hope he can win without knowing what Suzaku is capable of. Oh, Yusuke…!"

Nothing to do but pull her to me, let her rest her head on my shoulder and cry against my neck, brim of her hat jutting painfully against my jugular. She was the taller of the two of us, but even still she managed to feel small and breakable in my arms, shuddering against me as if she'd swallowed an earthquake. When she pulled away, she scrubbed her face with her shirtsleeve and adjusted her hat down low over her eyes.

"I suppose I can't do anything for him, now." A huge sniffle, one that made me perk an ear in case any of the infected people (still yelling and banging about somewhere downstairs, by the sound of it) heard the telltale noise. "And Yusuke isn't why I came here, anyway."

I frowned. "He isn't?"

"No, Keiko. When I snuck into Koenma's office, I managed to see on his monitor feed that you were in danger. Suzaku sent these infected humans directly to you in order to rattle Yusuke. I came here to help  _you_." She smiled so hard her eyes nearly shut. "And I'm so glad you're OK!"

She didn't say it to guilt me, or to brag about her altruism. She simply stated the facts and looked at me, smiling, happy to see me even amidst these dire circumstances. I gaped at her, struck dumb by both the power of her smile and the reasoning behind her actions.

Botan had come to Keiko's school during the Saint Beast arc to save her—both in this version of canon and in the original.

Seemed no matter which iteration of fate we occupied, the fates of Botan and Keiko remained as intertwined as ever.

Not that Botan saw it that way. Her chin ducked, lip protruding out in a pout. "Though perhaps I miscalculated. In the end, it was you who helped me."

Oh, Botan. Good old amazing courageous and caring Botan. Half of me wanted to hug her; the other half of me wanted to cry, pet her hair, and tell her how nice of a person (spirit?) she was while sobbing into her chest—just blubber about how much I loved her and how she was such a good character and how I'd never, ever undervalue her again.

Instead I just cracked a smile and aimed a wink in her direction, hoping the touched tears stinging my eyes didn't fall. "Well, we're not out of the woods yet. You may get your chance to help a sister beat some baddies." I glanced at the doors to drive the point home. "It's just a matter of time before they search this wing."

Grave eyes joined mine studying the door. For a moment we stood in silence, listening to the faint, distant echoes of footsteps, shouts, and general hoopla in discrete classrooms. Eventually she whispered, "What do we do now?"

"We arm ourselves." I couldn't help but smirk. "And I have just the thing."

"You do?"

"I didn't pick this classroom as our hiding spot at random. There's a Goodie Bag in the vent by the teacher's desk."

Botan blinked. "A Goodie Bag?"

I hummed. Her head tilted to one side like a curious cat.

"What's in it?" she asked.

I wondered if in the dark she could see the size of my grin—or sense the chuckle building low and steady in my throat.

"Their demise," I said, and I pushed open the locker door.

Botan followed as quietly as she could, our baseball bats held tightly in her arms as she crept across the floor with me toward the teacher's desk. I jiggled the vent off its frame and set it carefully aside, patting inside the duct beyond until I found the package taped to the wall. She watched (brow likely furrowed beneath her cap) as I unrolled the package and dumped out the contents of the small canvas backpack (homemade by yours truly). Her eyes widened as I arranged the items on the floor and she recognized a few of them.

"You ready for war?" I whispered.

As if on cue, a bang reverberated through the wall at our back—the infected slamming a door, probably in the adjacent stairwell. They were coming closer to this wing of the building, wandering through the halls as if to scare prey from the brush. Botan flinched and inched toward me, glancing at the teacher's desk that blocked our view of the door, making sure we were still hidden.

"Yes. I am," she said—but she looked askance, down at the floor with a flush of her pale cheeks. "Although, Keiko…there's something I should warn you about."

I frowned. "What is it?"

Her throat moved as she swallowed. "Just—"

Before she could say anything, however, the crash of a door slamming open made us both jump. The voices swam closer, down the hall of our wing and moving nearer with every second, occasionally dipping into classrooms before entering the hall again. Hard to tell how many there were based on the footsteps alone, but the voices sounded like five, maybe six total. I stood and crouch-ran toward a nearby cabinet, which opened for me on a silent hinge. I took what we needed and booked it for the teacher's desk again, breathing deeply as adrenaline chilled my blood and Hideki's training took hold.

"Put this on," I said.

Botan stared at the respirator in my hand with wary eyes. "Why?"

"Trust me. You'll need it."

She took and donned the gasmask, head strap jostling her ball cap just a bit. I gathered the supplies from the vent and shoved the most pertinent of them into kangaroo pouch of my hoodie, the rest into the canvas bag, and gestured with two fingers for Botan to follow me to the room's sliding door. Shoving on my own respirator, I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the glare on the thick plastic visor. The mask's rubber seal haloed my eyes, nose, and mouth, creating a suction-like vacuum seal around my features. _Ignore your itchy eyes, girl, and keep this thing on tight._  I kept an ear near the door to gauge the steps marching inexorably down the hall.

"Yukimura! Yukimura!" Hamaguchi's voice rang loud and commanding above the groans and snarls of the other infected, anger lacing every syllable with venom I could taste. "We're going to find you and your little friend, mark my words. Come on out, and—"

What a blowhard. Reaching into my kangaroo pouch, I pulled out a canister and pulled the pin, tucking it for safekeeping into my pocket. Botan eyed the cylindrical red canister with a profound degree of trepidation (which made sense considering this thing had a pin and a handle like a fucking grenade). I just smiled at her, hoping she could see it in the curve of my eyes since my mouth was blocked by the respirator.

"Soon as I throw, we attack," I said, holding the can up. "Got it?"

Botan nodded. "Right."

"—and we'll settle this once and for all," Hamaguchi said. "Yukimura? Yukimura!"

His footsteps rang loud, close and getting closer. I wanted until they weren't far away at all—almost too close, judging by Botan's panicked eyes—and pulled the sliding door open.

The canister activated as soon as I threw it and took pressure off the handle, a hiss accompanying the plume of red smoke—smoke laced with the oil of hot peppers—as it issued from the spigot on top. Hamaguchi yelled, wordless and startled, as the can hit the floor with a clatter and a pop. Soon he started coughing, as did the rest of the infected, ringing hacks of pain filling the hall to bursting.

"Now!" I said.

We swarmed as one out of the door, flying in a twin dervish at the infected in a barrage of swinging bats and punching fists, striking our assailants before they could even register our presence. I took a fleeting mental snapshot of the hall and the position of the infected within it before the red mist rose to blinding. Hamaguchi faded like a devil into smoke, his leering face—swollen eyes and streaming nose and all—disappearing into pigment. I'd been right, it turns out: six infected in the hall, seven if you count Hamaguchi. They stood in a tactically idiotic knot, a pack of snarling dogs whose noses and eyes swelled in the stinging red mist billowing from my smoke grenade. Botan shrieked and slammed her bat against one of their heads, dropping him to the floor with a thump. I followed her lead and hit one, then another, watching in satisfaction as they went down like sacks of wet flour.

I felled the last of them; he struggled to sit up, but I clobbered him with my bat and then glared at his unconscious face down its length. Botan, beside me, stumbled away from the pile of infected with a gasp, sound muffled and metallic through the filter of her respirator. I knew immediately what had made her gasp, but I ignored the dark shape lurking in the billowing red haze, intentionally putting my back to it as I glared down the column of my weapon.

"Stay down!" I barked.

"So you insist on fighting a teacher!" Hamaguchi's voice sounded right in my ear, right where the shadow had been—perfect. Sucker had fallen for the bait. A hand closed cold and tight around my shoulder, nails digging in despite the barrier of my sweatshirt. "Insolent brats like you must be punished!"

My bat dropped to the floor with a clank. "I don't think so!"

Poor guy hadn't learned anything since I last nailed him with a shoulder throw. He had no idea how to defend when I grabbed his wrist and used his own body weight to send him sailing over my shoulder, this time landing not on the floor, but onto the limp bodies of his fellow infected. I aimed a kick at his ribs as he lay there, face slack, stunned into momentary silence.

"You ain't gonna touch me," I said, tone even, cold, and full of razor-blade intention. "Yusuke's off fighting literal monsters, and he's gonna win. You really think he'd let me live it down if I lost to  _you_?"

Hamaguchi roused, eyes regaining some of their former glittering glare beneath the canopy of his bushy brows. "Yukimura!"

"I'm gonna kick your ass six ways from Sunday because Yusuke is counting on me to survive." I went on as if he hadn't spoken. "I couldn't live with the shame of it if I lost. Not to a creepazoid like you."

His hand snatched the air, trying to grab me, but I skittered back and plucked my baseball bat off the ground. Botan called my name from somewhere down the hall (I'd lost sight of her in the red mist) as my teacher staggered upright, his feet tangling with the bodies of his fallen friends.

"You're  _nothing_ ," I spat at him. "You're nothing compared to the demons Yusuke's fighting, and I refuse to lose to the likes of you." My teeth gnashed, calm breaking as Hamaguchi's own breath rose and fell, rose and fell, a locomotive with failed breaks. "You're nothing! You hear that, you mangy, ugly, lily-livered—"

Once more, Hamaguchi lunged for me. I danced nimbly to the side, slinging the Goodie Bag off my shoulder so I could rummage through its insides. I found what I needed at once, and when my hands closed around it, I started to grin.

"Hey, Hamaguchi!" I said, hoisting my weapon of choice high. He whirled on me with a growl. "Hope you're not too attached to your eyebrows!"

It was like something out of a cartoon, the way his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. It was nothing like a cartoon at all when he screamed, though, howling as a jet of flame from my cigarette-lighter-and-hairspray doodad (held together and equipped with a rudimentary trigger thanks to a practical application of PVC pipe, rubber bands, and quite a bit of duct tape) arced toward him through the crimson air. The vapors lit up like a cloud of blood as the fire skimmed his face; he dropped to his knees, clutching those bushy eyebrows I'd more than likely burned right off of him—and out of the haze appeared Botan, eyes wide behind her gas mask.

"Keiko?!" she yelped. "Did you make a  _flamethrower_?"

"Damn straight!" I said, hefting my rig with pride—but a clatter and a shout rang up behind us, down the hall the way the infected had come. Reinforcements. Peachy. I leapt over the prone infected and urged Botan forward ahead of me. "C'mon, Botan, we gotta beat it."

"Roger that!"

Botan ran on ahead, out of the edges of the fog cloud and toward the stairwell on the opposite end of the hallway. I followed at a more sedate pace, walking backward as I scrounged through my near-empty Goodie Bag for the last item inside: a plastic bottle full of vegetable oil. I upended it and poured the oil onto the floor in a few wide stripes, reserving a bit for later before replacing the cap. On the other side of the mist, the infected groaned at each other, moaning as the ones on the floor rallied after our assault.

They'd be after us in moments. My oil slick would only slow them down for so long. Time to retreat.

From the stairwell door Botan called, "Keiko?!"

"Coming!" I said, and I ran to her. As I passed and headed into the stairwell proper, I shook the bottle and explained, "Vegetable oil. It'll make it tough to follow us."

Botan sputtered. "Vegetable oil?!"

"Yup. It's like walking on a slip-and-slide!" A wink as I grabbed her hand, pulling her after me. "And you ain't seen nothin' yet! Just wait till I bust out the Big Guns."

" _You have bigger guns than a flamethrower_?!"

Because there wasn't really time to explain, I replied with another merry wink.

Before the infected could regroup, and before their fearless leader Hamaguchi could recover from the indignity of his missing eyebrows, Botan and I booked it the hell out of there. Down the stairs, through a hallway, an army-crawl through a flower bed, in through a window, out through a vent, we traced a path through the school with no reason or rhyme at all, seeking distance and stealth and the safety it could provide. In the fine arts wing we took refuge in the drama classroom, concealing ourselves behind the drape of a tall curtain hanging from a half-constructed bit, propped against a the classroom wall like a forester's lean-to. The set piece, painted to look like stone, would eventually support the weight of an actress playing Juliet atop her balcony, but for the time being it hid us just fine.

Botan tugged her respirator down, leaving it to dangle around her neck as we stopped running and caught our breaths. "Any Big Guns in here?" she said when she could speak.

I just giggled and headed for the A/C vent, because Botan looked both horrified and a bit intrigued at the notion of more weaponry, like she couldn't decide if my sudden competence with warfare was a good thing or a bad thing. I felt it fell firmly in the "good thing" camp, myself, especially since I'd formulated all of my toys to hurt, but not inflict any lasting damage. These people were possessed, after all. My motto in this situation had to be "Do no (lasting) harm, but take no fucking shit, either."

…and, I mean, sure, there was probably an argument to be made that the flamethrower was not  _precisely_  in the spirit of "don't do lasting damage," but it was just hairspray! Probably wouldn't do anything direr than singe a person, anyway…

Botan's eyes narrowed when I unrolled this canvas Goodie Bag and unveiled the following: a box of tacks, a rolled-up length of thin wire, and a few more of the canisters like the one I'd thrown earlier. "What's that for?" she asked, pointing at the wire.

"Guess."

She put her hand over her chin, studying it—and soon enough her eyes lit up. "Oh! Are you going to string it up somewhere? Like through a doorway?"

I beamed. She beamed back.

"Of  _course_!" she said. "They're going to hit the wire, and trip, and—" Her eyes alit on the thumbtacks; she gasped, scandalized, but she looked thoroughly excited just the same. "Ooh, devious! I quite like it!"

"Thanks! I'm definitely getting my inner Macaulay Culkin on!"

"Your inner  _who_?"

"…never mind."

All I'm saying is that I owe my past-life-parents a "thank you" for letting me watch  _Home Alone_  seventeen consecutive times as a kid that one year at Christmas, OK?

Botan probably would've whistled while she worked if I hadn't reminded her to be quiet, and even still she couldn't help but hum a chipper tune under her breath. With nothing short of gusto she helped me rig the tripwire across the hallway outside, giggling as we covered the ground on our side of it with tacks and a good coating of slippery oil. I instructed her to stand down at the far end, next to an exit leading into the school's side yard, while I carefully picked my way over the wire-tack-oil-combo and headed back the way we'd come.

The infected were pretty far away, judging by their voices, but I banged my bat on the door a few times to get their attention. Aggro the enemy like in a video game, basically. Once I heard the pound of heavy footfalls heading our way, I trotted to the nearest fluorescent light above the tripwire, hunkered down, closed my eyes, and threw my bat up toward it as hard as I could. The light broke with a hiss and pop of burning filament, but I made the executive decision to worry about the fire hazard later. We had bigger fish to fry. I brushed the glass out of my hair, picked up my bat, and vaulted over the wire toward Botan.

"Was it necessary to break that?" she fretted, but I just pointed at the wire—and she got it in like two seconds, grinning ear to ear.

With the light out, the wire had disappeared into the shadows like it wasn't even there.

When footsteps sounded at the end of the hallway, where it bent as it headed for a new wing of the school, I drew in a deep breath and cupped my hands around my mouth. "Hey, assholes!" I screamed, much to Botan's giggling pleasure. "Come and fucking get me if you dare!"

Like I'd summoned him with magic, Hamaguchi appeared at the end of the hall. A shiny burn marred his big forehead, eyebrows nothing more than sooty cinders on his brow. More infected filled the hall behind him, moaning and groaning and shuffling in place, made stupid by the bugs controlling them, waiting for a word from their leader to attack.

With a start I realize there were more of them, now—a total of nine instead of seven, an office-worker in a pencil skirt and a man in a construction uniform joining the ranks of the feral infected.

"Yukimura!" Hamaguchi snarled. "You have been a very bad student!"

I rolled my eyes. "Blah, blah, blah." Turning, I bent over and smacked my hip in his general direction. "Kiss my ass, Hamaguchi-sensei."

"Yes!" Botan concurred, pointing dramatically at my butt. "Kiss it! Kiss it!"

His red face went nearly purple. "Such indecency! I am going to  _kill you_!"

"Only if you can catch me!" I said—and at my signal, Botan and I flipped them off in unison, four hands displaying the bird as proudly as the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade flies its turkey balloon.

Hamaguchi went  _violet_.

It was absolutely glorious, what happened next. Hamaguchi screamed, all of the infected screamed, and like a horde of zombies from a George A. Romero film they surged forward, grabbing and yanking at each other in an attempt to pull themselves to the head of the pack. Just as Hamaguchi managed to get out in front, however, he hit the trip-line and went crashing to the floor—and for a second he just lay there, quiet, but then he screamed, face peppered with the tacks he'd just body-slammed like Shamu at a Sea World water show. And of course that caused a chain reaction of falling bodies, infected slamming down on top of him, which made him scream louder when the pins sank in deeper, but soon he disappeared under their mass and went quite quiet. A few of the infected managed to hit the ground on either side of him, too, with matching howls of pain as the pins turned them into porcupines. The remaining goons crawled over the others, but then they hit the vegetable oil and started doing what can only be described as the scene from Parks and Rec in which Leslie Knope ran out of red carpet while trying to walk across a honey rink. They looked like baby giraffes learning to walk, slipping and sliding and falling down and flailing in a gigantic mess of uncoordinated, infected befuddlement.

In short:  _It was fucking hilarious_ , and somewhere in time and space, I got the sense John Hughes was proud of me.

Botan launched her fist into the air, baseball bat raised high in triumph. "All right, Keiko, you did it! You nailed them!"

"But they'll recover." I grabbed her hand. "Let's go."

And so we went.

We went from room to room to room, throwing the contents of Goodie Bag after Goodie Bag their way, use pepper bombs, fire, oil, and tacks at every turn. We whittled their number down from nine until a much more manageable five-plus-Hamaguchi ran hollering through the halls—and at every one of our encounters (during which Hamaguchi looked more and more livid), I gave a rousing speech about making Yusuke proud, about not daring to die, about how he must be bravely kicking ass in Demon World, and how he'd promised to come back and see me again.

"Why do you keep—what's the word? Ah, yes. Why do you keep  _monologueing_?" Botan asked at one point. "That plus all these gadgets makes you seem like a supervillain in training!"

I shrugged midway through loading a fresh can of hair spray into my flamethrower rig (which I eyed with a nervous laugh, because she was right: I looked maniacal indeed with this in my hands). "Well, these things were sent after me, right? By Suzaku? So I figure Suzaku must be watching somehow, and if Yusuke is fighting him…"

She got it immediately, because Botan is as sharp as the tacks giving Hamaguchi unwilling acupuncture treatments. "Oh, I see! Yusuke might see it, too. You're trying to encourage him!"

I nodded, grinning. "Yup." And I pantomimed cocking a shotgun with my flamethrower. "Think he'll be encouraged if I burn off all of Hamaguchi's hair?"

Her smile was absolutely  _conniving_. "I bet he will!"

I smiled back, but my chest constricted like a vice around a board. Sure, we put up a good fight—but would it be enough to bolster Yusuke when the moment came?

The infected were still attacking, after all.

The fight wasn't over yet.

Keeping a mental tally of the remaining Goodie Bags proved a good distraction from my worries, thankfully, mind occupied by the toll of strategic warfare—not to mention the toll adrenaline took on my energy levels. It's not like in the movies, where people run and jump and fight for hours on end without tiring. Adrenaline during extended periods is absolutely exhausting. Part of the reason Hideki-sensei always told me to end fights fast was because the longer the fight dragged on, the harder it would be to fight at all. By the time we'd used up all but the final two of my Goodie Bags (the ones with the biggest of all the Big Guns, the ones I wanted most to avoid using), sweat made the gasmask slip and slide across my skin, breath rattling in harsh pants through the mask's plastic filters. Botan panted, too, wrestling with her mask and the ball cap she refused to take off. Both had cut red lines into the skin on her cheeks and temples, marks livid against her pale flesh.

Two Goodie Bags left, I reminded myself.

I hadn't expected the fighting to go on this long.

I just hoped the next-to-last bag would be the last, and that here we'd make our final stand.

We were up on the second floor for this second-to-last bag, in the literature wing, and in Hamaguchi's classroom no less. Botan sat with her back against the closed door, breathing hard after a sprint through the school after our most recent skirmish. Her mask hung against her chest, rising in falling in time with her breath. The lenses caught the light from the room's wide windows, reflecting chips of moonlight above Botan's beating heart.

"Hear anything?" I asked as I pried the grate off the vent in the corner.

She held her breath, cocked her head, and listened. Her shoulders sagged; she breathed again. "No. They're too far away." Her shoulders sagged even lower, but not because she'd let go a breath. "But they're not passed out yet, which means Yusuke must still be fighting."

Weariness etched uncharacteristic lines on either side of her mouth, made her head hang low atop her neck. I grimaced, forcing myself to stand upright and slow my breathing down.

"Right," I said. "I know you're tired. I'm tired, too." At her skeptical look (because I was trying so fucking hard to conceal my fatigue, and apparently was doing an OK job of it) I managed a thin smile. "But we gotta be like Yusuke. We gotta keep going no matter what."

Botan hesitated—but her magenta eyes only allowed that one moment of doubt before they cleared, and she nodded, because she knew as well as I did that just as Yusuke would never give up on either of us, so too would neither of us ever give up on Yusuke.

He'd win.

We'd win.

He'd beat Suzaku.

We'd beat the infected people.

This would be over soon, I was sure of it.

Quick inventory showed me we had precious little left over from previous Goodie Bags: a dab of oil, one more pepper-smoke bomb, and another can of hairspray. I changed out the flamethrower's spray (fresh ammo, baby) and handed the bomb to Botan, which she took with a resolute nod. Out of the new Goodie Bag I revealed a canister that looked like a smoke bomb but wasn't (painted yellow to differentiate), plus a bit more tripwire, a box of tacks, and…

"Don't freak out, OK?" I said. "Was hoping I wouldn't have to use this…"

Botan frowned at it. It looked like little more than a cardboard box, maybe three inches thick and only as long as my forearm, held together with duct tape (yay, duct tape). Two metal prongs jutted from the top of the box; a rudimentary button, made from rubber and plastic, stuck out from the side. Very ordinary. Not at all threatening. Heck, at first glance, it didn't look like anything in particular at all.

I knew better than that.

I pressed the button.

A thin arc of crackling lilac light arced between the metal prongs, snapping with uncontrolled and wild electricity. Botan flinched backward. I did, too. Had been a while since I'd made this thing, basic construction performed at home, soldering done in secret using my dad's tool set in the dead of night. This was the seventh version of the weapon I'd made, and the only one to truly function as intended.

I just hoped it didn't fall apart.

I just hoped it actually had the capacity to hurt. It's not like I'd tested it, after all…

"You—you made a Taser." Botan gaped, then pointed at me as if to accuse. "How in the world did you manage to make a Taser?"

"Library," I said, shrugging. "It's amazing what they keep in there for just anyone to use." I held the Taser her way. "Think you can handle this, or do you want the flamethrower?"

Her eyes flickered to said weapon, lying next to me on the ground. "Um…the flamethrower." She nodded vigorously. "Yes. The flamethrower, please."

I passed it to her. The PVC pipe had the general shape of a gun—specifically a Tommy gun, with a stock to brace against the torso, the spray can lodged where the ammunition drum would usually sit, and a very short barrel to accommodate. The cigarette lighter sat at the barrel's tip. A deceptively simple array of rubber bands and hinged PVC bits connected to the gun's trigger. When pressed, the trigger depressed the nozzle of the spray can and flicked on the lighter. Boom, presto, you had a flamethrower, weak though it may be. It was mostly just to scare the infected, anyway, not actually burn them.

Botan hefted the flamethrower gingerly, but when she felt how light it was and raked her eyes over the simple trigger, the gingerness melted into eager confidence.

"Know how to use it?" I asked.

She aimed the gun away from me, peering down the barrel. "Point and shoot, I suppose."

"You got it."

The gun swung upward, toward the ceiling as Botan became accustomed to its bulk. "Oh, my. I admit this is intimidating, but also rather exciting. Is that strange? Or—"

She aimed the gun a bit too high, stock bumping the brim of her hat and knocking it askew. She almost dropped the gun entirely to adjust her hat and shove it back into place atop her head, pulling it low over her eyes with a nervous laugh. I glanced at the mask still hanging around her neck, then at our pile of artillery on the floor between us. Mystery Can, smoke bomb, tacks, wire, the Taser…with such limited options at our disposal, it would be a shame to waste any.

Unless she wore her gasmask, we'd have to waste the yellow bomb.

"Respirator might fit better if you just take the hat off," I said, eyes on the Mystery Can.

But Botan looked appalled. "What? Take off my hat?" She waved, flopping hand dismissive and comical—but her voice possessed a keen edge, shrill and overeager. "Don't be silly, Keiko! I'll have the most terrible hat hair, and you only need to be scarred for life once tonight. Ha ha!"

My lips pursed at her nervous laughter; I picked up the yellow canister and shook it gently. "Sure, but you're going to need your respirator to fit really well if we use this."

"What is it?"

"Sneezing gas. Low-percentage formula, of course, but still. Can cause trauma to airways and I think some countries banned it from modern warfare." Amazing what kinds of chemicals you could buy from a hardware store (or steal from school) to make a low-grade version of a military weaponry. Trying not to think about how many international combat laws the yellow canister was breaking, I said, "I was hoping I wouldn't have to use it, but I think we're past the point of being able to hold back."

Botan gulped, her hands tightening around the flamethrower—but I saw no urge to run behind her richly colored eyes. I edged closer to her, dividing my focus between her and the hallway, waiting for the sounds of the approaching infected.

"Listen," I said. "I think we can take them out here, and I think we'd better do it ASAP. We've beaten them up, they're weak and tired, but so are we." I lifted the canister and pointed at the classroom door, then raised the stun gun in my other hand. "We put up a trip line, throw the sneeze gas, I go in knock 'em out with Ol' Volty here. You back me up with the bat and the fire. Pincer maneuver on either side of the classroom door. Make our stand. And if we don't manage to put them out of commission, we fuck off back to the PE shed and lie low for the rest of the night."

Botan didn't appear to mind my crass language. Rather, she minded that we hadn't already gone back to the shed to rest. "Can't we just make a run for the shed now?"

I shook my head. "If I hide for too long, they'll probably threaten to go after my family or something. I can't risk that. But if you want to go back—"

She was shaking her head before I even finished talking, blue ponytail flying where it fell from the hole in the back of her cap. "No way, Keiko. I'm not leaving you. Not for a  _minute_." She pointed at my light track sweater. "You set up the tripwire. I'll make a distraction."

"Right."

I gave her my sweatshirt and set up the tripwire in the classroom doorway. Although the room only had one door, a small, foot-wide ledge outside the window provided an (admittedly totally unsafe) escape path to other nearby classrooms…the windows of which I'd unlocked during my earlier rounds of the school, just in case it came to this. Thinkin' ahead, all that good stuff. After I finished stringing the wire and covering the floor with tacks and oil, I went back inside the classroom. Botan had found a cardboard box, over which she'd draped my sweater, and stuck this behind the teacher's desk—with one little edge peeking out, visible from the classroom doorway. It would look like the edge of a crouching person's back to Hamaguchi, I was certain.

"Lure them in. Good thinking." I hefted the sack of remaining weapons over my shoulder before raising the Taser in one hand and my bat in the other. "You ready?"

She blanched. "Now?"

"No sense delaying the inevitable."

"…you're right." She picked up her bat, pulled her respirator over her face, and gave me a resolute stare through the slight warp of its plastic lenses. "I'm ready."

I pointed at the cabinet over by the door. "Get in there. I'll call them up."

Putting on my own mask, I exited the room and lathered, rinsed, repeated the game we'd played all night. At the end of the hall I grabbed the stairwell door and slammed it—and that was all it took for a shout to ring up somewhere nearby, to trigger the infected into sprinting my direction like ravenous zombies. I booked it back to the classroom as soon as Hamaguchi bellowed my name, tucking myself behind the bookcase to the right of the door. Botan cracked the door of the cabinet in order to shoot me a thumbs up, but she disappeared inside again as the footsteps grew ever closer.

This time, however, Hamaguchi and his stooges knew better than to run headlong into our trap. They went abruptly silent just as they seemed to near the stairwell a floor below, and I almost didn't hear the sound of the door to said stairwell open at the end of our hall. The infected crept down the corridor like ghosts. I admit even I couldn't hear them coming, flinching when the classroom door slid open just a crack—sound small, mundane, but echoing like a gunshot in the quiet air.

Hamaguchi's chuckle sounded like bones rattling in a madman's suitcase.

"I've got you now," he said, words like oil from between his teeth. He threw the door open wide. "And you think you're so  _clever_ , don't you? But even old dogs like me can learn new tricks!"

I suppressed a curse when I saw his leg lift up and over the tripwire, neatly bypassing that trap as he entered the room. He kept his eyes locked on the box with the sweater on it, though, not deigning to turn around and see me standing in his blind spot. So did the next three goons, all of them walking into the room and over the tripwire oblivious to my presence—and a when all five of them entered my line of sight, standing in a loose knot to loom over what they thought was a poorly-hidden schoolgirl, a grin split my face like a sledgehammer.

I pulled the pin out of the sneeze gas and tossed it to the floor.

It hit the tile with a clink.

Hamaguchi froze.

"As far as I'm concerned," I said, "old dogs like you shouldn't underestimate schoolgirls like me."

My teacher only had the time to turn around and see me, face a mask of rage and shock, before the gas filled the room with a curling white haze. The effect was immediate: Hamaguchi's eyes reddened, nose swelling like a ripe fruit as he coughed and clutched at his throat. The other goons reacted in the same way, trying at once to stumble toward me as the effects of the gas began to take hold, vision impaired by their swollen eyes, motor function slowed by how hard it had become to breathe.

With a shriek, Botan leapt from the cabinet, and I let loose a howl and dove for the infected, too.

This was our final stand, our last defense, and I poured every ounce of my remaining energy into my attack. I shoved the Taser into the gut of the nearest infected, watching in grim satisfaction as he fell to the ground with a grizzled gasp of pain, the whirled on another and slammed my bat against his temple. That one fell, too, leaving me face to face with Hamaguchi—the big fish, the clear prize, the Final Boss waiting after you defeat the rest of the dungeon.

Not that he looked particularly intimidating—but the scissors that appeared in his hand just then possessed quite the wicked gleam, now didn't they?

We stared at one another for a fleeting moment, an eerie grin breaking across his rapidly swelling face, before I heard a clank of metal on tile, followed closely by Botan's shriek. I turned on reflex and saw her bat rolling away across the floor, one of the infected lying prone thanks to her efforts—but the final of our attackers lunged for Botan, sneezing amidst the smoke. She raised the flamethrower and shot a blast of fire his way, but the mindless cretin let it splash him on the chest as he lashed out with a hand. His fist collided with the flamethrower, sending its hard PVC body flying upward—

It collided with Botan's mask, forcing the vacuum-sealed barrier to jolt up the cliff of her face, its bottom lip colliding with her nose with a sickening crunch. The mask covered her eyes and forehead, hat knocked backward over her skull, a wash of blood sliding from Botan's nose and over her pain-wide mouth. She fell against the wall with a gurgle, hand rising slowly to her face to touch the slick of her bright blood.

The infected man—the construction worker who'd joined a few skirmishes earlier, in fact—roared and leapt for her.

"Botan!" I screamed.

That's all I had time to do.

Hamaguchi struck the minute I put my back to him (stupid, stupid,  _stupid_  Keiko getting distracted like that!). A trail of fire blossomed down my right shoulder as he scored me with those scissors, his mad cackle drowning out my shriek of pain. Fingers shoved into that cut with another firework of agony, thrusting against my bone as Hamaguchi pushed me with all his might. I slammed forward into the blackboard at the front of the class. The metal lip where teachers kept the chalk cut into my stomach, driving the breath from my lungs, but Hamaguchi was far from done. He wrenched me around by the shoulder and punched me square on the temple with his closed fist.

A white light flared behind my eyes, or was that the sneezing gas clouding my vision? Tinnitus rang high and shrill, a piercing ache of sound as physical as it was auditory. Blinking, unable to think under the weight of that sound, I collapsed to the floor, staring up at Hamaguchi's awful grin as I groped blindly for the cut on my back.

Something warm and wet coated my fingers.

Blood. Naturally. What else would it be?

Hamaguchi left me no time to wonder. He lifted his foot and shoved it into my stomach, leaning onto the cradle of my hips with his entire weight. I didn't have the presence of mine to dodge, concussed and winded as I was. I just tangled my fingers in his pant leg, writhing and panting and gasping as the bones in my hips creaked beneath his shoe and my wounded shoulder pressed like a landmine against the hard, cold wall.

I couldn't see Botan around Hamaguchi's looming figure. That thought came loud and clear despite the screaming ring inside my head.

Where the hell was  _Botan_?

_What the fucking was happening to Botan?_

Hamaguchi pressed his foot against me harder. His hand, knuckles bloody from when he'd punched me, tangled in my hair, forcing me to look at him, only at him, as he raised the scissors high to strike. A streamer of drool dangled from his grit teeth, dripping onto my face like the foam of a panting dog.

"I've got you now, you little bitch," Hamaguchi said.

The scissors gleamed.

I stared at them in horror behind the barrier of my mask—and through the concussed symphony of my brain, one single thought swam into clarity.

_I'm going to die again, aren't I?_

I'm ashamed to admit that at that realization, I shut my eyes. Because who in their right mind would want to see their death coming, and greet it with eyes wide open? I was no warrior lie Hiei, after all. Death and I were not inevitable friends, but rather arms-length enemies.

I'd already died once. And I'd escaped death several times since then. To die here, at the hand of a teacher, after I'd fought so hard and prepped for so long—it just wasn't fair. It was undignified, and humiliating, and  _just not fucking fair, dammit_ , to have this new life pulled away from me so soon.

So. I shut my eyes.

I shut my eyes and I waited for the inevitable.

I'm pissed off that I shut them—but not because the act branded me a coward.

I'm pissed off because I didn't get to see what happened next.

Hamaguchi breathed deep, preparing to drive those scissors into my neck (or whatever other place he thought would hurt me most), but just as I felt him gather himself up to strike, there came a snapping noise, followed by a bellow, and then a whoosh of displaced wind cut the air just to my right. A horrible thump reverberated through the wall under my back, sound accompanied by a strangled cry of pain and then the sound of something thick and meaty sliding down the chalkboard. Whatever-it-was landed next to me on the floor, moaning the same way I'd moaned when Hamaguchi shoved me to the floor.

My eyes opened.

Next to me lay that construction worker—his arm bent at an unnatural angle midway between the wrist and the elbow, bones pressing against skin from the inside in a way no bone ever should (bile rose in me at the sight because I'd seen my own arm like that before, years ago, in another life, and that is a sight that never ever leaves you no matter how many lives you live). Around his neck blazed a livid purple bruise, one big circle and four long streaks, as if someone had grabbed him by the throat and—

" _You really shouldn't speak to my friend that way."_

Hamaguchi—eyes locked on the construction worker just like my own—froze. He turned his head in increments to the side, body shifting just enough to let me see my friend at last.

Botan stood behind him. The mask still covered her eyes and forehead, hat still lopsided and hanging halfway off her head. Shoulders hunched, head bowed, blood dripped from her broken nose to patter on the tile floor. I heard the sound of its splash even through my ringing haze, heard the quiet rasp of her breath, heard Hamaguchi's strangled gasp as Botan's bloody lips parted in a deranged smile.

"You called Keiko a bitch," she said in an eerie sing-song cant. She lifted her foot, stepping toward us. "You should  _not_  have done that, mister-sir."

Hamaguchi's teeth grit so hard I heard them grind together. "Don't tell me what to do, girl. Respect your elders!"

Botan paused, surrounded by bodies of fallen men, foot mid-step and poised above the unconscious back of one of the men we'd felled—and then she put her foot down right on top of that helpless infected man.

She put her foot down, ground it viciously against his spine, and  _giggled_.

It was the single most disturbing sound I'd ever heard in my life…and she followed it up with the single most disturbing sight I'd ever beheld.

Hands covered in blood (hers or someone else's I couldn't say) she grasped the brim of her hat and pulled it off her head, long ponytail flowing from the motion like a pennant on the breeze. This she tossed aside, discarded uncaring on the floor, before grasping the edges of her respirator and pulling it up, over, and off of her pale face—seemingly uncaring of the sneezing gas shrouding the room in toxic mist. For a moment she just stood there with head lolling, face toward the floor, respirator dangling from one slack hand.

The respirator dropped with a clatter.

Botan raised her head.

And Hamaguchi?

Hamaguchi gasped. He lifted his foot from my stomach, allowing me to breathe—but only so he could stumble away from her, back toward the door to the room, scissors raised between Botan and himself in hands that suddenly trembled.

"You—what  _are_  you?" he said.

Botan's jaw rose, eyes shining crimson against her pale skin and the blood that flecked it—and that's when I saw  _it._

I might have screamed if I hadn't been so breathless already. As it stood, I just sat there, numb, and watched Botan's shoulders shake with another vicious giggle.

"I am  _shinigami_ ," Botan said.

While those were words terrifying in their own right (as was the state of Botan's horrible hat-hair, true to her earlier word), I barely heard them. I barely registered that she had named herself death, and that her eyes had gone from magenta to ruby as if dipped in dripping blood.

I was too distracted by the sight of the third eye blooming enormous and violet on her forehead to pay them any heed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Surprise! :D
> 
> And that's all I have to say about that. :P
> 
> When I was a dumb teenager I dated a guy who liked to set things on fire (a decision only slightly less dumb than my choice of hairstyle that decade). He made a flamethrower from a can of Aqua Net, a cigarette lighter, PVC, rubber bands, and tape. Lots and lots of duct tape. So this chapter is for Patrick, I guess, who has undoubtedly been incarcerated for arson, but whose poor decision-making skills probably saved NQK's ass this week.
> 
> Also definitely dedicated to everyone who worked on Home Alone, because that was the movie of my childhood and a clear influence on this chapter, not to mention my home-defense aesthetic.
> 
> Also-also…you can learn how to make just about anything from the library, including the dubious and dangerous stuff NQK made here. I checked. Yay, realism. BUT PLEASE DO NOT MAKE A HOMEMADE TASER OR SMOKE BOMB OR SNEEZING GAS. DO NOT. DON'T. IT COULD AND WILL END BADLY.
> 
> MANY THANKS to those who read last week, as you are all angels and perfect and lovely and wonderful and please don't rip me to pieces for this cliffhanger!


	55. The Final Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: VIOLENCE. Bone trauma, tacks to the face, nails in feet, blows to the head.

Tom used the heel of his hand to push up his bangs, that small motion he used to corral them in place, instinctual and habitual and perfectly him. Also perfectly futile considering the eighty percent humidity that made the night feel like a mélange of wet cotton and mosquitoes (and made his hair fall back down not two seconds later), but that was the summertime in Houston for you. He pushed his bangs up again and said, "What about that one?"

He pointed at "that one" with his free hand. The owners of the house weren't home, judging by the single light burning in the two-story foyer and the rest of the dark windows. The thing was a total McMansion, but the brick wall around it and the wrought iron gate looked like something from medieval Scotland.

"Too many windows on the ground floor," I said, eyeing the offending planes of glass. I glanced across the street. "Oh, that one there? That wall…"

A car passed, then, forcing us from the middle of the street to the sidewalk. Tom—not one for hand-holding, too self-conscious of his sweaty palms—brushed my shoulder blades with his fingers, following in my wake and out of the path of the Mercedes's blue-tinged halogen headlights. Rich neighborhood if a car like that lived here, not to mention the McMansions lining the quiet lane. Granted, not all of them were McMansions (this was too old and nice an area and had several historic homes, in fact) but there were just enough of those architectural monstrosities to draw my eternal ire.

Tom studied the colonial two-story with the white columns and shuttered windows with a frown. "But are those shutters big enough? I'd have to see the back, see how secure it is."

"True. Most of these we need to see the back."

"Think it even has a back yard?" He craned his neck. "Doesn't look like it has a side fence, and we'd need one for security."

"Yeah, we would." I pointed to the home's southern end. "I like the chimney, though. Hopefully it works."

"Fires in winter. That'd be handy when the power inevitably goes out."

"For real."

"I liked that one over on Maple, with the portcullis up the side."

"I mean, I do like it, but is it secure?" I asked, looping my arm through his (the pin in it panged with pain, but I was having too good a time to care). "Couldn't they climb up?"

His eyebrow rose. "We're talking  _zombies_ , though. They can't climb."

Some couples talked about their future homes in terms of kitchen size, rooms for new babies, or yards for dogs. Tom and I, though? We discussed our future home in terms of zombies, specifically zombie invasions—which we were both pretty certain would occur someday. Would certainly be more exciting than the current state of the world was shaping up to be. And hell, I'd enjoy a zombie invasion more than living in this world after the recent presidential election. A zombie outbreak would be a nice reprieve from all the emboldened racists and sexists popping up in my Facebook feed…

"I was talking about the people," I said. "People can climb trellises, and they're the most dangerous part of any zombie invasion."

He laughed. "Oh, right."

I waved at the houses, the lights in the too-big-to-board-up windows. "Have I mentioned lately that I love this?"

Another mild touch on my back, soft and understated. "Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"

He bent to kiss me, and I let him. He was too damn tall even though I wore boots with a heel, Tom 6'4 and as lanky as a corn stalk in June, stubble of his chin raking my skin like dry husk.

"Maybe." I pushed at his chest, nudging him back so I could look up at his blue eyes with a smile. "But seriously. This is great. Picking out our future home?"

"Our future,  _zombie-defensible_  home. Because that's what's important."

My eyes rolled. "Mom insists we'll need an extra bedroom for a kid—"

(Tom shuddered at the thought; that's why I loved him.)

"—but what's really important are the windows, and if they're too big to board up."

"Yeah," he said. "That and the number of exits."

"And the vantage point of the surrounding neighborhood."

"And a defense perimeter."

"And a wood-burning fireplace for when the EMP strike knocks out power and we're reduced to burning furniture for warmth as we scrounge expired canned goods for survival."

"We're just lucky we live in Houston," he said, "and we only have, like, two days of winter a year."

I giggled and started to walk forward, but he looped a single finger into my belt loop and tugged me to him. He wasn't one for PDA (neither was I, actually) but on that dark street so late at night, there was no one around to see. He said, "I'm serious, though. Have I told you lately that I love you?"

I put a hand on his chest, smiling at him from beneath my lashes. "Say it again."

He kissed me. "I love you because you won't buy a house for the curb appeal." He kissed me again. "Just for its ability to serve as a fortress against zombies."

And I kissed him. "I love you, too, for being so on board with my zombie paranoia."

We were the worst. Tom and I were the absolute worst. Especially in private, when the PDA-check came off and we turned into the gooshiest, grossest lovebirds anyone ever saw. In public we maintained a bit of distance so as not to make our friends barf, of course, but there on that dark street, liveoak trees swaying on a warm summer wind? Alone, we were the kind of couple we'd normally love to hate.

We would be together forever, if we got our way.

I pulled away from him, fingers tangling in his shirtsleeve, and nodded at a house down the block. "Now, how about this one?"

Tom frowned as we wandered over. It was a nice saltbox house in royal blue, very east-coast, with a white fence around it and appropriately-sized shutters at all of the lattice windows—of which there weren't too many, and they were all set pretty high off the ground. The solid front door, painted cherry red, would definitely keep out the zombies for a little while, as would that fence stretching all the way around the property. A huge metal gate emblazoned with a calligraphy B would keep out the cars of would-be marauders from our driveway, too, and that cupola on top? If it was accessible from the inside, we'd be able to see above the neighbors and onto the streets beyond. Damn near perfect, so far as I was concerned.

Tom stared at the perfect house. His head tilted to one side. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hummed, solemn-faced and quiet.

"I dunno," he said.

My brow furrowed. "What?" I pointed out the house's charming features one by one. "Wall, fence, small windows, cupola for sniping. Checks all the boxes. What's not to like?"

But Tom remained unconvinced. "Do you think it's too…I dunno…"

"Too what?"

"Too guilty-suburban-white-people-trying-hard-to-look-less-rich-than-they-actually-are?"

I blinked at him, blinked at the house, realized it was  _a literal sky-blue house with a white picket fence around it_ , and doubled over laughing. Tom somehow maintained a perfectly straight face, staring at the house without acknowledging that he'd reduced me to a puddle of giggles. Dammit, he'd roped me right into that one.

"Oh god," I said, feigning horror as I wiped at my streaming eyes. "Oh god, Tom, you're right."

"I dunno about you," he said, still keeping a straight face, "but if we were that obnoxious, I'm just sayin' I'd probably kill us before the zombies could."

"Put us out of our clichéd misery."

"We move in there, me and you, and we'd be the whitest white people to ever white." And it was so true—blue eyed with light brown hair, we'd been mistaken for siblings that one time we took my dad out for dinner, the very portrait of Nordic Anglo-Saxon milquetoast middle classers. Tom mournfully intoned (but with that devious glimmer in his eye that said he knew just how funny he was), "We wouldn't deserve to live in the post-zombie world, is what I'm saying. Not when if we're that cliché."

And I was laughing again, unable to keep quiet. "Fuck, Tom, you're so right!"

"Just add a golden retriever and we'd be the poster children for pretentious white suburbanites, even if we did buy a good zombie-fortress-house."

"Heaven forbid." I grabbed his arm, dragged him off, away from the house before his deadpan jokes killed me. "Let's go before I barf."

"Oh no, babe." He grabbed my hand and stared deep into my eyes, faux concern plastered across his face. "You want some organic, herbal, non-GMO, gluten-and-cruelty-free, vegan ginger tea I got at the farmer's market?"

"Careful. You're sounding like a WASP already."

Tom beamed. "I'm practicing for when we get the cliché house!"

Because words failed me, replaced by unending giggles, I kissed him again to shut him up, but I laughed against his mouth, and he laughed too, and we held onto one another to keep from falling down.

We would be together forever, if we got our way.

But we did not get our way, now did we?

* * *

Hamaguchi stared at Botan in silent, abject horror. Not that I blame him. I did the exact same, looking at Botan's giggling, three-eyed face with jaw dropped behind my gasmask. He pressed up against the wall as if he wanted to pass through it, turn from something resembling a zombie and into a full-on ghost. Me, though? I fet too numb to do anything but sit there, motionless, stunned into rigidity by the sight of Botan's face.

Three eyes. Three.  _Three of them_ , two like normal and the third on her forehead.

And she'd been cut by the Shadow Sword.

And she was still giggling, gazing at Hamaguchi with head lolling to one side, eyes livid scarlet against her pale skin. The man with the broken arm had fainted, I noticed, falling silent as soon as Botan revealed her new…feature. Appendage? Something like that.

No wonder Spirit World had kept her under lock and key. I hated to say it, but just then, I almost wished she hadn't escaped.

"Side effects," indeed.

The scissors in Hamaguchi's hand dropped to the floor with a clatter. "A third—a third eye," he stammered, pointing at Botan's forehead. "A third eye!"

Once again, Botan giggled—sounding for all the world like a little ghost child from a horror movie, creepy to an exaggerated extreme. I watched, unable to move, as she took two lilting steps toward Hamaguchi before the man gasped and dodged to the side. Mist swirled around their bodies, disturbed by their sudden movements. Botan's eyes followed Hamaguchi as he skirted near the windows, mouth stretched in a hideous, demented leer that put Hamaguchi's earlier smirk to shame.

That smirk—not a shade as intimidating as Botan's, not anymore—returned when he looked out the window. Botan frowned when Hamaguchi loosed a giggle of his own and pointed through the glass.

"Even with that thing, you're not match for so many at once," he said.

I'm not sure when I stood up, but somehow I managed to get my feet under me, head fuzzy and woozy as I swayed in place. From a standing position I could see out the window, down into the school's front courtyard, and over it to the school's front gate.

The gate through which half a dozen infected were running, pelting headlong for the door of Meiou High.

My blood ran cold—a feat I would have assumed impossible consider the ice already streaming through my veins.

Hamaguchi turned back to Botan, smile wide and horrible, face still embedded with tacks, blood oozing from around their metal posts. "I don't know what you are, or—"

He never got the chance to say whatever intimidating crap he'd intended.

In the space between breaths, Botan crossed the room and punched Hamaguchi in the face. The man staggered back without a sound, too stunned even to cry out, stumbling against the windows behind a spray of blood—of blood and  _teeth_ , four broken, bloody bones falling to the tile floor with a tinkle. Before he could hit the ground Botan clamped a hand around his throat, squeezing so tightly I saw the indent of her grip against his mottled skin. With strength belied by her slender limbs she lifted her arm, hoisting Hamaguchi by the neck in to the air, his feet kicking helplessly at Botan's shins. He grabbed her wrist, of course, tugging in vain at her iron arm, but his face purpled within seconds and his frantic struggling weakened like a kitten drowned in a burlap sack.

"Botan,  _no_!"

I didn't intend to yell at her, nor to throw myself across the room at the two of them, body carving a trail amidst the mist just as Botan's had. That's what happened, though. I darted to her, stood between her body and Hamaguchi, and clasped onto her right elbow, trying in vain to pull Hamaguchi down, putting all my weight onto her joint in an effort to save my teacher—my teacher who had tried to kill me, sure, but the teacher who was infected, and therefore did not deserve to die. Not like this.

And not when Botan would surely be punished for it.

Too bad my efforts were for naught.

After favoring me with an annoyed look, Botan backhanded me with her left arm, knuckles grinding my mask with punishing force into my cheekbone.

There was no avoiding a pirouette, spinning on my feet like a ballerina in a gale before staggering away, concussed ears ringing all the louder. I slammed into a student's desk and doubled over it, hands splayed on the flat plane, breathing shallow through my mouth as a tidal wave of nausea swept up my clenching throat. Hit had nearly knocked my mask loose, but not quite, the suction-like force of its rubber seal clinging fast to my face.

Botan giggled.

I turned.

Botan stared up at Hamaguchi with that unending demented smile of hers. Hamaguchi's tongue lolled like a glutted slug from his gaping mouth, rivulets of saliva running down his cheeks, eyes bulging and red-rimmed above his swollen nose. Hands fell limp at his sides, chest shuddering as it tried in vain to draw in air.

I threw my arms around Botan' waist.

I'm not sure what made me hug her like that—what made me bury my face between her shoulder blades and hold on tight, breathing into the expanse of her back. She tried to pry my arms away with her left hand, growling unintelligibly all the while, but she couldn't shake me loose if she wanted to keep Hamaguchi suspended in the air. I squeezed her as my heart beat a frantic mambo against my ribs, eyes and throat stinging behind my gasmask—and not because sneezing gas had seeped in.

Out of nowhere, it had become very, very hard not to cry.

"Botan," I said, but even I barely heard me through my mask. I hugged her harder and yelled, "Botan, stop it, please!"

Botan did not stop. In fact, her arm flexed, and Hamaguchi made a terrible grizzled noise. Her left hand grasped one of my wrists and squeezed, fingernails sliding into my skin like feet into ill-fitting shoes—but I didn't let go. Not even when the firework of pain brightened as her grip went tighter still.

"He's infected," I pleaded. "This isn't him. You can't kill him, Botan, you just can't!"

Botan growled, low and deep in her throat like a rabid dog—but the nails digging hard into my skin eased back, pulled out of the gouges they'd dug the merest sliver of an inch.

It was hardly anything at all—but it had to be enough.

"I know you're in there Botan!" I said. "Stop it! This isn't him, but  _this_  most certainly isn't  _you_!"

For a moment I wondered if my intervention had been effort wasted. If there was no stopping Botan now that she'd lost control, and if Hamaguchi's life would end thanks to the fallen dominoes of my poor decisions, starting with my decision to confront Hiei, which lead to Botan's injury, which lead to this horrible fate that would end Botan's life as surely as it would end Hamaguchi's—but Botan gasped, sound sharp and sweet somehow, and dropped Hamaguchi to the floor.

I caught her as she fell to her knees, propping her up as she wound a hand into the fabric of my shirt. Four crescent moons on my arm bled trickles of sullen blood, joined the blood already on Botan's hands, but I ignored the smarting pain as Botan panted, hands over her blood-smeared face. One large eye—magenta instead of red—peered at Hamaguchi with horror through her splayed fingers.

"Oh no," Botan said through her labored breath. "Oh—oh  _no_!"

I shushed her, rubbing her back in comforting circles. "Botan, it's OK. It's all right. But we need—

She ignored me. "Keiko, Keiko, I'm sorry. I— _I tried to tell you!_ "

"Hey, it's all right." The hat should've been a dead giveaway the minute Botan refused to take it off, but I'd been too distracted at the time to give it proper thought—which was my fault, not hers. With a glance at the unconscious (but still breathing, thank god) Hamaguchi, I said, "Let's get out of here. There are more coming. We need to—"

On cue, a shout rang out on a floor below, feet hitting the ground as a door slammed open. Botan's hand descended on my arm, fingernails easing back into my cuts again. I winced, but she appeared not to notice, dragging me to her with surprising strength. Her breathing evened out like a snapping rubber band, pants vanishing as if someone had hit the mute button.

"No, Keiko." She still covered her face with one hand, eyes still wide and bloodshot between her fingers—but her voice had flattened, level and chill. "You need to run."

"What?! Why? I'm not leaving you!"

"You have to. You must. You—" Her breathing picked up again, but instead of its earlier ragged tempo, it came in short, quick bursts like a revving engine. "You have to  _go_ , Keiko.  _Now_."

"Botan, no!" My turn to grab her arm, teeth bared behind my growling lips. Feet slammed up the stairs, so loudly I felt them in the floor. "I'm not fucking leaving you behind!"

Botan yanked her hand from mine. She stumbled to her feet, staggering toward the classroom door with hand trailing behind, warding me off—but as I rose to my own feet to follow, Botan whirled. Her hand dropped from her face like the blade of a guillotine.

"You have to run!" she roared. " _You have to leave me_ , Keiko!"

I started to argue.

I  _started_  to.

But the sight of Botan's eyes turning from magenta to crimson stopped me cold.

As the infected approached, running and gibbering up the stairs, Botan wheeled toward the door. Her hands dropped to her sides, chest still rising and falling like that revving engine, squaring up to confront our enemies. If she had the ability to aim herself at them instead of me, surely she had the control to just run, didn't she? I darted over and grabbed her arm, pleas for her to come with me at the ready on my tongue.

Botan placed a hand on my chest and shoved, not even looking as she threw me backward onto the floor.

"Get out, Keiko," she said in that voice of deathly calm. "I can't promise I won't attack—"

The words died. She made a strangled sound in her throat—and then she  _giggled_.

She giggled that giggle that heralds the approach of Death.

A cough behind me revealed that Hamaguchi had regained consciousness. I turned and found him rolling onto his stomach, face still purple, one hand raising in a shaking point.

A point aimed straight at me—and a point the infected saw when they hurtled into view through the classroom doorway, climbing and clawing over each other in an effort to get inside. Six of them at least, maybe more, a tangle of limbs and lashing hands that made them seem bigger than perhaps they really were.

My stabbed shoulder snag with pain.

But I guess it didn't matter how many there were. Not when I was injured like this.

"Get her!" Hamaguchi croaked through his abused throat. "Get her!"

His words were a trigger to a gun—but this gun wasn't loaded with just the infected. Botan waited ready in the chamber, too. I watched with mouth agape as she threw back her head and roared, a wordless cry of rage and bloodthirst, uncaring as the infected swarmed her like a hoard of locusts on a flower. I needn't have worried, though, because with a thrust of her arms she sent them flying off of her, bodies like dolls made of straw as they hit the ceiling, the floor, and the walls.

Her name slipped from my mouth unbidden. "Botan!"

Botan rounded on me at once, eyes ablaze with crimson fury. For the most fleeting of moments I wondered if she'd say something witty, cock her head and smile her charming smile—but instead she advanced on me with bloody hands outstretched, walking past the infected (who climbed steadily to their feet around us) straight toward me.

To be honest, I think I owe my life to those infected people.

I froze in place at the sight of Botan's hungry eyes and reaching hands—but the infected got her before she could get to me, one on the floor latching onto Botan's leg as she passed him. Another tossed his arms around her neck, and another grabbed her hand, dragging her down to the floor with a chorus of inhuman screeches and another of Botan's feral roars.

It hit me like a bucket of cold water.

_Botan was beyond my help._

Horrifying as it sounded, Botan—the feral reaper who could not tell friend from foe—had been right.

The only option left was to leave her behind.

I'm not proud of what I did next. I'm not proud that I snagged her baseball bat off the ground, went to the classroom window, and opened it. I'm not proud that I shimmied along the ledge to the class next door. I'm not proud that I climbed into the other window and ran headlong for the stairwell, leaving Botan to fight the infected all alone, their cries and hers following me like ghosts into the dark.

I had walked on a foot-wide ledge three stories in the air, but still.

I had never felt more like a coward in my life.

* * *

As Botan's murderous shrieks and the aggressive bellows of the infected waged war below, I booked it for the third floor of the fine arts wing, where I'd hidden my final Goodie Bag. The journey passed quicker than I thought it would, though perhaps my perception skewed under the persuasive influence of pain and panic, rooms passing at breakneck pace as I strode past them. I had enough presence of mind to walk, not run, lest the pound of my footfalls give away my position to the infected and the newly awakened Hamaguchi.

Hamaguchi.

He just wouldn't stay down, would he? Not that I knew what to do now that Botan had shown up and gone fucking nuts. Hell, I'd barely known what to do about Hamaguchi even before she'd arrived and thrown my plans into disarray. Sure, my traps had worked on him, but it was Yusuke who'd smash the Makai Whistle and end Hamaguchi's rampage. Most I could do was smack him upside the head and hope he passed the fuck out. Most I could do was run and run and smack and dodge and hide and hope Botan didn't get killed, or that she didn't kill Hamaguchi, or that she didn't kill me if I got too close, or that I didn't get myself killed some other bogus way—

My breath came sharp and hard and fast as I reached the end of the fine arts wing and ducked into the painting classroom, where pigment-stained tables surrounded a large desk where the teacher demonstrated proper brush techniques. I raided the A/C vent in the corner before hiding under this desk, clutching the Goodie Bag to my heaving chest, blocked from sight by the desk's metal front that extended all the way to the floor. The place reeked of acrylic and plaster once I took off my gasmask and took a gulp of clear air, but even through those aromas I tasted the acrid sting of sneezing gas on my clothes and hair. My eyes watered even from secondhand exposure.

Botan had withstood the gas like it was nothing.

What in the fucking hell had she become?

What in the fucking hell had my negligence turned sweet, loving Botan into?

_What in the fucking goddamn hell had the Shadow Sword done to my adorable Botan?_

Not that it really mattered. No one could answer my questions as I crouched under the desk, baseball bat tucked painfully between my ribs and knees, slowly and quietly unpacking the Goodie Bag that contained my final Big Gun. I couldn't even hear the fighting downstairs anymore, distance rendering the fray inaudible. There was no telling if Botan had beaten the infected, or if the infected had bested even her supernatural strength. My shoulder, still on fire from Hamaguchi's strike, throbbed only half as painfully as my temples, stress summoning a firestorm of a headache from what felt like the bowels of hell. God, how could I be so selfish, leaving Botan down there all alone? How could I be so awful? How could I—

I realized—in a dim, vague way—that I was hyperventilating, nearly on the verge of a panic attack…but just as that thought sank in, a voice cut through the school's eerie quiet.

"Yuki- _mu_ -ra…"

The runaway breath stopped dead inside my neck, as painful as a hangman's tightened vice.

I knew that voice. I knew that sing-song voice, hoarse from abuse, but still recognizable in its manic glee— _would that stupid motherfucker not stay down already_?! And how the hell had he gotten away from Botan? But I couldn't ask questions for long because Hamaguchi sang my name like a funeral dirge, so far away he was barely audible, and yet he felt as close as the toll of my own heartbeat.

But it was OK, wasn't it? I'd run so far away so fast, taking a circuitous route through the halls. There was no way he could find me, right?

The thought steadied my breathing just a bit.

There was no way he could find me.

There was just no way.

But if that was the case, why did his voice draw inexorably closer, footsteps now distinct on the tile floor, the sound of my name growing clearer and clearer (even over the wild pound of my heart) until it sounded like he stood no more than a floor away, just below me, then coming up the stairs, my hands shaking around my Goodie Bag, mild whirling in disbelief, Yuki- _mu_ -ra,  _Yuki-mu-RA_ —

The stairwell door opened on a creak of rusted hinge.

I moaned, sound caught halfway between a gasp and a sob.

"Little mouse thinks she's so clever," Hamaguchi called down the hallway. His voice echoed loud even through the classroom door, filling my ears like water intent on downing. "But the little mouse forgets the cat has such keen eyes…and the little mouse left quite the trail behind her."

I held my breath.

Trail? What kind of trail did he—?

Even in the midst of panic, I put two and two together…especially when the wound on my back throbbed in time to my beating heart, a pulse of pain lodged like an ember above my shoulder blade. I'm sure my face paled both from blood loss and from fear when I reached over my shoulder to touch the sticky wound, rub the blood between my fingers in abject horror. A string of ichor strung between my thumb and forefinger when they parted, sticky and wet.

A single peek—all that I dared do—around the edge of the teacher's desk confirmed my worst fears.

Three single drops of blood lay between my hiding place and the door.

More, surely, led the way straight to me.

"Fe fi fo fum," Hamaguchi sang. "I smell the blood of a hiding  _rat_."

He referenced one of the few fairy tales that had survived in this world as he opened the classroom door. Somehow the irony of that did not escape me, even as my chest rose and fell in harsh pants with every one of Hamaguchi's footfalls. He wandered around the room, not approaching the desk, the rattle of a cabinet here and a chair there telling me he searched.

He was only playing, though. There were so few hiding places here. He knew exactly where I'd tucked myself away.

He was  _toying_  with me.

He was toying with me, trying to scare me, trying to frighten me for no better reason than his own twisted amusement.

And that probably should've scared me. I mean, it would scare any rational person, right?

"Rational" being the keyword here.

Instead of scaring me, I felt my blood begin to boil, and a single thought carved through my haze of dread.

_How fucking dare he?!_

"Where oh where could she be, I wonder?" Hamaguchi wheedled. "Oh, Yukimura? Your friend was no match for us. Come on out and join her. Yukimura? Yuki- _mu_ -ra!"

It was only a matter of time before he found me. That realization—cold in its logic, unforgiving in its truth—sliced through the pain of panic, piercing into my chest with a dose of chilly adrenaline, along with more than a little indignation.  _How dare he toy with me!_  I uncurled beneath the desk, crouching on my feet with the Goodie Bag slung over my shoulder, hefting my Big Gun high.

My heart still beat like it wanted to burst from my chest and run away—but Hideki-sensei's words rang in my ears, swimming from the depths of fright to quell my racing breath.

 _Do not heed the words of fear,_ he'd told me months ago.

The words of fear said I should run. Should cry. Should faint and scream and wait for someone to save me, despair of the situation and just give up.

But—screw that.

I was no fucking damsel.

I was no fucking toy for this lunatic.

I'd go out on my own terms, or I'd die trying.

Somehow I didn't flinch when Hamaguchi slapped a hand atop the teacher's desk, its hollow metal body ringing around me like a diving bell. Somehow I kept it together, teeth grit so hard they ached, as Hamaguchi rounded the desk, his bloody loafers sliding into view as he stepped behind the table. Ha paused there, probably staring down at my knees and feet, more than likely visible from his vantage points, savoring the moment he caught the mouse.

Too bad for him, this little mouse had teeth.

"Yukimura," he said—and he bent down, grinning so hard that what remained of his shattered teeth threatened to fall out, face still bristling with thumbtacks embedded in his bloody skin like the villain from Hellraiser. His eyes bugged when they met mine, triumph turning them fever bright. "I've got you now—"

I didn't let him finish.

I hefted my nail gun—my Big Gun, the one that could kill if I aimed it right—and put a spike straight through the top of his foot.

I don't think he realized what I'd done at first, the whump of compressed air cutting off his words as it drove the metal into his loafer, his foot, and the floor beyond. We held each other's gazes for a moment that stretched into infinity, before his mouth opened beyond the realm of realism, stretching so wide I thought he'd tear his cheeks as he released a horrible, mangled scream.

I drove the butt of the nail gun against his foot, grabbed my baseball bat, and bolted from my hiding place as he toppled to the floor. I didn't wait for his roars of pain to turn to coherent words, nor did I stay to taunt him. I just laughed, sound as deranged as Hamaguchi looked, and ran like hell for the stairs.

The infected were waiting for me.

I wrenched open the door, pelted down the stairs, then heard them at the bottom of the stairwell. Saw the barest tops of their heads on a lower landing before I ran right the fuck out of there and back the way I'd come, _no thank you mister sir_ , past the art class to the stairs at the other end of the hall. Threw that door open, all but threw myself down the first few steps.

A cry went up at the bottom of the stairs.

More infected, waiting for me.

_A pincer maneuver._

I must've hovered, I backpedaled so hard, flying back up the stairs instead of down. The goons had wised up since my attacks with Botan, trapping me on the top floor of the school. With them on both stairs, the only way to go was up. I clambered up the ladder at the very top of the stairwell, threw open the metal doors of the roof access hatch at its zenith without daring to look back (not even when fingers brushed my ankle, trying to pull me back down). I slammed the doors behind me and caught only the barest glimpses of the faces of the infected, most sporting running eyes and bruises and blood as they howled for me, hands reaching in vain for the shuttered doors. I sat on the hatch, which looked like a storm cellar's double doors, as the infected slammed it with their fists from below. I rummaged through my Goodie Bag until I found a coil of wire for a trip line. This is wound through the door's handles with shaking hands, fastening it shut from the outside, teeth chattering as the doors rattled beneath my tailbone.

I stumbled away after I attached the wire, wheeling and watching in numb horror as the doors buckled up from below, heaving as though some great eldritch beast sought to escape from the ocean's depths through that tiny hatch. My knees buckled just like the doors; I fell on my ass atop the gravel-strewn roof, baseball bat falling with a clatter beside me.

The moon above burned white and cold, like some great, watching eye.

No stars, of course. Too deep in the city for that.

Funny what you notice in moments like those—in those last, quiet moments before hell descends and shatters the stillness like a brick through stained glass.

I upended my Goodie Bag in front of me.

Nail gun. Only a handful of shots of compressed air in the cartridge. One down, four to go.

One smoke bomb, of the sneezing variety. Useless in this open-air environment.

A box of carpet nails.

Wire, which I'd used to hold the doors shut.

And…that was it, aside from my baseball bat.

Oh. And the taser I'm managed to put in my pocket before fleeing.

I couldn't even remember doing that.

Well. First thing's first. Movements mechanical, I scattered the carpet nails around the hatch (least I could do was give these fuckers sore feet before I bit the dust). Checked the components of the taser, made sure they were still aligned. Investigated my shoulder, tested its range, verified if the bleeding had stopped (answer: not completely, but enough that I knew I wouldn't die of blood loss). Wandered to the edges of the building as the wire started to come loose from the roof access hatch, looked down for anyplace to jump to, any soft spot I could land to escape.

Nothing.

And the nearest tree was at least thirty feet away, way over by the PE shed in the back corner of the schoolyard. Too far to jump. Certainly too far to land on.

A little voice at the back of my head volunteered that I could just jump off right now and end my life, spare the infected the trouble, just jump and fall for a bit and let it all be over—but I'd had enough intrusive thoughts for one lifetime, thank you very much, and told that voice to shut the fuck up. I turned away from the ledge and took a deep breath of bracing night air.

So this was it, then.

This was where I made my final stand.

A stillness settled over me—a stillness so profound that even the pound of the roof access hatch faded into quiet. All these little lead-ups, these skirmishes fought one by one. Each had felt like the final battle, until it wasn't, and until a new fight emerged.

But there really could be nothing more dire than this, now could there?

"You're probably wondering if I'll die here."

The words slipped from my mouth of their own accord. I stood in the center of the roof, a humming A/C unit to my left cutting the quiet air with its industrious hum. Taking a deep breath, I tilted my head toward the sky and the unfeeling moon hanging above.

To the untrained eye, I spoke to no one but myself.

But I knew someone was listening.

I knew this was my final chance to give a certain someone the push he needed to succeed.

I just prayed I could find the words for the job.

"You're probably wondering if I'll make it out the other side," I said, "when the odds are stacked so high against me."

A shriek from beyond the doors sounded like the cries of a hell-beast intent on blood—and in a distressingly real way, I suppose that was actually more literal than metaphor. I closed my eyes, dragging down a breath of cool, clean air. It smelled of dirt and plaster and metal, crisp and dry.

"The odds were stacked against you, too, Yusuke," I said. "You  _died_. And you came back, more like a phoenix than Suzaku will ever be." A wry grin twisted my lips like the wind twists a ragged flag. "They named me 'lucky child', and if I can have just a tenth of your good luck, I'll finally live up to my name."

Another shriek, followed by a pound and a slam, the infected lifting the doors in their frame before they banged down again. I wheeled and hefted my baseball bat in one hand, the taser crackling with lightning in the other, head thrown back as I stared down the barrel of my weapon toward the lurching doors.

"So bring it on, assholes!" I said—but for Yusuke's eavesdropping benefit or for my own, I truly cannot say. "If you want me, come and get me—but I won't lose to you. I wouldn't fucking dare. I know what it's like to lose a best friend. I won't do that to Yusuke by dying here!" I pointed my bat up at the sky, straight up at the bright moon, teeth grit and bared as I glared through time and space and into the soul of my best friend. "You hear me, Yusuke? I've got too much pride to lose to these freaks! You'd better get on my level  _and do the fucking same_!"

For a moment, only silence followed, like perhaps my bellowed words had scared the infected into a swift retreat.

But then the doors shook. They burst open. And the time for heroic speeches passed like a dying breath.

The infected poured from the access hatch like ants swarming a corpse.

A few stepped on the carpet tacks and fell off to the side, unable to walk on their bloodied feet, but still more surged forward (clambering right over their friends, in fact) toward me. The narrow hatch only allowed one through at a time, but by the time I sprinted forward and struck one of them across the head with a scream of "Batter up!" another two had come through the doors. I danced back as they reached for me, striking at them with the bat and taser but clearly at a disadvantage, especially when even more of them clambered up the ladder and onto the roof in their wake.

In no time at all, eight of them joined me on the roof, standing around me in a semi-circle. I backed away, brandishing my weapons until the yawning dark of the roof's ledge threatened to swallow me whole. I stopped only a few feet from the edge, eyes darting from infected to infected as they stood there, giggling, swaying when a three-story wind whipped by and sent my jagged bangs to flying.

Behind the wall of infected, Hamaguchi emerged from the roof access doors.

He practically oozed over the edge, flopping bonelessly over the lip of the hatch, rolling to his knees with a deranged laugh. He limped like a deer struck by a car, moonlight glinting against the nail still jutting from the top of his bloody foot. The pins—those damn tacks still driven into his face, still weeping blood—flashed in the moonlight, too, peppering his face with the glitter of fallen stars. The infected parted before his limping stride, watching with a chorus of manic giggles as Hamaguchi raised one bloody hand to point dramatically at me.

I almost rolled my eyes despite the terror. How many fucking times was he going to do that tonight?

"Yukimura," he said. Saliva flew from his mouth in ropes, glinting against his broken, jagged teeth. "Prepare to die!"

And how many times would he say  _that_ , too?

I had no time for a quip or a curse, though, nor a cutting comment about how stupid he sounded. He'd tried so many times to kill me already; this was getting  _old._ Just get it over with, already!

The infected, at the very least, certainly aimed to please in that regard.

They leapt for me, fainting forward and back like a murder of cackling crows. I swung my bat and buzzed the taser at them, but step by step they inched closer, and if one of them didn't kill me with his bare hands, then surely another would push me off the ledge and into the dark below—the dark that was calling my name again, intrusive thoughts butting in once more, screaming with a sound like breaking glass, "Keiko, Keiko,  _turn around, Keiko, and jump_!"

…wait.

That screaming sounded a lot like it came from  _outside_  my head, not inside.

I did as the voice said, and I turned.

She flew straight up through the darkened sky, oar a stripe of black beneath her, body silhouetted against the moon—looking more like a reaper than perhaps she ever had, a streak of vivid purple (her third eye, glowing and radiant) tracing the path of her flight through the dark. Unbound hair swirled around her head like the tentacles of a reaching octopus.

Against the moon like that, she looked every inch the angel of death I so often forgot she was.

"Keiko!" Botan screamed. "They knocked me out and that blow to the head brought me to my sense and— _oh for goodness sake_ , there's no time for that,  _just jump!"_

For a second I stared at her.

Then—without preamble, without second-guessing, without conscious thought or wondering  _how the bloody hell this was even happening_ —I dropped my bat and took a running leap into the void.

I didn't think about it, for once in my goddamn life. I didn't overthink and overanalyze and question and freeze up before I had time to act. I just saw Botan, heard her command, and  _fucking ran for it_. I spun as I dove off the edge of the roof, catching sight of Hamaguchi's stunned expression just long enough to raise both my hands, middle fingers extended, and flip him the double bird as gravity pulled me with vicious eagerness into the dark.

And then the overthinking started as my body fell. A scream tore from my mouth like entrails on a sword-tip, hoarse and afraid and keening. Because I was going to die  _oh my god I was falling and I would hit the ground and I would go splat on the pavement and died and_ —

But Botan caught me, of course.  _Of course_ she caught me. There was no version of reality in which she wouldn't catch me. She beat the pull of physics and flew beneath my plummeting form, arms around my shoulders like a vice—but the force of my fall made her stumble (if such a thing can happen in flight), oar bucking and spinning in place so fast the world blurred. Botan squealed, her cries joining mine, clinging to me just as hard as I clung to her as we hurtled through the air and—

We hit the tree by the PE shed in a crash of broken branches and falling leaves. They tangled in my hair and tore at my clothes, buffeting me as I fell like a pachinko chip through the thicket, bouncing from branch to branch so hard I feared I'd break to pieces.

And then I  _did_  break to pieces.

One second twigs threatened to poke out my eyes, and the next I plummeted out of them, free-falling toward the ground—which I hit feet-first, and with the sickening crack of a breaking bone.

I knew that sound, just as I knew the pain that shot up my leg like it had been flooded with warm, electric water. I didn't scream when I heard the crack. I just crumpled to the ground, breathing hard as the pain stayed local in my leg, but that nauseating warmth flooded upward over my hips, through my chest, suffusing my head and sending my thoughts scattering like discarded litter on a breeze.

"I broke my leg," I heard myself say, as if from far away. I didn't feel myself move when I listed to one side, landing on my shoulder in the grass beneath the tree, extending my feet away from my body as if to detach them.  _Here, take my feet, I don't want them anymore_. I said, "Botan. Botan—I broke my leg, OK?"

Botan didn't respond.

I lifted my head.

Botan lay a few feet away on the grass, sprawled. Her eyes were closed (all three of them). She wasn't moving. Her oar lay just beyond her fingertips, inert upon the grass.

"Botan," I said. Some dim part of my brain realized I should get to her, but as I tried to pull myself along the ground, my ankle lit up like a bomb. That time I did yell, a harsh noise born more of surprise than pain.

I looked back.

I wore my left foot at an awkward angle.

Not that that fazed me. I'd seen my arm on backward before, with bones sticking out, so a foot like a badly-built marionette wasn't all that bad in comparison. Any awkward bulges of bone were covered by my pants and shoe. It could be worse. I'd gotten lucky, actually.

I took a deep breath.

My head spun, and I barely kept the vomit down.

Above me, way up on the roof, Hamaguchi shouted something. When I looked up I saw him blotting out the moon, terrible and lofty, assuming the mantle of death from Botan now that she had fallen. After a moment he disappeared, though. Doubtless running down the stairs to get me.

There would be no running from me, of course. Not with my leg like this.

Why was I so calm?

Shock, probably. I'd gone into deep shock when I shattered my arm in my past life. Hadn't even cried, just as I wasn't crying now. Instead that odd heat of hormones going wild, going wild to numb the pain, kept me quiet and serene. I rolled onto my back and sat up. I looked from Botan to the school to the PE shed, wondering what to do.

I'd left my weapons on the roof.

I couldn't run.

Botan had been rendered unconscious.

…and I'd thought I'd die on the  _roof_. But here I was, back by the PE shed. Back where I'd started. There was a certain cyclical irony in that, coming back so close to my hideaway, yet being so exposed. It was like fate was toying with me, almost. Go fuck yourself, Cleo. And I'd wasted my best speech on the roof, too. Was there any way to encourage Yusuke to victory now? It certainly didn't seem like it, but—

"Keiko!"

For a moment I thought I was hallucinating, seeing Amagi running toward me across the dewy schoolyard, carrying a cricket bat in one hand—but when I blinked, she did not disappear. She ran to my side and skidded to her knees, hands waving ineffectually before her as she looked me over.

"Keiko!" she repeated.

"Amagi," I said. My voice echoed nearly mad in it serenity. "I broke my leg, I think."

She looked down and turned the color of milk. "Oh my god!"

"It's OK," I said, to comfort her. "It's OK. It's fine. But—you should probably go back to the shed."

Amagi shook her head, short black hair flying. "No. I'm not leaving you out here."

I pointed up at the school. "They're coming. You should hide. Please hide?"

"No." She grabbed my arm and pulled it over her shoulder, trying to get me to stand—which I managed, though only on one leg, and only because she held me up. "Keiko, I'm not leaving you."

"Then take Botan and—"

" _I'm not leaving you!_ "

"Better you two make it out than all three of us get killed," I said—and my hollow tone made Amagi gasp.

She had such a pretty face, Amagi. Those big dark eyes and those full lips. And y'know, her new haircut was a bit bowl-shaped, yeah, but it just made her look like a cute little nerd, and that was nice. Even though she looked so scared, she was  _pretty_. If they beat her up, I hoped the infected avoided her face. I sighed and leaned my head on her shoulder, arm around her waist to support myself.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "Go get Botan's oar."

We hobbled like we ran a three-legged race to Botan's side. Amagi bent her knees enough for me to swipe the oar off the ground, mostly to use as a crutch—but when I heard a shout ring up from the direction of the school, my hand on the oar tightened. I shoved away from Amagi and knelt over Botan's body, oar held tightly in both hands.

"They're coming," I said.

Amagi nodded, hefting her cricket bat. "We'll have to fight." She shot me a sidelong look, biting her lower lip. "I've…I've never fought anyone before."

"No time like the present to learn how." I gestured at her bat, still feeling a million miles away from my own self. "You swing, you mind your six, you run if it gets bad." Something about that line pulled me closer to reality, sharpened the haze falling over my shocked brain. I met Amagi's eyes and said, "You hear me, Amagi? You  _run_."

But Amagi—who had never fought anyone in her life—just shook her head.

"Fat chance, Keiko," she said in the softest voice I'd ever heard. "I will not leave you behind. That much I can promise."

I believed her.

And when the infected erupted from the school's back door, sprinting across the lawn toward us, I wondered if that promise would see her dead.

I didn't wonder that  _for long_ , of course. Hamaguchi and company left me no time for extended pondering. They arrived in what felt like both seconds and hours, standing around myself, the girls, and the tree in a loose circle, laughing and grizzling and hungry for my blood.

Nowhere left to run now.

I'd been wrong before, in the sneezing gas classroom. I'd been wrong about the roof, too.

 _This_  was our final stand.

Hamaguchi, of course, acted as the general of his sordid army. He stepped forward, limping on the foot I'd mangled, and once again pointed at me like the Queen of Hearts calling for an execution. Manic glee lit his eyes like he'd been electrocuted, and perhaps he had.

He carried my taser at his side, lightning arcing between the metal prongs with a vicious snap.

"You've run long enough," he said. "Time to die, Yukimura."

"Bring it on, asshole," I said—and Hamaguchi threw back his head and laughed.

"For your insolence, we'll make it slow!" he said to me, and to his followers he commanded, "Kill them!"

Chomping at the bit as they were, they needed no persuasion. A cry went up, and as I hefted Botan's oar above my head, they leapt in our direction.

It's difficult to describe what happened next.

But let me give it a try, OK?

It was like they hit an invisible electric fence, sort of, their advance halted when they collided with an unseen barrier surround us—one that lit up with bright, merry gold when they touched it, a network of curling heart-shapes forging a chain-like fence around our bodies. The barrier crackled and snapped as the infected collided with its golden expanse, sending them hurtling backward to the grass like they'd been tossed by the hand of a giant. I watched with my mouth agape as the fence disappeared again, the infected groaning as they gathered themselves and tried to stand.

A voice rang through the still night air, echoing from on high.

"Adults like you ought to protect the children of the next generation," said the voice, "not send them to the afterlife before their schooling is complete. You are a shame to your profession and a disgrace to teachers everywhere!"

I looked up.

A figure stood on the school's distant roof, one foot poised on the ledge above, arms crossed over her chest. Blonde hair billowed in the moonlight, silken and long. With the moon at her back I couldn't see her face, nor the details of her dress. Hamaguchi stared up at her in fury, raising the crackling taser in her direction.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"So glad you asked," she said—and she soared.

I almost screeched, afraid for this girl's life, but I needn't have worried. She hit the ground in the super-hero landing Deadpool loved to obsess over: a dip of her knee, one fist planted on the ground, crouched with one leg behind her. With a bounce she rose to her full height, threw back her head, and planted her hands on her slender hips.

Although her next words constituted an introduction, as soon as I saw the red domino mask adorning her delicate features, I knew exactly who had arrived to save me.

"The guardian of love and light and justice, Sailor V, has arrived!" said Sailor V, and with a toss of her riotous hair she struck a pose straight out of her anime series. "And in the name of love and justice, not to mention education standards, I am here to—"

She never got to finish.

She never got to finish because Hamaguchi's eyes rolled back in his head. He fell to his knees and collapsed. The rest of the infected followed suit, thudding to the ground until none were left standing.

A moment of silence followed.

Sailor V dropped her pose, blinking at the comatose infected. Her brow furrowed; her arms crossed over her chest; one foot in its bright red high heel commenced tap-tap-tapping at the ground.

Sailor V said, tone absolutely  _dripping_  with sarcasm, "And I'm here to give your unconscious bodies an ethics lecture, apparently."

I said nothing (because I was incapable of speech just then).

Amagi also said nothing (for reasons of her own).

Sailor V clicked her tongue, took a deep breath, and turned our way. She wore a bright and open smile, now, looking me up and down like a prizefighter sizing up the very sportsmanlike competition.

"Hello, Keiko. If that's even your name," she said—and with that, she winked. "Looks like Yusuke destroyed that whistle right in the nick of time, now didn't he?"

My jaw dropped.

Forgive me for not being more articulate.

At that point, I just wasn't capable of anything more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Kagome, Sailor V won't take over the story or anything, so please don't get too mad that they're here. I'd like to think I've earned benefit of the doubt regarding the crossover bits, um, maybesorta, haha. V is likely to have an even smaller role in all of this than Kagome does, though I'm still excited for what they bring to the table.
> 
> SO UM. People have been making art for this story on Tumblr and it's AMAZING? I'm creating a post over there with all the names of people who drew stuff, with links, so please check for that in the next few days. I'm about to jump in the car and travel so I'm out of time to list them here, but once I compile all their names I'll give them a shout-out here next chapter. Sorry for the delayed recognition, those who drew such amazing pieces!
> 
> MANY THANKS to all of you who reviewed last week! Your support means the world, and you came out in force last week with concern for Botan. I love each of you to bits.


	56. Conversations Light and Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko converses in daylight and in darkness.

Sailor V's greeting said a lot of things, whether she intended them or didn't.

First up, she knew about Yusuke. She knew about the whistle, and she knew about Suzaku. Which meant she had either heard about these things from someone in-the-know, or she knew about _Yu Yu Hakusho_ itself.

Which brings me to point the second: She knew that my name might not be what I said it was—which meant the odds were heavily in favor of this Sailor Scout being just like me.

Another switcheroo person.

Another ally in a world in which allies came few and far between.

You'd think such a realization, made despite my blurry vision and woozy head, would've thrilled me. Maybe compelled me into a heartfelt welcome, or even some clever comment to lob her way in return.

"Uh," I said instead.

Because holy _shit_ , I was talking to _Sailor-fucking-V_!

From the red ribbon crowning her mane of golden hair to her midriff-baring top to her big blue eyes, she looked every inch a confident cosplayer strutting her perfect stuff in a pair of bright red heels—only in this world she looked like an actual preteen, not the almost-woman from the anime. Before I could gather my wits enough to ask questions, Sailor V turned to Amagi—and oh shit again, Amagi was still here. Sailor V was quite short, standing midway between my height and the absent Kagome's, but she marched right up to Amagi with a broad smile, thoroughly unintimidated. "You! What's your name?"

"I'm Amagi," said Amagi. She blinked owlishly at V, apparently too stunned to question (or perhaps even recall) the strange thing the superhero had just said to me. "Are you—are you Sailor V?"

The aforementioned struck another pose, V-for-victory fingers poised over one winking eye. "The one and only!"

Amagi gaped. "I—I thought you were just an urban legend after all those video games started popping up. But you—?"

"Oh, I assure you, I'm very real. And also very cute!" She flipped her hair, preening, but her charming smile faded into a look of resolution. Her voice turned from cutesy to all-business like she'd flipped a switch. "I need your help, Amagi. Your friend broke her leg from the looks of it, and these folks need help, too. Can you find and phone and call an ambulance?"

Despite her earlier promise to never leave me behind, Amagi sure did jump at the chance to help Sailor V. She nodded like a bobble-head and said, "R-right. I can do that." A single glance at me before she started running. "I'll be right back, Keiko, I promise!"

I watched her run off in silence, jaw thoroughly dropped, unable to from a coherent thought. But then Sailor V cleared her throat.

"It never ceases to amaze me, how eagerly civilians help a superhero." She eyed me sidelong. "So you're Yukimura Keiko, huh?"

I stared at her—because for half a second, I thought she'd become somebody else entirely.

All traces of her earlier cheer had vanished. She wore a deep scowl, eyes focused, standing with hands curled loosely at her side, feet spread wide beneath her in an at-ready stance. She had posture to rival Hideki-sensei's, in fact, presence so grounded and confident she looked at first glance much older and more mature than…what, 12 or 13? She couldn't be older than that if she was still Sailor V, and hadn't yet awoken her Sailor Venus powers. Her voice had deepened, too, losing the charming chirp of optimism she'd earlier employed.

"And you're Sailor Venus," I said. I winced. "Or, you _will_ be. You're Sailor V."

Her head inclined. "You know what I'll become. And that means…" Her lips thinned. "I see. So Kagome was right."

My jaw dropped again. "You—you know Kagome?!"

"'Know her'" is a generous phrase. More like I know _of_ her." V frowned. "She spends far too much time at the arcade."

"…what?"

"I'm saying you have her to thank for my little intervention. And yes, before you ask—I'm just like you." When I didn't react, she added, "Not from around here. Understand?" A smile ghosted across her mouth, barely visible under the weight of her solemn eyes. "I was a _Yu Yu Hakusho_ fan back in the day."

Well. That confirmed it. Still had no fucking clue how Kagome was a part of this, but V was just like the two of us—a soul placed in a body to which it did not belong, thrown into a world we didn't understand for reasons none of us could fathom. I shut my eyes and breathed heavily through my nose, fighting for mental clarity against the warm-water ache in my leg.

_And then there were three,_ I thought.

Out loud I said, "Me, too. And a big _Sailor Moon_ fan."

V's barely-there smile vanished. "That makes ones of us," she said, but before I could press, she waved a hand behind her at the school. "So tell me. Branch and rank?"

I frowned. "What?"

"Branch and rank." It was odd, seeing a look that scrutinizing, that _intense_ on the face of a preteen. "I saw what you did in there. You came prepared."

"What, you mean my booby traps?"

V frowned. Those blue eyes gave me another once-over before they narrowed, realization registering in their swimmable depths.

And then she said something in Russian. Or maybe German? I wasn't sure, and she said it too fast for me to replicate here. I stared at her as she repeated the phrase, gesturing at me as if to disparage the state of my clothes.

"I—I don't understand?" I said, because I most definitely did not understand why she was speaking a Slavic language at me all of a sudden, and at my words V sighed. She rubbed her temples with one hand, eyes blocked momentarily from view by her hand.

"Never mind," she said. "I was wrong."

I shook my head, still not sure what she was talking about. "Look, I just—have you ever heard of Max Brooks?"

"No."

"He wrote the _Zombie Survival Guide_. And _World War Z_. About invading zombies and what to do if it happened, and—and I used to take walks with my boyfriend and go look at houses that'd be good zombie defenses, and we totally made a bug-out plan for if a zombie invasion ever happened—"

Her face screwed up, pert nose wrinkling. "Zombie invasion?" she said, but I soldiered on, because something was building inside me and it needed to come out.

"—and I saw _Home Alone_ approximately two hundred times so I knew how to wire up a trip line and you can learn to make pretty much everything at the library, so I just thought about all those zombie houses and then Mcaulay Culkin and, presto-bingo, I rigged the school." A deep breath slammed into my lungs when I finished talking, but I wasn't done. "And I mean I've seen _at least_ ten thousand war movies and zombie movies and movies about home invasions so in the end it wasn't exactly hard—"

" _Keiko_."

If that intense expression of hers didn't fit her face, then that voice of hers certainly didn't fit her diminutive frame and pretty features. She barked my name like a drill sergeant, hands falling into rigid lines down her thin sides. I shut up at once. V rolled her lips together, staring with brow knit.

"It's OK," she said after a moment. "You're safe now. You understand that, don't you?"

Unable to talk, and unsure of why that mattered, I could only nod. V watched me for a minute more. When I didn't speak, she strode past atop her bright red slingback heels and approached Botan's unconscious body. Sailor V knelt by her head, examining her skull, lightly feeling alongside her pale neck. First aid. I'd taken a course in it, and I knew what I saw. V was checking for spinal injuries, for blows to the head—movements methodical and sure, like she'd done it a million times before.

Eventually, of course, her hands brushed back Botan's bangs. V sat still, staring at the eye on Botan's forehead (its lids parted only slightly, mistakable for just a bruise perhaps, but I sensed nothing would escape V's watchful gaze).

"You've done quite the number on Botan." Somehow her voice held no accusation, no condemnation of events that were actually very much my fault. "What happened?"

I swallowed down the guilt. "Shadow Sword."

It took V all of two seconds to put two and two together. A brief pause, followed by a curt, "Hiei cut you instead of her."

It wasn't a question, because she already knew how I'd reply. She'd seen the anime, after all. It wasn't hard to make a wild guess.

"Yeah," I said. "That's right."

"And she didn't react well, I see. Interesting."

I opened my mouth to tell her no shit, she hadn't reacted well. No words came out, however, because I glanced at Botan and felt them die inside my neck.

Botan.

_What in the world was I supposed to do with Botan?_

V rose, movements economical and swift. "But that's a discussion for another day. Amagi seems the responsible type. She'll have the police here in minutes." She put two fingers to her brow, the barest of salutes. "Best be on my way."

She got halfway to the wall at the edge of the school grounds, almost twenty feet from me, by the time I gathered my wits enough to speak. "Wait!" I cried, scrambling to my knees despite my foot's loud protest. I swooned amid the pain but managed not to faint, though black spots crowded my vision like soot sprites. "Wait—how do I get in contact with you again?"

She tossed a look over her shoulder, not breaking stride. "You don't. I'll come to you."

"You— _wait one fucking second_!"

At last she stopped, far too far away from me for comfort. I sat back down, falling hard on my tailbone, broken ankle screaming when I moved. Sweat beaded on my temple and trickled down my jaw, cold in the cool night air. V watched with expression most shrewd, slowly turning in place to face me.

Botan.

Botan was unconscious. She was wanted by Spirit World, probably.

_What was I supposed to do with her now?_

"Botan." I swallowed, voice catching on her name. "She…Spirit World locked her up and wouldn't let her go, because of the eye. And I don't know what'll happen to her if they get her back. And I don't know what to do with her now that she's—" My breathing hitched again, and again, and then a third time, words fighting for purchase amidst the avalanche of my panted breath. "I didn't see any of this coming—I didn't— _I didn't_ —!"

And with that, the panic attack hit me like a brick to the fucking face.

It hurt almost as much as the ankle did, actually. A vice clamped around my chest with pulsing irons bands, every breath I took pulling the vice tighter and tighter, breaths coming shallower with every sip of air. My already-woozy head seemed to spin in place like a carousel on LSD. I shut my eyes, hands threaded through my hair, rocking in place as I scrambled for control, air like bramble in my throat—but then a hand alit on my back, moving in slow circles.

"Hey," said Sailor V. "Breathe. Calm down. In through the nose, c'mon, that's it…"

She walked me through the panic attack the way Tom would have, had he been near. She coached my breathing, murmured comforts, assured me of her presence without constricting me in a hug or anything like that (the last thing I want in a panic attack is a hug). V exuded the sort of calm I valued so much in my former therapist, even-keeled and capable, her stoicism soaking into me with every deepening breath I stole. It took a few minutes, sure, and I still felt like I'd been hit by a truck when the hyperventilation stopped, but soon I had the ability to sit up and look at her unhindered.

Blue eyes raked my face. "Better?"

The words trembled on my tongue, but I managed to grate out, "Better. Thank you."

"First time seeing combat."

Although she phrased it like a question, with a "ka" on the end of her Japanese statement, she didn't inflect like she asked a question. She just stated it like a fact, that "ka" at the end an opportunity for me to prove her wrong—but I couldn't. Aside from all my practices with Hideki, and that one time I'd beat up the low-level punks threatening Kuwabara, and that brief encounter with the humans controlled by Hiei after he stole the Sword, I'd never actually seen combat. Not against worthy opponents. And certainly not for such an extended duration.

Tonight had been, in a very real way, my first glimpse of war.

"I mean, I beat up some thugs, once—but yes. How'd you know?"

She glanced at my still-heaving chest. "I've seen this reaction before. It's normal."

I wanted to ask questions. How many times had she seen combat, to know a panic attack like that is normal? Why had she asked for my rank and branch, and how had she known how to talk me down from a panic episode?

Who was this person, really?

She was Sailor V, sure.

_But who else?_

Sailor V, however, wasn't in the chattiest of moods. She stood up, hand lingering in a bracing pat on my shoulder, and walk past me to the prone Botan. With nimble hands and strong shoulders she lifted Botan in a fireman's carry, one of Botan arms slung around her neck, gripping that dangling wrist to keep Botan upright.

"I can take Botan for the time being," said V, not struggling at all to speak under Botan's weight. "I have a place she'll be safe."

For the umpteenth time, I felt my jaw hang loose. "Y-you do?"

"Yes." She bounced on her heels, scooting Botan higher up her neck. "Soon as she's stable, I'll bring her back to you." That subtle smile of hers, barely-there and perhaps a touch wry, crossed her glossed lips. "It's probably not the best idea to mix fandoms overmuch, but just for a night it should be fine."

I stared at her, unable to speak.

V had shown up tonight to rescue me. She hadn't gotten a chance, though, because Yusuke beat her to the punch. She might as well not have shown up at all—that's what I'd thought just a few minutes prior.

Now, however, she wanted to rescue Botan.

Looked like V got a chance to do something heroic, after all.

Something about the situation felt ironic. Coincidental? Or just plain weird? My brain felt too much like pudding mush to pick a word, but still. V was a superhero, after all...provided I could trust her with this task. We'd only just met. Was she on my side? Was Botan sage with her?

…did I even have a choice, here?

If Sailor V meant Botan ill, it's not like I had the power to stop her from just taking Botan outright. Best not look this gift horse in the mouth, in that case. Best not overthink this if I could help it.

Best just be grateful for this windfall, and deal with the consequences as they came.

"Thank you." I nearly gasped the word, throat thickening from more than mere panic. "Thank you, I—"

"Don't. It's fine." Her lips quirked. "Something tells me we'll be doing each other favors a lot from now on." With her free hand she gave me another small salute. "Ja ne, Keiko—or whoever you are."

"Wait!"

V performed an impressive double take. "Again?" she said, and rightly—she hadn't even taken a step yet.

"Just—" I shifted on the grass, putting my back to her, facing the school and staring straight again. "Now you can go."

"…what's your play here?"

"When Spirit World inevitably asks where Botan went, I can honestly say she left when my back was turned." I peeked at her over my shoulder, feeling inexplicably self-conscious. "I don't like lying."

Venus didn't move—but then she actually smiled, head throwing back in a single, hearty "Ha!" It was the first time I'd seen her wear a true smile, grin just the littlest bit crooked at the corner. Pleased with myself, I turned back around, resolutely fixed on the school in front of me.

"You'd make a good lawyer, playing off a technicality like that," V muttered. In a firmer tone she added, "Goodbye for real. I'm not waiting again."

I lifted a hand. "Au revoir."

"Right. See you soon."

I concentrated on my breathing, shutting my eyes so I wouldn't see even the barest flicker of V's bright clothes in my periphery. I didn't hear her walk away, didn't hear even the slightest whump of a high heel on the lawn—but then again, V didn't seem the type to make a noisy escape. After a minute I chanced a look over my shoulder, peering into the dark through squinted eyes.

The yard behind me lay devoid of occupants, aside from the still-sleeping infected lying comatose around me.

_I won._

The thought surfaced like a dolphin leaping from the crystalline ocean, sudden and delightful.

I won.

I _won._

Yusuke had defeated Suzaku. None of the infected had been killed. Botan was in safe hands, so far as I could tell—and I'd made it out the other side alive.

… _I fucking_ won _!_

Before I could let out a whoop of joy, or do something similarly dramatic, movement at the corner of the yard caught my attention. Amagi trotted over, skirting around the fallen infected on her way to my side. She kept her eyes away from my ankle, staring me pointedly in the face instead.

"They're on their way, Keiko." She sat next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as she looked around. "Where did Sailor V go?"

The cliché rolled off my tongue without forethought. "Her work here was done," I declared, somehow managing to sound like an anime narrator despite my dizzy head.

Amagi chuckled. "Right. Of course." She looked around again, frowning. "And your friend with the blue hair? "

"With V. She'll be safe with her."

"Safe?" Amagi repeated. A moment of hesitance, and then, "Should I ask?"

I shook my head. "Probably not. Not tonight, anyway. But soon."

"I'll hold you to it." Her eyes drifted to my ankle, then shot back up to my face. Amagi looked quite pale when she said, "You should rest."

Amagi did not protest when I leaned into her, head on her shoulder, closing my eyes as her hand drifted to my hair. She stroked my hair, petting it as I tried not to think about the pain in my shoulder and leg, tried not to think too hard about all the things that had gone wrong tonight.

Botan was safe.

Nobody was dead.

Another switcheroo character had revealed herself.

But, most importantly—I won.

_I won._

Soon the sound of sirens swam out of the distance. I listened to them draw near in silence, drifting away on the feeling of adrenaline and pain and Amagi's hand on my hair, breathing in her light perfume amidst the night's cloying dark. Soon red and blue lights cut the dark behind my eyelids, playing over my face like sunlight through clear water.

As those lights caressed my features, I smiled.

I smiled, because _I won_.

* * *

Aside from the humming lamp on my bedside table, the room remained dark, and quiet.

Not silent, mind you. Just quiet. Mom's soft breathing whispered in the stillness, nearly drowned out by Dad's gentle snores. She sat in the chair at the foot of my bed; Dad lay beside her on the floor, head pillowed on a wadded-up blanket. The nurses had tried to get them to leave—but no dice there, obviously. They'd refused to budge from my side as soon as they made it to the hospital, watching with bated breath as the doctors hoisted my bound and broken leg in a sling above my bed.

"I never thought I'd say this," Mom had said once I got situated, "but thank _god_ you're taking _aikido_ lessons."

The nurses bustled about, draping me with sheets and blankets, fussing with my fluid IV and fluffing my pillows. Amidst the hubbub (not to mention the narcotic painkiller coursing through my system) I still managed to note she'd spoken in present tense. My head jerked up. "T- _taking_?"

Dad—whose hands twisted around and around his chef's cap until it resembled a rag more than a hat—scratched the back of his neck. "I, uh…might've let it slip."

"And I didn't say anything because I realized it was just upset you, but…I'll never complain again!" Mom said, and she very promptly burst into tears. Dad tugged her to him and put her head on his chest, shooting me an apologetic look over the top of my mother's hair.

Now they both slept, of course, in a room not built for overnight visitors. They slept soundly despite Mom's tear-stained face and Dad's uncomfortable position on the floor. Frankly it was a slight miracle I'd even gotten a room of my own that night. The local hospitals were full to the brim after the rioting caused by Suzaku's whistle. The EMTs had told me that much when they took Amagi and me to the hospital.

"So you think they'll have to amputate?" I'd cheerfully intoned, pointing at my foot (which they'd hidden under a sheet for the sake of the still-pale Amagi).

One of the EMTs laughed, bouncing in place as the ambulance swayed around us. "Nah. You can keep your leg, promise."

"Oh, but a prosthetic would be so cool!" I said, feigning disappointment. "C'mon, just one little amputation? I'm pretty sure those assholes came at me with a buzz saw." I leaned off the stretcher and elbowed the EMT with a wink. "We could double back, do a little slice-and-dice before anyone notices. Just blame it on the crazies who fucked up our town, eh?"

The EMTs were in stitches at the sight of a cussing schoolgirl with dreams of slicing off her own foot. Amagi, however, shot me a disapproving stare. She sat next to me in the ambulance, still not looking at my leg despite the concealing sheet.

"You're making jokes at a time like this?" she'd said.

All I could think to do was cough into my fist, pathetic and dainty. "Ahem! Don't pick on the invalid!"

"Invalid? You're not sick—you're just a bit broken, that's all!"

I put my wrist to my forehead and flopped back against the stretcher. "Oh no! I think I feel a faint coming on, since I'm an invalid and you shouldn't pick on me!"

The EMTs were basically rolling on the floor, and even Amagi had to crack a smile.

At that point it was mostly shock talking, forcing jokes out of my mouth so I didn't succumb to another panic attack. I'd done the same when I shattered my elbow in my past life. The nurses loved me, because in my medication-drunk haze I kept insisting I was "a motherfucking anteater" and asking for beer. Make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, as the song goes, and quote obscure memes when you're blazed out of your goddamn mind on morphine.

But that's a story for another time.

I know I slept after the nurses set me up in my tiny hospital room, because I woke to find my parents sleeping, that lone lamp humming next to me, feebly fighting back the dark. No idea what time it was, or when Amagi had left (we'd gotten separated when they carted me off for x-rays and stitches), or for how long I'd slept. I watched my parents sleep for a time, sometimes staring out the tiny window by my bed, but only so I could watch their reflections in the glass. My brain was too medicated to race, too numb from exhaustion to conjure true anxiety.

Still, though. I wondered where Yusuke and the others were. Had they made it back to Human World OK? I couldn't go to them with my foot as it was, bound up in soft cloth with a splint, and my room's phone wouldn't dial out. I'd checked.

A yawn made my jaw pop and crack. I'd try to call the boys in the morning. For now, sleep.

Before I could nod off again, the door to my room cracked open, shaft of gold light falling in a spear across my bed. I lifted a hand in greeting as a nurse pushed a wheelchair, folded, through the doorframe.

"Restroom?" she asked.

Pee whenever you get a chance, my grandmother had always said, and I'd made it clear to the nurses that I was _not_ using a bedpan during my hospital tenure. The night nurse lowered my foot's sling and guided me into the chair, assisting as I did my embarrassing business. As she helped me back into bed, I patted the wheelchair's arm.

"Could you leave that here?" I said. "In case I need to go again?"

She thought about it, but eventually nodded. "Fine, but don't push yourself. You'll tear your stitches out. Have your parents help you."

"I will."

As soon as she left and the light from the hallway vanished with a click of door against frame, I lowered my leg, slid out of bed, and climbed into the chair by myself.

True to the nurse's word, the stitches on my back tugged in sharp protest when I levered myself into the chair, but it didn't feel like any of them snapped. My parents didn't stir, not even when the door's hinges creaked and my IV stand rattled as I rolled it out the door, clearly too exhausted from seeing their daughter trussed up like a fattened goose to wake. I wheeled out of the room after a brief tussle with the door (steering a wheelchair is harder than it looks, especially when you're a door and manhandling a door carting an IV line). The hallway beyond lay long and quiet, the nurse's station outside the room deserted in the dead of night. Far away, floors and wings below, I was sure the emergency center still bustled—but here in the patient wing, it was quiet.

I headed straight for the phone hanging in its cradle on the wall by the station, of course. They'd posted the dial-out codes on a handy placard next to the phone, thank my lucky stars. I input the code and dialed a number from memory.

Nobody at the Kuwabara household, however, picked up.

I hung up the phone and lifted it again, hesitating over who to call next. Not Kurama's house, certainly. Atsuko? No, she wouldn't answer, and besides—the boys went to the Kuwabara place after beating Suzaku. I was sure of it.

Were they not back yet?

Were they OK?

Not sure who else to call, I punched in another number. It rang three times before the line engaged, person on the other end mumbling a sleepy 'hello' into the receiver.

"It's me," I said.

"Oh my god, _Eeyore_." It was as if she'd flipped a switch, sleepiness vanishing in a millisecond. "I saw the news; Sarayashiki looked _trashed_. Are you OK?"

"Yeah. Mostly." I shifted in my chair and cradled the phone between my jaw and shoulder, tugging at the gauze wound around and around my neck, shoulders, and back like a mummy's sports bra. "I broke my foot and have fifteen stitches, but I'm in one piece."

"Thank _god_." I could almost see her sag, her relieved expression, her hand winding itself through her thick black hair. "You'll have to give me the play by play, but first—" She took a deep breath, voice skewing sly. "Did anyone… _interesting_ show up?"

"Why, yes," I said, tone cool. "And she mentioned you, in fact."

"Oh-em-gee. She got my messages. That's so cool!" Kagome's laughter sounded like sunlight made audible, although her humor dimmed soon enough. "But—do you think she's one of us?"

"Do I think she's…?" I stared at the receiver in my hand, incredulous, before lifting it to my ear again. "Kagome. Are you telling me _you contacted her without knowing whether or not_ —?"

Kagome cut in, "Well, you were going to be attacked, and there was no way to find out if she was one of us without talking to her, and masked superheroes are _kind of_ hard to find, sooo—"

I braced my elbow on the wheelchair's armrest, massaging my temples. "How many blonde middle school girls are there in Tokyo? Blonde ones with red ribbons?"

"Hey, I tried to look for her before making contact! It's just that Tokyo's _huge_ and I'm eleven years old with limited resources, that's all!"

She had a point, much though I didn't want to admit it. I grumbled, "How did you manage to contact her, anyway?"

A satisfied hum, upbeat and cheerful. "It was actually pretty clever, if I do say so myself—but is it safe for us to talk about this right now?"

I started to tell her yes, of course it was, now get to the fucking point—but from down a nearby hall I heard the click of the nurse's loafers. My back straightened at the sound, heartrate picking up like a spurred horse, but this wasn't Hamaguchi. It was just the nurse. I reminded myself of that and took a deep breath to steady my nerves.

"Much as I want to grill you about how you managed to get ahold of her, no. It's not," I said. "I'm calling from the hospital and it's…less than private."

"Think I could come visit?" she asked. "Maybe tomorrow? When do you get discharged?"

"Tomorrow night, I think. And I'd like that. We have catching up to do."

_Lots_ of catching up to do. Kagome had contacted Sailor V, had even looked for her locally, but she hadn't thought to involve me. I had no idea why, and that meant I had quite a bit of grilling to do—plus a lot of monologing to fill her in on my wild night.

But before I forgot…

"And yes, by the way," I said. "To answer your question: She indeed appears to be one of us."

"Oh. Oh, _cool_." Another of her delighted, delightful laughs. "How freakin' cool!"

"You can say that again." Meeting a Sailor Scout certainly earned that descriptor, but I'd have to tell her about that later. "Talk soon?"

"Hell yeah, we're gonna talk soon." She sounded so jazzed, I wondered how she'd be able to get back to sleep—or was this like a Christmas morning situation, in which sleeping gets you to the morning faster? Whatever the case, she said "Night, Eeyore" with gusto.

"Night, Tigger."

She hung up first, and I wheeled myself back toward my room before the nurse could catch me skulking.

Well, that little excursion hadn't accomplished much. I could try the communication mirror, but it was in the pockets of the clothes I'd been wearing upon hospital admittance, which meant it was in a bag somewhere. I had no way of contacting my boys, to check and see how they were doing post-Suzaku.

I'd gone from high-octane action to just sitting around in the span of a few hours.

But what the hell was I supposed to do now?

I'd had a lot of practice in my past life using just one arm, but even so, getting back into my room wasn't a cakewalk. Wrestling with the door, juggling the IV's rolling frame, I felt my stitches strain and stretch. A hiss of pain escaped between my teeth, but just as I let go of the door to clutch at my aching shoulder, something plucked the door from my hands. It swung open, inward, into the dark beyond on hinges that had somehow gone quite quiet.

Behind me, the nurse's footsteps ceased.

"Hello, Keiko," Ayame said.

Somehow it didn't surprise me to find her standing there, black kimono nearly blending with the dark, hair and eyes composed of ink and shadow. I looked her up and down as she did the same to me, eyes moving past her to my still-sleeping parents. Their faces had taken on an odd blue quality, as if the room had sunk beneath the surface of some dark ocean.

"Ayame," I said. "Are Mom and Dad…?"

"They will not wake until I'm gone."

So she was pulling a little Spirit World trick, then. Great. I scooted past her, yanking hard on one wheel to spin my chair around to face her.

"Good. Then I can yell at you to my heart's content, in that case." I drew myself up, somehow, even though I was stuck in a chair with a broken foot. "What the fuck were you _thinking_ , keeping Botan locked up like some goddamn animal? She's not some rabid dog—"

"You have an incomplete understanding of the situation, Keiko." That maddening sincerity of hers, her tenable calm, did not waver. "Botan is a danger to herself and to others."

"I don't deny that."

For once, I managed to knock Ayame off-balance. She started, looking at me anew, wondering where the "but" came in. Because of _course_ there would be a "but." Ayame and I were not fated to agree on much, even if for once I could recognize that she spoke some version of the truth.

"But it sounds to me you had her in isolation, and that is not the way to treat a sick person!" I continued. "She told me somebody named Jorge visited her more than you and Koenma _combined,_ and that is not OK."

I expected her to deny everything, naturally. I expected her to lob a prepared excuse, state with infuriating cool that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for abandoning and neglecting Botan during her hour of need.

I did not expect her to hang her head, draw in a breath, and agree with me.

_Oh no._

At this rate, Ayame and I would become friends soon.

"It's true." Either she was the best actress on the planet, or Ayame actually meant what she said, remorse filling her dark eyes with raw pain. "I'm afraid I didn't visit nearly enough. Perhaps if I had…"

She trailed off. I waited, silent, until she shook her head and sighed.

"It matters not." She walked with small, mincing steps behind my wheelchair. "Let me help you into bed."

"Oh. Um. OK."

She moved me with perhaps less practiced grace than had the nurse, but her hands were strong, fingers cool and firm around my biceps and waist. Ayame even helped me put my leg back in its sling, draping a sheet over my lap before stepping back to the bed's foot. Remarkably helpful of her. What was she up to?

"Where is Botan now, Keiko?" she said—but softly, not even a hint of accusation marring her smooth tone.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

A low sigh. "Do not lie to me."

"I'm not lying. She left when my back was turned." I met her eyes with another shrug. "I have no idea where she is now."

(Just don't ask me who she's _with_ , though. I didn't have a lie prepared for that little line of inquiry…)

Ayame stared—unmoving, unblinking—but she couldn't detect a lie because I had not told her one. I held her gaze until she broke it, her eyes falling shut with yet another long, low sigh. Her fingers trailed over my bedcovers as she crossed to the window, hand alighting like a moth upon the sill.

"As you are aware, and as you more than likely suspect," she said, "Spirit World has methods for keeping its eyes on those upon whom it holds vested interest. Said methods can be disrupted, but only by those who know what those methods entail. Tonight, Spirit World's feed on your activities was disrupted by unknown means—means of which _you_ are not capable. We lost track of Botan during this interval."

I pretended to look interested, which wasn't hard. I knew most of that already, or had at least guessed at Spirit Word's intelligence capabilities, but the bit about Botan was definitely new. Had they lost track of her when V showed up? Had V caused that disruption?

…was Spirit World even aware of V's existence, come to think of it?

"Unless Botan had access to a device or an ability Spirit World is unaware of," Ayame went on, "intervention came from an outside source." She looked at me in the reflection of the window. "Do you know from where such an intervention might have come?"

For a moment, I didn't know what to say—but it occurred to me she'd asked from _where_ , not from _whom_ , the intervention had come. I knew it had likely come from Sailor V, but I had no fucking clue how she'd done it, and because of that technicality, I was safe from telling a lie. Thank the universe for loopholes, right? Maybe I really should become a lawyer…

"Nope," I said. "No idea how such a disruption might have happened."

Another truth, even one based in deception, rendered whatever lie-detection techniques Ayame employed quite useless. We had another staring contest before she once more ducked her head, fingers tracing a pattern across the window pane.

"I see," she said. "We know the demon Kurama gave you a seed that emits a disruptive energy field. We do not appreciate that, but at the same time, we understand your need for privacy." Before I could make a snide remark about needing alone-time every now and again, Ayame said, "However, this seed was in your home during the attack." She was the one to shrug, this time. "The mystery continues, I suppose."

Neither of us said anything for a moment. Ayame watched me carefully. I made sure not to move.

"Sorry I can't be of more help," I said at last.

"So am I." She shook her head, slow and solemn. Botan needs to be apprehended."

I hated to admit Ayame was right, but we were three-for-three in agreeing with each other. Although I didn't necessarily think Botan belonged in Spirit World, her behavior at the school had been downright _chilling_. Something needed to be done with her, be it medical (spiritual?) intervention, or maybe even training to get her impulses under control. Which solution would prove most effective, however, I was at a loss to say.

"Can we count on you to inform us of Botan's whereabouts, should you learn of them?" Ayame asked.

I sucked down a breath. Ayame watched me with care, astute and silent. I shut my eyes. Opened them again.

"What will you do to her if you catch her?" I asked.

"Ensure her health and safety. Nothing more." She tilted her head to the left, curious. "I can see you're skeptical."

"She's my friend. I don't want you putting her in a cell."

Ayame's lips thinned. "That was not—" But she took a breath, shook her head, started again. "Understand this, Keiko. What happened to Botan was not her fault. Spirit World does not blame her for her…transformation. However, we will not stand idly by and allow her to endanger innocent humans. Not when the side effects of the Shadow Sword proved so dire."

There was that term Botan had used—side effects. But how "side" could they be when they changed Botan so completely? Wondering if I was better off not knowing, but far too nosy to resist, I asked: "What exactly happened to Botan?"

"The Sword works by suffusing the soul of whomever it cuts with dark, demonic energy. It was designed to turn humans into demons. And in all of its long history, the Shadow Sword has never been used to cut a being of Spirit—much less one who had been given a body by Spirit World. Until now, of course." She put a hand to her chest, fingers clenching in the fabric of her kimono. "The Sword's dark energy sank into Botan's soul, warping and distorting the harmonics of her aura in ways Spirit World has never witnessed. In truth, we do not know the depths of the Sword's effects. We do not know if they are reversible. And we do not know what will become of Botan if she is left untreated."

By the time she finished talking, my palms had begun to sweat. "What does treatment entail?" I murmured.

"Energy therapy, for the most part. Scrubbing the demonic influence from her spirit with transfusions of pure spiritual power." But despite how simple that sounded, Ayame's eyes held only darkness. "However, Botan did not have a third eye in Spirit World. That little… _feature_ only revealed itself when she retook her physical form." She hesitated, then admitted, "I imagine the transformation felt uncomfortable."

I sat up straighter, sling creaking as my leg moved. "She—she got worse when she came here?"

"Yes. She got worse when she came to rescue you."

At that I glared. "I can't tell if you're making an observation or shaming me. I didn't ask her to come here."

She shook her head. "Obviously. No guilt was intended. But it is true that if she had remained in Spirit World, her condition would be less advanced."

"OK, so you _are_ trying to make me feel guilty."

Ayame had the grace to look peeved, short-tempered at my quips and dogged determination to fight her. But fighting would get us nowhere, I told myself, so I'd best start cooperating…as much as I was able, at least.

"OK, look," I said by way of olive branch. "I'm worried for Botan, so if I see her, I'll let you know. Will that suffice?"

Ayame smiled—a real smile, one that touched her eyes and made their corners crinkle. Of course, what I _hadn't_ said was that I'd turn Botan in. Just that I'd let Ayame know if I saw her. I wasn't turning Botan in to any organization until I heard Botan's own wishes, that's for certain.

"Thank you." Ayame bowed to me, strands of hair ghosting over her white neck. "And while I am on the subject of thanks: Spirit World offers you both its humblest gratitude and its humblest apologies, for subjecting you to such torment."

She didn't speak with her usual clipped cadence. Were my ears playing tricks on me, or did she sound…sincere? Grateful? And perhaps even regretful, like she truly did disapprove of my involvement in the night's events?

Or was Spirit World just making her say that, and she was putting on a show to sell me her apologies?

"I mean—I don't blame _you_ for what happened tonight." When Ayame's lifted a brow, uncertain, I told her, "The Saint Beasts compelled the infected to hurt me, right? That's not on _you_ as a person, or even on Spirit World as an institution." I shrugged. "So you don't have to apologize, is what I'm saying." Fate would have thrown me into that situation no matter how hard Spirit World fought to keep me out of it—though there was no way I could communicate as such to Ayame.

Still, she wasn't satisfied. "Even so, I must stress that it was never our intention to involve you in this case in such deep capacity. And I personally lament that you became involved." One dark brow quirked. "Though you rose to the challenge with _alarming_ alacrity."

"Yeah, well. Yusuke's made me watch a lot of war movies over the years."

"Clearly. What was it you made? Sneezing gas?"

"That's right."

"I must ask—why did you outfit the school with weapons?" And that calculating edge was back, her earlier remorse gone. "You had no forewarning of this case. How did you know to arm yourself?"

I'd been expecting someone to question my foresight, and given Ayame's views on demons, I felt she'd swallow my prepped lie (the only one I wanted to tell) without undue fuss—and Kurama probably wouldn't mind serving as my excuse, either.

"I armed myself the day Yusuke told me about demons, and that one went to my school," I said. "Felt like a wise idea at the time."

"Indeed. I'm impressed." And she looked it, too, appraising me with what looked suspiciously like…respect? She left the widow and stood at my bedside, patting my knee so lightly I almost didn't feel her touch through the bedclothes. "Rest now. You've earned a reprieve."

The blue haze over the room flickered, but before it could vanish entirely, I caught Ayame's sleeve—because she was my one line to the outside world, and I would not let this opportunity pass me by.

"Wait," I said. "The boys. How are they? Where are they?"

She placed her hand over mine, though only so she could ease it away from her clothes. "They returned to Human World less than an hour ago," she said. "I believe they went to the Kuwabara residence." Another smile, this one as incongruously genuine as the last. "And they're fine. Yusuke will likely sleep for days after his ordeal, but he is fine."

The words were a balm and a bomb, both, soothing the ache inside my chest even as they lit up my heart with an explosion of relief. I sagged back against the pillows, head lolling until my scalp touched the headboard.

"Good. Good." I cracked an eye and lifted a hand. "Goodnight, Ayame."

"Good night, Keiko," she said, and the blue tint flickered back to normal colors—but then it snapped into place once more. Ayame said, eyes on my broken leg, "Before I forget. Since you'll have trouble with uneven terrain for some time, I'll come to you next time we need to meet."

I bowed as best I was able. "Thank you for your consideration."

"Of course. It's the least we can do, after involving you in…"

Ayame trailed off, which felt very much unlike her. This was a woman certain of her words, and of her role and station in her chosen life. She glanced toward the window before stepping closer, close enough so that her whispered words carried clearly on the quiet midnight air.

"I am supposed to be impartial, Keiko," Ayame murmured, "but allow me a moment to break protocol. This _never_ should have happened. You should _not_ be here, in this hospital." She hesitated for only a moment before saying, in one heaving rush: "Thank you for your dedication to Spirit World. I understand if you wish to abandon your position as Record Keeper."

For a second I thought I hadn't heard her correctly. I blinked and stammered, "Oh. Um. No thanks?"

But she pressed on, lips barely moving as she spoke. "I can speak to Koenma. Give him an excuse." Her eyes weren't designed for pleading, and yet that is exactly what they did. "I can smooth it over, if that is what you wish."

Unreal. This had to be a dream, a delusion brought on by my throbbing leg and the meds coursing through my system—but Ayame was as real as my parents sleeping only a few feet away, hand descending once more onto my knee with all the weight of a butterfly.

Why was she offering this, though?

Did Ayame truly care for my wellbeing—or did she just want me gone, apropos of nothing?

The pleading sincerity in her deep eyes did not strike me as deceptive.

Summoning a conciliatory smile, I patted her hand. "Sorry, Ayame. But I gotta keep an eye on Yusuke. No way can I back out. He'd never let me live it down, y'know?"

Ayame didn't fight me. She didn't bully, or threaten, or even try to persuade. She merely breathed deeply and sighed, as though to clear everything inside herself and start anew.

Something like that, anyway.

I felt sleepy, suddenly, as the room's blue hue faded.

"You're brave," Ayame murmured. "I worry for you. But the decision is yours." She squeezed my knee. "Goodnight, Keiko."

"Goodnight, Ayame," I said—and when I blinked, both Ayame and the blue haze had faded, giving way to the dim light of the bedside lamp and the moonlight streaming through the tiny window.

In her chair, my mother stirred, voice soft and full of sleep. "Keiko, honey? Do you need something?"

"No, Mom," I told her. "Go back to sleep."

She did as I asked, huddling under the coat my father had draped across her thin frame.

I followed close behind.

Ayame had provided me with answers—and with them, questions I did not yet know how to articulate.

* * *

Although it pained them to leave me alone for any length of time, eventually Mom and Dad had to go home—mainly for showers, and to get a change of clothes for me, but also because they had three restaurants to run and life didn't stop just because I'd broken my leg and sliced up my shoulder. Both apologized profusely for abandoning their precious daughter in her hours of need (their words, not mine). I pretended to collapse like an overheated southern bell when they said they had to go, which made them laugh and eased the tension somewhat. Mom might've finally come around to the utility of _aikido_ , but that didn't mean her motherly instinct to protect me had completely fallen to the wayside.

Once they left, however, I had little more to do than twiddle my thumbs and wait.

Much as I wanted to hear from Yusuke and the others, I couldn't exactly leave with my foot still in a soft-cast, and the nurses had denied my daytime request to use their phone. "Just rest," they commanded, "because visitor hours will open soon." Only how could the boys know where I was if I couldn't call and tell them?

Though I supposed it didn't actually matter, did it? Yusuke slept for three days after his fight with Suzaku, as I recalled. Who knew when he'd make it in to visit? The nurses still weren't sure about my discharge date since I'd suffered a blow to the head, wanting to keep me close for observation. With no way to contact my boys, stuck in that hospital bed all alone, no fucking clue when Kagome planned to stop by, I resigned myself to a day of boredom and hunkered down in my bed with a sigh. The view out the window showed me precious little, just a swath of blue sky and the tops of some trees.

Perhaps I should've had a little more faith, however.

Not two minutes after the nurses declare visiting hours open for business, my door nearly flew off its hinges, slamming against the wall so hard I feared the plaster might collapse. A nurse shouted something about quiet, and _hey, how'd you get in here_?, but Kuwabara didn't pay her any heed. He took one look at my hospital gown, the bandages on my neck and chest, and my foot up in its sling before gasping and hauling ass to my bedside.

"Keiko?!" he said, hands flapping, clearly at a loss for both words and action. "Keiko! Y-you're—?"

"Oh, hey! Great to see you!" I lifted my hands, aiming a set of vigorous jazz hands down the length of my leg. "Surprise! I broke my foot!"

"You broke your—?" he said. His eyes flickered from the sling to my bound chest. "A-and your back—?" But the shock faded, replaced by a comical fury, voice lifting in a high-pitched, accusatory whine. "Keiko! How could you?! How could you let yourself get hurt like this?!"

"Hey, it's not like I planned it!" I protested. "And there were a lot of them! It's not my fault I was number one on their hit list!"

"We've been _worried_ about you, you dummy!" he said. "And you're making _jokes_?!"

"I cope through humor, OK?!"

"And _I cope_ through telling you you're _stupid_!"

"Well, ex _cuse_ me for trying to make light of the situation so you don't have an aneurism!"

"Hey, I'm not the one stuck in a hospital bed, so don't you dare try to change the subject, and—"

His face contorted like he'd bitten into a lemon, and to my surprise he dropped to his knees at my bedside. For a second he pressed his face into the covers, hair a mop of orange curls against the blue sheets, and somehow he found and grabbed my hand without looking up.

"You're OK, right?" he said, voice barely audible. "You're going to be OK, right, Keiko?"

On reflex, I grabbed his hand a little tighter. "Hell yeah, I'm gonna be fine!" I said. "Takes more than a few assholes to bring me down."

Kuwabara lifted his face, peering up at me with eyes like a scared puppy. Giggling, I patted his head with prim fingertips.

"Right as rain in no time at all," I assured him. "I'm only gonna have the stitches for, like, a month? And I'll get a hard cast instead of a soft one soon, so I'll get to walk in a boot in just a few weeks, and when that comes off I'll be good as new." I grimaced, remembering the Squeeze and wondering what the foot equivalent might be. "Well, a bit of physical therapy after that, probably, but…"

Kuwabara sat up a bit straighter, breaking out into a wide grin. "Hey, maybe we could take you to see Genkai! She fixed me right up after Rando broke my arms. No PT or nothin'!"

"He has a good idea," said a voice from the doorway. "We'll have to pay Genkai a visit. I confess I've always wished to meet her."

Kuwabara flinched and looked over his shoulder; I pulled my hand from Kuwabara's big paw so I could repeat my jazz hand performance. "Look, Kurama! I broke my foot! Ta-da!"

"Yes. I see that," Kurama said, humor curving the lip of his mouth. He glanced at Kuwabara as he shut the door to the room (with far more care than Kuwabara used to open it), eyebrow climbing just a shade higher. "Kuwabara ran past the reception desk, but don't worry. I signed us both in."

Kuwabara blushed and rubbed at the back of his neck, muttering something about getting too excited to follow hospital rules, which were probably stupid, anyway. Kurama pulled a chair over to my bedside, offering a small smile when I caught his eye. Damn, it was good to see him—him and Kuwabara both. Although I knew they'd both sustained injuries during the Saint Beast arc, neither of them looked worse for wear, and that lifted a weight off my shoulders in an instant.

Still, though. I had questions before I could relax completely.

"Yusuke still sleeping it off?" I said.

Kurama nodded. "Of course."

"And Hiei's probably up a tree somewhere?"

"Most likely."

"Yeah. Visiting an invalid isn't much is style, is it?" I said, rueful.

Kuwabara frowned. "You're not an invalid. You're just a little busted up right now, that's all."

"Funny. That's exactly what Amagi said." I shook my head. "Anyway. So long as you're all safe..."

"We are," Kurama assured me.

"Yeah, Keiko," Kuwabara said. He raised his arm and flexed. "Those demons didn't stand a chance against these muscles!"

I giggled again—but I shut my eyes, breathing in through my nose and then slowly out of my mouth.

I'd won, and my boys had won.

_We'd_ won.

Aside from the lingering question of what to do about Botan, the Saint Beast Arc had been successfully wrapped.

_Thank my lucky fucking stars that was over._

"Will you tell us what happened, Keiko?" This came from Kurama, voice cool and smooth and dry. He glanced at my leg as he remarked, "Clearly the infected put you through your paces."

"They did," I said—but something struck me. "Wait. You mean you don't know what happened?"

Kuwabara wore a frown to match my own, blocky jaw jutting. "What the—? Of _course_ we don't know, Keiko! It's not like we had a Keiko Hotline, and you weren't answering your mirror. We might've been too busy fighting to check in much, but that doesn't mean we weren't worried sick over you!"

"Yes," Kurama said. Bright green eye searched my face for answers. "We had no way of knowing you were safe until we returned and phoned your family."

I stared at them, confused, because clearly I was missing something. The thing was, they _had_ had a Keiko Hotline. Suzaku had been spying on me, showing a feed of my struggles top Yusuke—

Oh. Right.

To _Yusuke_.

The rest of the boys had…what? Stayed on a lower floor of the castle fighting those weird green monster dudes, right? I'd forgotten that detail amidst the excitement, but it meant that only Yusuke knew what I'd been through the night before. The rest of the boys hadn't had a clue.

…which meant the boys probably didn't know about Botan. And according to Spirit World, Sailor V might've blanked out any watching eyes when she showed up. It was possible even Yusuke hadn't seen her arrival.

I might be the only member of our group who knew she existed.

Oh boy. This was going to take some explaining, wasn't it? Not to mention some finesse, leaving out the parts they shouldn't know, but keeping in the parts they should. And no wonder Kuwabara had freaked out when he saw my injuries. Both he and Kurama (not to mention the absent Hiei) had no idea that Suzaku had sicced his infected goons specifically on me, let alone that I'd broken my ankle or had my back sliced open.

So…it was Keiko's Story Time, I guess.

I shook my head, both to clear the cobwebs and delay a moment to get my thoughts in order. "Sorry. Just…I'm still a bit scattered from last night. And this is going to take some explaining, so settle in, boys, because it's going to be a wild ride." A deep, bracing breath as Kurama draped one leg over the other, Kuwabara moving to sit on the edge of my bed, one hand idling protective by my knee. I told them, "I guess it all started when I outfitted the PE shed with some…well, _amenities,_ and…"

Before I could dive in, the door popped open again. A nurse wearing a starched white cap stuck her head inside, shooting Kuwabara a disapproving look (which made him hang his head and blush) before addressing me.

"Keiko, you have another visitor," she said. "But remember you can only have three in the room at a time, OK?"

I saluted and said "Roger that, ma'am," but before I could ask who it was (because Hiei wasn't the type to pay me a visit, my parents were family, and Yusuke was still comatose) she pushed the door wide and stepped back. A pair of skinny legs topped by a pleated purple skirt bounced in, the tiny person's torso completely obscured by the enormous bouquet of sunflowers clutched in slender arms.

The sight of my favorite flowers would normally trigger an uncontrollable smile.

Now, though, their bright petals sent a dagger of sharp dread deep into my gut.

"Eeyore!" Her face managed to shove its way through the riot of flowers in her arms, smile as huge and bright and eager as her voice, hair dusted with petals made of gold. "Oh my god, the train was _packed_ , they nearly squished your sunflowers and—oh. _Oh._ "

Kagome stopped dead in her tracks when she realized I was not, in fact, alone. Our eyes met, wide and panicked—and then hers flickered to my right.

They flickered to _Kurama_.

The fox demon—the fox demon whom Kagome had met five hundred years before—observed her through shrewd, perceptive eyes. For a moment he and Kagome just gazed at each other in silence, her jaw dropped, his mouth schooled into a thin line of suspicious neutrality. The silent spell held for what felt like minutes, and then Kurama's eyes flickered to me with a glint of cold emerald green.

"Well, Keiko," he said, tone as dry as bone. "It seems you're rather popular today."

In the solemn stillness of the room, I heard Kagome gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who've read Daughters of Destiny might ought to be screaming right about now. 
> 
> For those who haven't, here's a recap: I've written a side-story to this fic called Daughters of Destiny, in which Kagome and Keiko travel into the past together. In it they meet (among others) Kurama in his Youko form. Soooo basically there's a chance Kurama might recognize Kagome here, which would complicate matters. You DO NOT HAVE TO READ THAT FIC to understand this chapter, or the next chapter. Just know that Kagome and Kurama have met before.
> 
> And to that end, I decided on how DoD fits in Lucky Child's timeline. Kagome and Keiko went on their adventure to the past in the summertime, just before the most recent schoolyear started, so to them they met Yoko only a few months prior. For Kurama, it's been 500 years since they met. Yay, timelines.
> 
> I definitely thought I'd get to a totally different stopping point in this chapter, with a much punchier ending, but DAMN, these scenes ran away with themselves and I had to re-plan the next three or so chapters on the fly. CURSE my inability to keep shit short. CURSE IT. But we'll get that cool ending I wanted next week, so that's nice.
> 
> I'm planning a Children of Misfortune oneshot from Botan's POV. Keep an eye on that story for it! I hope to release it sometime this coming week.
> 
> This past week, meanwhile, was pretty dang crappy overall, notable exception being all of YOU. I so appreciate the support, and I hope you enjoyed this little interlude as Keiko's life calms back down after recent excitement. Thank you so much; you are TREASURES.


	57. Sleeping Dogs Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko learns certain truths, and ignores others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I think it's rather self-explanatory after a few paragraphs, the first chunk of this chapter is a flashback to when Kagome and Keiko came home after their visit to the past. There are some hints/foreshadowings (er, past-shadowings? Is it possible to foreshadow something that happened in the past?) about Daughters of Destiny, but no spoilers aside from how they both made it back safely (though I don't think that will come as a shock to anyone). Thanks!

Eyes swollen, cheeks wet with tears, Kagome sat up and pushed away from me, away from the arm I'd wound around her shoulders. She scrubbed her sleeve across her face and said, "So what's the plan for the worst case scenario, huh?"

I frowned, because the question—spoken in a voice gummy from crying—had come apropos of absolutely nothing. In fact, it had nothing to do what she'd been crying over in the first place.

"Y'know." She snuffled, trying to dry her running nose. "If I run into the two of you and he recognizes me?"

It clicked.

"He" could only mean Kurama.

I didn't say anything for a minute, leaning back against the headboard of Kagome's twin bed. She sat with her mouth pressed to her knees at my side, eyes distant and unfocused. She wore pajamas too big for her tiny frame, long black hair hanging in clumping mats around her heart-shaped face, arms clutching her legs to her chest. Hair combed straight back over my head, still feeling damp from the bath we'd taken to scrub of the dust of a previous century, there hadn't been time to reflect on our trip to the Feudal Era—not beyond the horrible truth Kagome had learned, anyway. Not beyond that horrible revelation that had caused her to cry in the first place.

Honestly? It made sense she'd want to change the subject. I didn't envy her one bit, even if she'd finally found some of the answers she'd been searching for since Hiruko put her in the body of an anime character.

Sometimes, ignorance really was bliss.

"Good question," I said. "Here's another: What are the odds he'll recognize you, do you think?"

She stirred, eyes focusing again. "I mean. High, right? He's Kurama." She put a knuckle to her temple and turned her hand like she twisted the shaft of a key. "Mind like a steel trap."

"That's true. But would even _he_ remember you after 500 years? That's a long time to remember a face you only saw once, and only for half an hour."

Her head lifted off her knees, rising higher with confidence. "Good point," Kagome said. "And he didn't seem to remember you when you met in this era, right?"

"Right. But I was a lot less interesting than you were during the incident in the past. You were the one who interacted with him most." But that wouldn't comfort Kagome, who clearly needed comfort more than hard truth (she'd already faced too much of that for one day). I dropped the subject in favor of saying: "Even so. It was just for an hour, and 500 years ago. I really doubt his memory of you is razor sharp."

She nodded—and then she managed to smile, even if the expression trembled at the corners. "And you know what? Youko Kurama didn't give much of a crap about humans, back in the day. Why would he commit a little human girl to memory when he only met her once?"

_Once—that we know of_ , I wanted to say, but I didn't.

Comfort, even at the expense of truth.

We'd have to let this sleeping dog lie until she was ready to wake it from its slumber.

"Whatever the case," I said, "here's hoping we weren't impressive or memorable enough for Kurama to recall after 500 years."

She listed to one side, head pillowing on my shoulder. "Say it again."

I grinned. "500 years."

Kagome hummed, appreciative. "Once more time."

"500 years."

"Ooh, nice. Very comforting." She affected a delighted shiver, a la the hyenas from _Lion King_ , although the moment of levity wasn't meant to last. Head on my shoulder again, Kagome murmured, "But if I do ever run into him, we'll use the codename again."

"Different from the one we used in the past, though," I said. "Throw him off the scent even more. How about, um…Mitsuki or something?"

I half expected Kagome to argue, tell me to pick a prettier name, or another flower-name to go with her previous floral alias. I expected her to bring up the names of other anime characters and make a joke about impersonating one, one anime character inhabiting the name of another like a Russian nesting doll of meta anime references.

She did not do any of that, however.

Kagome only nodded and murmured the word, "Sure."

I changed the subject, because that's what Kagome needed.

* * *

Kuwabara broke the silence first. He had no reason to be afraid, or perplexed, or stunned into silence—the emotions plastered across the faces of Kagome, Kurama, and myself respectively. He looked between Kagome and I with a confused scowl, though, for reasons I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"Wait," he said. "Eeyore?" At that he gasped and bolted to his feet, knock-kneed and gangly in his alarm. "Are you tellin' me that even this _kid_ has a nickname for you, Keiko?!"

Had my pulse not started throbbing in my broken leg, it would've been hilarious how far over Kuwabara's head this situation flew. Kurama's eyes flickered to Kuwabara, the lightest trace of annoyance crossing his features at the outburst, but he said nothing and retuned his gaze to Kagome. He didn't look outright angry, which I counted as quite the blessing. He just stared at Kagome with the lightest of frowns—and although I couldn't read his face beyond the smallest edge of confusion, I took comfort in the fact Kuwabara was there.

Kurama, private person as he was, likely wouldn't make a scene over this with Kuwabara present. He had both his secrets, not to mention mine, to keep hidden.

As I struggled to find my tongue and answer Kuwabara's question, Kagome's stare travelled from Kuwabara to Kurama and then back to me again, a round of wide-eyed horror and confusion that she played off within a second or two (thank my lucky fucking stars). She bustled over to the table in the corner and dumped her bundle of sunflowers in the ice bucket, putting her back to us as she fussed with the flowers—because not all of them fit in the bucket. She paused, then grabbed a glass of water and stuck a flower in there, too, one by one arranging the blossoms in every last drinking vessel she could reach, flowers scattered over that side-table with no discernable pattern whatsoever.

Buying for time, by the looks of it.

Time for me to step in.

"Um—this is my friend Mitsuki," I said, gesturing at Kagome. She looked over her shoulder at me, face schooled into a polite (if not slightly manic in its intensity) smile. "Say hi, Mitsuki."

"Hi Mitsuki," said Kagome. She winced, curling her hair behind her ears and hopping from foot to foot. "I mean, hi, I'm Mitsuki." Her smiled went even more manic, twitching at one corner. "Are, um. Are these your friends, Eeyore?"

"Yes. This is Minamino Shuichi and Kuwabara Kazuma." The aforementioned bowed a little (although Kurama's unreadable green eyes never wavered). To the boys I said, "I met Mitsuki at the library. We're good buds."

Kuwabara broke out in a wide grin. "Oh, well, any friend of Keiko's is a friend of mine." He extended his hand toward Kagome, and thanks to their height difference he loomed over her like a skyscraper over a shack. "Great t' meetcha!"

Her hand all but disappeared in his enormous grip. "Great to meet you too," she said—but her eyes strayed to Kurama, who still stared at her with expression utterly inscrutable, and her face paled. She pulled her hand from Kuwabara's and smiled at the fox demon, the twitch at the corner of her mouth growing all the more pronounced.

"And, um." She did not approach for a handshake. "It was nice to meet you as well."

Kurama inclined his head. As if he'd thrown something at her, she dipped into a low, dramatic bow, bent at a clean 90 degrees at the waist. Kuwabara blinked down at her with a low, "Huh?"

"Anyway—gee, look at the time!" She popped up from the bow and made a show of looking at her watch, followed by an exaggerated wave. "I gotta get going! Sure was good to see you, Eeyore—I mean, Keiko." The look she shot me was as loaded as a machine gun, eyes nearly bugging from her skull. "Hopefully we'll do it again soon, _yeah_?"

"Yeah, but—wait!"

Alas, there would be no waiting, because no sooner had the word 'yeah' left my lips than Kagome darted for the door. Kurama watched with eyebrow raised; Kuwabara watched with jaw hanging open. As for me, I just buried my head in my hands and sighed.

That…could have gone better.

Not suspicious at all, Kagome, _nooo_ …

When I let my hands fall, I found Kurama staring at me sidelong, eyes cool and assessing, wheels behind them turning as calculations fell into place. Inscrutable, though. Forever and always as difficult to read as the future in a cup of tea leaves.

"Uh, no offense or nothin'," Kuwabara said with a point at the door. "But your friend's a little, um…what's the word?" He winced. "Oh yeah. _Weird_?"

"She's shy around strangers," I said out loud—but inside I cursed the bad luck of Kagome's poor timing (or rather, the poor timing of the boys' visit, because Kagome was the only one who'd bothered to call ahead and schedule a meeting). I didn't blame Kagome for her awkward behavior, though, because obviously facing down Kurama was intimidating as all hell. I would've reacted the same way, had I been in Kagome's shoes after our adventure over summer break.

Green eyes stayed trained on me, trying their damndest to make me squirm. I refused, however, and looked Kurama dead in the eye to ask (in the most casual, concerned voice I could muster): "You OK, Kurama?"

He did not immediately react. When he spoke it was with deliberate leisureliness, Kurama in no hurry at all—which was honestly sort of terrifying in its own right. "That girl. She seemed…" A frown creased the skin between his eyes. "Has she visited you at school before?"

"Um." I put a finger to my lips, feigning thought. "Nope?"

"What's a matter, Kurama?" Kuwabara said. He sat heavily on my bed, mattress dipping under his weight, sliding me an inch toward him with a creek of sling. "You think you've seen her before or something?"

A bland smile. "No. She merely looks familiar. I'm sure it's just my imagination." But he followed that with a pointed stare straight at me, smile showing just the barest hint of teeth. "And if it's not, I'm sure the answer will come to me in time."

We stared at each other, while Kuwabara looked on in mystified silence. Kurama blinked first, seemingly in no rush for answers—and _oh my god what was he planning, and how much did he suspect, really?_

"Now," he said, all pleasant smiles and easygoing calm, "where were we before your friend…?"

I jumped on the subject change like a flea onto a dog, because this dog I felt more than content to let lie sleeping very still and undisturbed. "I was just about to tell you about my wild night," I said, and before anyone could delay, I launched right into the tale of outfitting the school, Amagi's arrival, and hiding in the PE shed when the teacher when full nutbar.

"So we hid there for a while," I said, "and you won't even believe this—but I heard a scream and ran to the window, and there she was: _Botan_! Just running across the lawn with a baseball bat, yelling my name, trying to find me. Isn't that _wild_?"

Kurama and Kuwabara exchanged a Look, which was weird, and what was up with the two of them all of a sudden? For a minute I wondered if they knew something I didn't about the Botan situation, which would be even wilder than her showing up out of the blue like she had—but then Kuwabara said: "Botan. I think I know that name—oh, right!" He snapped his fingers, eyes bright. "She's a friend of Yusuke's, isn't she?"

I snorted. "Of course she is."

"I remember," Kurama said. "She was the one who was cut by the Shadow Sword, was she not?"

"Of course she was," I said, impatient. "Do you guys really not remember— _oh_."

But before I could get going, the words died on my tongue. Pieces had clicked into place like the gears of a finely tuned watch.

Oh. Oh _shit_.

Kuwabara had never actually met Botan, had he?

Kuwabara was supposed to know Botan from her presence at Genkai's Tournament. Thanks to her little eye problem, she hadn't attended that tournament, and that meant…well, shit. Kuwabara had probably only heard of Botan in passing. And now that I thought about it, in the anime Kurama didn't formally meet Botan until the Dark Tournament, and in this world he'd only ever seen her unconscious right after she got cut with the Sword. So _of course_ he hadn't much reacted to the idea of her showing up unannounced. He had no idea who Botan was or why her presence could cause alarm. Why be concerned by the presence of a stranger?

It came as no surprise, therefore, that Kuwabara and Kurama listened to my tale of Botan's plight with only the mildest of concern—or disgust, in Kuwabara's case, and fascination in Kurama's. Kuwabara turned nearly green when I told them of the eye ("She had a third _what-now_?!") caused by Hiei's cut with the Shadow Sword, but Kurama leaned forward in his seat with fingers steepled over his lap. The calculating glimmer in his eyes didn't fade when I finished my story. Neither did Kuwabara's look of revulsion, even after I said that Botan had disappeared when my back was turned, taking her gross new eye with her. I had no idea where she was now, I told them, and was worried for her safety—especially since she'd fled Spirit World's custody specifically to save me from the infected humans.

Even though Ayame hadn't meant to guilt-trip me, I felt guilty all the same. I swallowed a throat full of nerves and took a deep breath before continuing.

"To make matters even more complicated," I said, "I had a little visit from Ayame last night, on behalf of Spirit World."

Kurama scowled. "What did they want?"

"This time? Just to know where Botan is." I hesitated to tell them the hard truth, but now was not the time to hold back details (aside from my deliberate omission of Sailor V, naturally). "Ayame told me Botan's third eye manifested when she came to Human World, not before."

Kurama got it at once, eyes widening just the barest fraction. It took Kuwabara a bit longer, but he soon shoved his fist over his mouth with a gasp.

"Are you saying Botan got worse when she came to save you?" he said, eyes wide and apprehensive.

I nodded, grim. Kuwabara shot to his feet with a wave of his enormous hands. "Hey, it's not _your_ fault she came here to help!" he said, because empathetic Kuwabara knew exactly where my overthinking brain was headed and had no intention of letting it get there on his watch. "You can't blame yourself, Keiko; you really can't! Botan sounds like a nice lady, especially since she can put up with _Yusuke_. You can't blame yourself for her being nice to you, even if it did give her a third eye or whatever."

"Agreed," Kurama murmured. He, too, knew exactly where my overthinking head and heart wanted to go. "You are not responsible for the actions of others, much though you wish to take that responsibility onto yourself."

I ran my hand through my bangs, fluffing up the strands from the roots. "Yeah, I know," I grumbled. "I'm just worried about her. They kept Botan in isolation _before_ she had the third eye. What do you think they'll do to her now that she's gotten even worse?"

Kuwabara's horrified expression matched how I felt inside. Kurama, geared more for subtlety, stated with mild calm, "It's certainly a valid concern."

"You don't think they'd, like, lock her up in a jail, do you?" Kuwabara fretted.

"I hope not," I said, but my fingers clenched in my hair, pulling at the strands until it hurt. Kurama noticed (curse those eagle eyes) and gave me a Pointed Look of Extreme Disapproval until I stopped.

"Unfortunately, Spirit World operates under ancient laws that are rarely bent, even for the benefit of one of their own," he said when I ceased tearing at my hair. "But even those laws likely do not account for what happened to Botan." A shadow gathered behind his verdant eyes. "Truth be told, I had no idea the Shadow Sword could affect a Spirit in such a way."

"I had no idea there were anything such things as Spirits until just now, so you're ahead of me," Kuwabara grumbled. "But this Botan lady—she's Yusuke's friend, right?"

"Yeah." I swallowed the lump in my throat, hands clenching the sheets instead of my hair this time. "And she's mine, too."

That was all Kuwabara needed to hear, because of course it was, because he was the best. He gave me a resolute nod and held up a fist. "Sounds like we gotta help her, then. We have to find her, figure out how to get rid of that eye, and make it all better." His scowl (aimed toward my room's tiny window) could've melted solid rock. "Though _Hiei's_ the one who oughta go looking for her since he caused all this trouble in the first place! Little shrimp, swinging his sword around like a jerk. This Botan person sounds like a nice lady even if she's goes a little nuts sometimes, so she sure as hell didn't deserve all this crap."

"Perhaps Hiei could be persuaded to aid in the search," Kurama said, neatly glossing over Kuwabara's continued mutterings about Hiei's terrible attitude.

"Maybe so," I said. "I'll pitch it to him, but somehow I don't think he'll much care."

"You might be surprised, Kei. Hiei has quite the honor code these days." The smallest of smiles, secret and just for me (because Kuwabara had only rolled his eyes at the mention of Hiei and honor in the same sentence; it looked like Hiei and Kuwabara had gotten off to the same rocky start they'd shared in the anime). "Or rather, should I say he found the honor code he abandoned during his time with the Shadow Sword?"

"Hell if I know. I'm just glad he's not going around cutting people up anymore."

Kurama chuckled, although Kuwabara rolled his eyes again and increased the ferocity of his dark mutterings. The Mysterious Origin of Hiei's Inexplicable Honor Code still vexed me, but he'd made it through Maze Castle without betraying everyone, so I must not have screwed canon up _too_ much.

"Anyway," I said. "Maybe once Yusuke wakes up, we can see what he thinks and then we can plan what to do with Botan. He's closest with her, and would be the most likely to know what she'd want us to do."

Kurama and Kuwabara both nodded at that—but while my suggestion to wait was based mostly in logic, I admit I had an ulterior motive. If Hiei tried to find Botan while she was with Sailor V…well. I wasn't sure the world was ready for that collision of fandoms. Not just yet, anyway. Delaying looking for her bought me time to find V, and cut this whole mess off at the pass.

"So, uh. Keiko?"

I started, pulled from my reverie by Kuwabara's hesitant voice. He sat up straight, pulling a small spiral-bound notebook from his back pocket, clearing his throat like a lecturer about to deliver a long and formal homily.

"Keiko, I've been thinking," he said, all ramrod posture and faux-official language, nose thrust high into the air. I half imagined a pair of spectacles appearing on his nose when he intoned, "I've been workshopping some nicknames and I was hoping I could get your input on the matter."

I blinked at him. "Nicknames?"

"Yeah! Y'know? Hiei calls you 'Meigo' and Kurama calls you 'Kei' and Yusuke calls you 'Grandma', or 'Mom' sometimes when you're not around, but I don't have one for you and I want that to change."

"Uh. OK?" I waved for him to continue, reclining back against my mountain of pillows. "Have at it, then."

He couldn't maintain his fake-professor vibe for long—not when he started smiling like Christmas had come early. "Great!" he said. He coughed primly into his fist before throwing up a finger and dramatically declaring, "How about… _Kei_ - _chan_?"

My brow quirked. "That's Kurama's nickname with an honorific, isn't it?"

Kuwabara's face fell. "Oh." He flipped to another page in his notebook, scanned it, and offered a hopeful, "Kei-kun?"

"I'm afraid that's more of the same," Kurama observed.

Kuwabara's eyes bugged. "Argh, you're right! Well, um…" More frantic flipping through his notebook. "What about Ko-ko?"

"I mean, I'm not a gorilla."

"Huh?"

"Ko-Ko is the name of a famous gorilla and—oh, never mind."

He wasn't expecting it, so despite his faster reflexes I managed to lean forward and pluck the notebook from his hands. Kuwabara protested, trying to grab it back from me, but I held it as far away from his as possible and warded him off with my other hand.

"Look, Kuwabara, the best nicknames come up organically!" I said as he tried to wrestle back the notebook, his barrel chest nearly squashing me flat as he leaned over my torso. I said into his sternum, "Like, you find a nickname as a result of the experiences you share with a person, ya big palooka! You don't need to brainstorm stuff—you just gotta play it by ear!"

He latched onto my wrist, dragging the notebook back to him with a whine. "Yeah, but—"

"But _what_?"

Kuwabara didn't reply for a minute. Too busy taking the notebook, sitting next to me on the hospital bed, staring down into my face with lower lip caught between his teeth—hand still wrapped around my wrist. He shot Kurama a sidelong look, and his voice dropped so low I barely heard him speak.

"I—I don't wanna get left behind, or whatever, OK?" he said.

"Get left…" I repeated—and then I snatched the notebook back again and used it to (gently and playfully) swat the top of his fluffy orange hair. Kuwabara yelped, shielding himself with his hands. "Get left behind?!" I said, swatting at him. "Do you _seriously_ think I'd stop being your friend over a _nickname_?"

He turned the color of an autumn apple, color standing in brilliant contrast to his carroty hair. "Well—well _no_ , but—"

"Then but _nothing_ , ya dingus!" I dropped the notebook and latched onto his shirtfront, dragging him down to my level to impress upon him just how serious I felt about this particular subject. The blush deepened further when I informed him, "I've told you a hundred times you're my best friend, and there's no way in hell you're getting left behind, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, I got it." He pried my hands off his shirt, looking away with a scowl, but soon he broke out in a pleased grin. "I'll find something to call you eventually, for sure. If Hiei did it, then so can I!"

"Exactly." I crossed my arms over my chest like a haughty warlord. "Now stop fussing over nicknames and tell me about what _you two_ went through. This I gotta hear from the horse's mouth." I frowned. "Mouths?"

Kuwabara chortled. Kurama smiled, too, saying, "Should you start neighing, Kuwabara? Or shall I?"

"You should since you fought first, I think."

"Logical. Very well." Kurama folded his hands, gathering himself before he began. "We entered Maze Castle through the front gate—"

Turns out Kurama was a pretty good storyteller in his own right. He regaled me with the tale of the Gate of Betrayal and his fight with Genbu with aplomb, sparing time for metaphor and description without losing the momentum of the fight. I admit I enjoyed listening to his silken voice and his adept wordplay, but when he handed the reins of the narrative to Kuwabara, the story didn't suffer. Kuwabara stood up and stomped around, mimicking Byakko's heavy gait, acting out all the parts in his section of the story using character voices and pantomime. Quite the contrast to Kurama's subdued retelling, but damn if it wasn't fucking hilarious to watch.

Hilarious—and utterly shocking.

While Kurama's fight had run nigh identically to the anime, Kuwabara's did not. In fact, his retelling of his fight ended when he overloaded Byakko with spirit energy, skipping the lava chamber round of his fight entirely. It started off with Byakko siccing some demonic cats on Kuwabara (which he defeated using a Monster Beast Donut, natch), but I did a double-take when Kuwabara ended his story with Byakko reacting to an overload of Kuwabara's energy—and skipped straight on to Hiei's fight with Seiryu.

"Wait, wait, back up," I said. "So you figured out that Byakko was absorbing your energy, you fed him a bunch of yours…and he just _exploded_ and that was it? Really?"

"Yeah! Apparently I gave him so much power that his body went nuts and panicked. Forced out most of his own power along with mine, just BOOM. Big sonic blast as all the energy left him. He _shredded_ , nearly, got all bony and skinny and just passed out." He chortled some more, looking at Kurama for confirmation. "Collapsed a lot of the castle in the process, but we made it out."

"And then Seiryu killed Byakko when Byakko reappeared in the depths of the maze, asking for aid," Kurama said.

Kuwabara nodded. "Right."

"I'm…wow." Words failed me. I sat there processing until a smile welled, excitement building high inside my chest. "Dude. _Wow_ , Kuwabara. You were a certified badass!"

His laughter sounded like rocks in a blender in the best way possible, deep and gravely as he blushed and rubbed the back of his wide neck. "Aw, shucks, Keiko. I tried my best, that's all!" He sobered to give credit where he deemed it due, saying, "Genkai's training sure did help, though. Dunno that I would've put up even half the same fight without her."

"I'm sure you still would've done great, all the same," I assured him—because it was true. He'd done great in the anime even without her help, combining ingenuity and strength to defeat opponents who perhaps outclassed him. He'd been a badass in his own right long before Genkai's training.

Now, though?

Now he was _Super_ Kuwabara.

_How fucking cool._

Kurama picked up the story where Kuwabara left off, and by the time they reached the end, I got the impression that the mission had followed the track of the anime almost exactly…though the details of Yusuke's fight with Suzaku were still unknown given his ongoing impression of Sleeping Beauty. When the story ended we discussed the probability of him waking up (and discussed a plan to prank him upon said waking, which Kuwabara in particular felt most excited about). While Kuwabara cackled at my suggestion of fake blood and Kurama laughed behind one demure hand, I wondered when I'd finally get to see all my friends together in one place, in the flesh.

That image of them together on the communicator mirror had been nothing but a tease.

The afternoon passed too quickly for my taste. As the square of illumination coming from the window climbed nearly to the ceiling, a nurse bustled into usher the boys out. Visiting hours had ended, and with them, my reprieve from the hospital's crushing isolation.

"Thank you for visiting today," I said as they gathered their things. "It was so good to see you both."

Kurama nodded, smile warm and lingering—but Kuwabara stepped between us, blocking my view of the fox demon with his bulk. His hands wrung, chiseled face pinched with nerves as he stared down at me.

"Keiko—Kurama explained some of it, but we still need to talk," he said. "I need to know how you know Kurama and Hiei. Like, properly know, y'know?"

I offered a conciliatory smile. "I know. But later." Point at the clock on the wall. "No time today, I'm afraid."

"Right," he said, reaching for the backpack he'd set by my bed—but as he hefted it over his shoulder, his eyes lit up. Setting the bag next to me on the bed, he unzipped it and said, "Oh. Here!"

I peered into the bag's depths when he opened it in my direction. "What's this?"

"I took Yusuke's Famicon!" he proclaimed, gesturing at the plastic box and tangled wires inside his backpack. "So you can play some games while you're stuck in bed."

I said nothing. Then, slowly, I raised my eyes to his and said in perfect deadpan: "You stole from Yusuke to make me happy?"

Kuwabara's smile faded. "Um…?"

My eyes welled. "Kuwabara, that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me!"

If his earlier blush had been blistering, this blush was nigh atomic. "A-anytime, Keiko," he said—and he bent to briefly hug me, arms strong and tight around my torso. He pulled away with a stammer and walked out the door, mechanical as a robot, without making eye contact. "Um. See ya! And get well soon!"

I stared after him with a sniffle, drying my eyes on the edge of my hospital gown, because Kuwabara was the sweetest damned thing in the whole wide world and I felt like a lucky child, indeed. Kurama didn't follow Kuwabara right away, lingering near the door as I grabbed the backpack and rooted through it, but he didn't say anything—not even when I glanced at him and shook my head.

"Hmm. Didn't get Dragon Quest," I lamented, though several other awesome games sat at the bottom of the bag. "I'll have to ask Kuwabara to bring—"

"You shouldn't say things like that."

My hands stilled, fingers tangled in the Famicon's power cord. Kurama stared at me with lips pursed, arms crossed over his chest like a teacher about to scold a naughty student. My brow lifted on reflex.

"Things like what?" I asked.

Kurama spoke in that clipped way he did when he was trying to say exactly the right thing, even when he knew it wasn't something you wanted to hear. "Things that could get his hopes up," he said, carefully enunciating each syllable.

For a second, I wasn't sure what he meant. "His hopes—?" I said, but then it clicked. "Oh. _Oh_!" I flapped a hand and laughed, head shaking. "Kurama, you've got it all wrong. Kuwabara doesn't _like me_!"

One red brow climbed high. "Are you certain of that?"

"Of course I'm—"

The word 'sure' fizzled in my mouth, however, before I could say it aloud.

Much though I hated to admit it…it was certainly possible Kuwabara had a little crush. Yusuke had hinted at it before, and now Kurama was saying it, and where there was smoke there was often fire. But the thing was, Kuwabara had crushed on both Keiko and Botan in the anime—and those crushes had evaporated like mist in brilliant sunlight the second he laid eyes on Yukina.

If Kuwabara had a crush on me, it hardly mattered, did it?

"Well, even if he does," I wound up saying, "it won't matter for long."

Kurama's brow knit. "What makes you say that?"

I held up one hand, little finger extended. Kurama's brow unknit and lifted high, inquiring just what the heck I was getting at.

"The red pinkie string of love," I explained, but my cheeks pinked at how ridiculous that must sound to someone like Kurama. Scratching the back of my neck, eyes cast away toward the window, I muttered, "Kuwabara is, uh…he is tied to someone else."

Kurama said, tone flat, "I don't understand."

I put my pinkie to my mouth. "Spoilers."

"…I see." Although he did not seem happy about it, he gave a delicate sigh and pressed a finger to his temple. "Well, I hope you're right." Green eyes pinned me with a cold stare. "For _his_ sake."

It wasn't often Kurama looked at me with such disdain anymore, so I admit his expression rendered me speechless. He just sighed again, however, and once more rubbed his temple.

"Apologies," he said, "for not bringing you flowers this visit. I will remedy the oversight when next we meet." He turned toward the door—and perhaps he did so on purpose to make up for glaring at me, but the cold vanished from his eyes, replaced by subtle warmth I knew better than to miss. "Be well, Kei."

I swallowed.

"You too, Kurama," I said.

The room felt barer after my friends left. It somehow felt smaller even when fewer people filled it, too, like the walls had crept close while Kurama and Kuwabara distracted me from their advance. I slid down in my bed, sling clinking and creaking as I shifted my casted leg. The backpack with the Famicon pressed into my side; my head lolled toward the sunflowers Kagome brought me, sitting haphazard in the ice bucket and water glasses, stars fallen to earth to brighten my dingy room.

"You shouldn't say things like that," Kurama had said.

But all I'd done was thank Kuwabara for the Famicon—and was that really so wrong?

I shut my eyes with a sigh, draping an elbow across my face to block out the overhead lights.

I had lived a long time, at that point. I'd been in too many relationships to mention. I knew how to separate friendship from romance, separate the love and care of camaraderie from the pull of romantic adoration. I knew how to be friends with people I found attractive, and how to keep attraction from ruining a good friendship (heck, I'd been in love with too many straight girls to not learn that valuable skill). I'd had more practice than I liked to admit compartmentalizing emotions for the good of my relationships, a skill learned from one too many heartbreaks suffered before I found my Tom.

Was Kuwabara capable of the same compartmentalization?

And, hell—was this even an issue worth dwelling on?

The Saint Beast Arc was over. The Rescue Yukina Arc barreled toward us at breakneck speed. At any moment Kuwabara could watch the mission's information video tape, and when he did, he'd forget any feelings he might have for me. He'd forget everything but the all-encompassing, fiery passion he felt for that sweet ice demon, no room left in his enormous heart for any love but hers.

He'd still value me as a friend, of course. Kuwabara was too good a person to ever stop being my friend, the way so many people ceased to be attentive friends once they found a relationship. But the fact remained that I would only have him to myself for a short while longer—and that he'd forget me soon enough.

It wasn't wrong of me to cherish the time we had left, was it?

I certainly didn't think so—no matter what Kurama had to say on the matter.

When a nurse came by, I asked her to set up the Famicon, and I played it nearly until the sun came up.

* * *

The hospital discharged me the next day, and the first thing I did upon returning home was call Atsuko. She picked up on the third ring (which was good because sometimes she didn't pick up at all) and didn't sound at all surprised when I said, "Hey. He awake yet?"

"No." A clink as a bottle knocked against the phone's receiver. "Any of you want to tell me why my son is in a coma? _Again_?"

Her wry delivery pulled both a laugh and a wince out of me. "I think it's best we leave that to Yusuke."

"Eh. Suit yourselves." Another clink as she drank. "I'll call when he wakes up, if you want. No sense in you chasing after that lay-about son of mine when you've got schoolwork."

"They shut down the school for the next week, actually, so I'm free as a bird." Administration needed time to clean the blood off the walls, I guessed. "I'll call again later."

"That's my Keiko, I suppose," she said with a raucous laugh. "Responsible to the very end."

We hung up after a few more pleasantries, and afterward I sat on my bed in silent thought, leg propped up on a pillow. Today was the second day of Yusuke's recovery-coma (so long as he stuck to the anime's three-day-coma prediction). He'd wake up sometime tomorrow, in that case.

…so what the hell was I supposed to do _now_?

I thought about calling Kurama or Kuwabara for some company, but getting in contact with Sailor V seemed much more important than hosting another social event. But I had no idea how to contact Sailor V at all, and she'd told me that _she'd_ be the one to get in touch, so—

I picked up my phone again, punching in Kagome's number from memory. Just as it began to ring, however, Mom's voice echoed up the stairs. I set the phone back in the cradle and yelled back, "Yes, Mom?"

"Keiko, honey? You have a friend here to visit you! Don't get up; I'll send them upstairs!"

I sat up a little straighter, arranging blankets over my lap and fixing the collar of my shirt. Feet pattered up the stairs two at a time, by the sound of it, light and agile instead of Yusuke or Kuwabara's normal pound. Kurama always climbed the stairs without making a sound, and since Hiei never bothered with the stairs at all, that could only mean—

My door inched open, and through the resulting crack poked a small, pale face dusted in freckles.

"Are they here?" Kagome whispered.

I bit back a laugh. Speak of the devil and she shall appear. "No. Just me."

"Oh, thank _Christ_." She scampered inside and shut the door behind her, sliding down the panel and onto the floor (before reaching back up and locking the door as a hasty afterthought, of course). She blurted, "So the worst case scenario happened sooner than we'd like, but do you think he recognized me?"

"He definitely thought you looked familiar," I told her, "but he also seemed to think it was just his imagination…but then again, he's a good actor." I grimaced, dread an icy pit in my chest. "Basically, I will live in fear of the subject for the foreseeable future."

"Oh, man," Kagome moaned, but just as quickly she perked up, speaking with nearly frantic optimism—as if pleading with me to be optimistic with her, validate her defense against her fears. "But I mean, it was 500 years ago. _500_! Even somebody as smart as him wouldn't remember the face of a girl he met just the once 500 years ago, right?"

I took a deep breath and asked, "Well… _was it_ just once?"

Kagome stilled. "What do you mean?"

"Do you think you may have encountered him again in the past?" I said. Kagome wasn't in tears, not like the last time we'd talked about this subject, and so I voiced my hypotheticals with impunity. "The you of right now has met him once, but who's to say that was the last time you saw him? Or the last time _he_ saw _you_?" Time travel, so hard to describe in words, made me shake my head. "Your future is his past, after all."

Kagome shuddered, hands threading through her thick hair. "Don't tell me that, Eeyore."

"Sorry," I said, and while I meant it for stressing her, I was glad I'd at last voiced my concerns. Much though I wanted to respect Kagome's recent traumas, we couldn't hide the hard truths forever. Time to wake the sleeping dog. "I'll let you know if he asks more questions, though."

"Yeah," she mumbled. She looked up, hands still in here hair, face grim. "And hey, sorry I didn't call before coming over today. I just couldn't stand to wait any longer." She rolled forward and darted to my bed, hopping atop the mattress like a tiger with springs for heels—but she was careful not to jostle my leg. "Tell me everything about what happened!" Kagome chirped.

"You first," I said. "V said _you're_ the one who called her."

"Oh. Well. That's sort of true." She pointed at my leg. "But I really want to hear about your ordeal before I tell you my boring bit!"

Much though I wanted to get to the bottom of Kagome's adventures, I decided to indulge her request. She listened with rapt attention to my recollection of events, gasping and cheering where appropriate, but remaining respectfully quiet of my story—until we got to Botan's entrance. At that Kagome's jaw dropped, legs kicking, flailing around on the bed as words failed her.

"A third eye?" she said, thrashing. "A third eye! _That's nuts!_ "

"You're telling me," I said. "But wait. It gets worse."

"How can it _possibly_ get worse?!"

I told her. I told her about Botan berserking, fighting the infected, and Ayame's assertion that Botan got worse when she came to save me. Kagome looked appropriately horrified, but when I told her about V showing up and taking Botan to safety, her disturbed expression faded into one of awe.

"Oh. Oh wow. She sounds like a badass, even if you didn't see her do anything…y'know. Anything impressive?" She giggled. "That's too funny. V showed up to save you and then did nothing at all!"

"Yeah. She jumped off a roof just as the infected passed out. Definitely not a stunning entrance." I crossed my arms, staring past Kagome at the wall by my bedroom door. Johnny Cash flipped me off from his poster, the same way V's anticlimactic entrance had flipped off all her heroic intentions. "But the thing is, I get this sense she's sort of a badass, even if all she did was jump in and distract the infected for all of eight seconds."

"Really?" Kagome asked. "How's that?"

"I think she's former military."

She blinked, thrown for a momentary loop. "Military?"

"She asked me for my rank and station." Uncertainty gripped me. "Those are military terms, right?"

Kagome hummed. "I think so?"

Confirmation settled some of the doubt suffusing my chest. "OK, cool. And I started to have a panic attack, too. She asked if it was the first time I'd seen combat, and she said she'd seen someone react to combat like that before."

Her eyes widened. For a second I couldn't tell if she felt scared or excited, but then she broke out in an enormous, eager grin.

"Wow," she said. "Wow, Eeyore! A badass soldier girl in the body of a pretty sailor soldier! That's amazing!"

"I also think she's not American," I continued. "She said something to me in, like, German? Or Russian? Slavic, I guess."

Kagome's brown furrowed, head tilting to one side like a dog unsure of a sound. "Is German a Slavic language?"

"Uh…I don't actually know." It was my turn to tilt my head, blink at her like a confused puppy. "Maybe?"

Kagome and I stared at one another, until she flipped to her back and threw her arm across her face, moaning, "Dammit, 1990! Give me Google or give me death!" She lifted her arm to batt her eyes and pout. "Can we please invent Google, Eeyore? Please?"

I grinned. "That's—"

Our tech-talk had to end when a knock sounded at the door. Kagome sat up, eyes meeting mine as my mother called, "Keiko? You sure are popular today—you have another visitor!"

We stiffened in unison, and I'm not sure which one of us looked more horrified. "Who is it, Mom?" I managed to say, and to my surprise my voice held steady even as I contemplated the logistics of tossing Kagome out my bedroom window.

"I haven't met him yet, actually," Mom said, "but he looks closer to your friend Kagome's age than yours."

Just as we'd stiffened as one, so too did we frown. I didn't know anyone Kagome's age but Kagome, and she looked as confused as I felt. At her I mouthed, "Did you bring…?"

But Kagome shook her head.

"Then who…?"

Kagome shook her head again.

Well, that was weird. To Mom I called, "Did you get his name?"

"Yes, I—"

Mom stopped talking. A few seconds of silence followed. Kagome's head turned in increments toward the door, concern etching lines across her forehead.

"I'm…sorry, sweetheart," Mom said eventually. "I did ask, but…I can't seem to remember it." Although she laughed, the shrill edge in her voice said she didn't find it funny at all. "Silly me. I must not have been listening too closely."

"That's OK, Mom," I said, but my stomach churned like I'd swallowed a mouthful of bees. "Don't send him up. I'll be right down."

"Oh, honey, don't walk on your—"

"I'm getting stir-crazy in here, anyway, and Kagome will help me." The aforementioned nodded like a bobble-head doll. "I'll be just a second."

"Well, if you're sure…"

We waited for her footsteps to fade down the stairs before speaking. Kagome managed to get words our first. "Who do you think…?"

"No idea." My mind roved, but the only person I could think of near Kagome's age was—

No.

Not _him_ , surely?

My internal horror must've shown on my face, because Kagome put a hand on my knee. "What, Eeyore?" she said, urgent and low. "What is it?"

I gulped. "You don't think—Hiruko?"

Kagome didn't react for a moment. Then, slowly, her hand on my knee clenched into a tight fist.

"If it's him," Kagome said, in a voice more intense and dangerous and dark than I'd ever heard from her before, "he might not leave your restaurant alive."

"…I get why you want him dead—really, I do—but please try to keep blood off the walls if you murder him in the restaurant, OK?" I mimed choking myself. "Just, like, limit his death to strangulation or something?"

Kagome's dark eyes didn't lighten a single shade—not even when she hopped off my bed, saluted, and marched over to my crutches in the corner on steps that bounced.

She helped me down the stairs in uncharacteristic silence, eyes still hard and fierce, and when we made it to the restaurant floor she scanned the patrons eating at the tables like a lion on the hunt. We took a table nearest the stairwell so I wouldn't have to walk too far. Kagome kept her hand on my back as I lowered into a chair, puffing with exertion and pain, scanning the restaurant with those intense eyes of hers.

"I don't see anyone," she grumbled.

I looked, too. Mostly middle-aged people, some elders, a few couples with little kids. No one Kagome's age, though—and certainly no little brats with pink hair and red kimonos.

"Me neither." I grabbed my crutches and started to haul myself up, grunting. "Let me go ask Mom if—"

Kagome thrust out her hand.

" _Wait_ ," she said—and she pointed near the kitchen, around the corner to the restaurant entrance.

Standing there, wearing blue slacks and a button-down white shirt, stood a boy.

He looked about Kagome's age, or maybe a year or two older—never have been good with ages, or kids, or kids' ages, so it was hard to tell. His white shirt had been freshly ironed, pants crisp and pleated, a red tie tied in a tight Windsor knot under his collar. He'd combed his short blond hair with neat strokes, posture upright and straight and natural, every inch a well-mannered little schoolboy whose mother had dressed him that morning. Nothing out of the ordinary, truth be told, except for that blonde hair—and that just meant he was _gaijin_. Not a big deal, right?

In short: It wasn't Hiruko, and I'd never seen him before in my life.

"Him?" Kagome whispered.

I sat back in my seat with a grunt. "I don't recognize him."

"Me, neither," said Kagome.

In the end, however, it didn't matter that neither of us had seen him before.

From across the restaurant, he spotted us, and he started walking.

Didn't take long to reach us, of course, and when he did he dropped into a low, tight bow—but I hardly noticed. He walked, for lack of better comparison, like Kurama or Hiei. That same purposeful stride, no movements wasted, the predatory stalk of someone accustomed to tracking prey instead of being it. A skated up my back, hair on my arms rising to swift attention.

This kid—just who the hell was he?

Not that I got a chance to ask. The kid took initiative as soon as he straightened from his bow, heels of his polished shoes snapping together with a smart click.

"Keiko. Kagome." Bright blue eyes traveled between us in turns. "It's good to see you both."

"Is it?" I muttered.

"I'm sorry, but have we met before?" Kagome said.

"Keiko and I have." His eyes settled on me. "Though you and I have only a passing acquaintance."

"…we do?"

"Yes."

I studied his face a moment, trying to place him, but nothing came to me. He looked like the most typical blonde-haired, blue-eyed kid imaginable—the kind of face you'd remember in Japan just because it belonged to a _gaijin_ , and the kind of face I wouldn't have glanced at twice in America. Even his voice was typical, Japanese fluent and clear, tone light and high and utterly, blandly typical of a kid his age.

"Sorry, kid," I said after a moment's contemplation. "But I don't think we've met."

"We met the other night," he said. At that his lips crooked, just the barest of smiles you'd miss if you so much as blinked. "I'll give you a hint: My hair was longer, and was wearing a skirt."

For a second, no one said anything.

Then Kagome said, "Huh?"

Me, though? I just stared at him, because words had become impossible to form.

Logically, it didn't take me long to realize what he meant, or connect Sailor V to the boy standing before me—but when I tried to conjure a memory of the face of the person I'd met two nights prior, the person with the long blonde hair and the flowing skirt, trying desperately to compare that face to this boy's, nothing came to me. I recalled the hair, the outfit, and the red domino mask, but behind the mask…nothing. A complete blank, fuzzy at the edges, slipping in and out of view when I tried to look at it too hard, like trying to grasp incorporeal jello with your bare hands.

I put a hand to my head.

"Oh," I said. Then I met his eyes, and I said: " _Oh_!"

Another crooked, almost-not-there smile. "Now you're getting it."

"You're—it's _you_." I stared at him with wide eyes, brain a million miles away, barely able to think past the impossible. "But—but _why can't I remember her face?"_

"Eeyore?!" Kagome grasped my shoulder as if to pull questions from my skin. "Eeyore, what are you talking about? Why can't you remember _whose_ face?"

The boy made a low 'ah' sound under his breath. One hand disappeared into his pocket, pulling from it a golden object that glimmered in the restaurant's overhead lights. The moon-shaped compact, engraved with stars and set with a bright red jewel, reflected winks of gold into Kagome's face—the face whose expression rapidly turned from shocked to understanding.

Because even if she hadn't met Sailor V yet, she'd knew enough about Sailor Moon to know a _senshi_ device when she saw one.

"So far as I can tell, this device emits an ultrasonic frequency that interferes with the brain's ability to recall faces," said the boy before us. "Specifically my face under… _certain conditions_ that will remain nameless."

His knowing not-smile had me gasping in spite of myself. "You mean, you—?" I looked the boy up and down, then up and down again, trying so hard to speak but finding myself unable. "Are you—?!"

"Oh my fucking _god_." Kagome leapt back and pointed at the boy, and said what I could not. " _Oh my god, you're Sailor V_!"

The boy smiled—for real, this time, and suddenly he looked like the Sailor Scout I'd meet two nights before.

"Yes. I am," he said, and he thrust out a hand. "My name is Minato, and it's nice to meet you properly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V is one of my favorite characters in this story, I have to say. More on V's situation next chapter. 
> 
> I don't particularly like ending the chapter here, because it makes a big deal out of something that just isn't a big deal, or at least shouldn't be a big deal, but it's too long to keep going at this point. Hope it's okay. 
> 
> There is some legit fabulous reader art on my Tumblr page. I'm still compiling a post full of links; so sorry for that delay! I promised shout-outs last week and I will try to get those assembled soon.
> 
> SO many thanks to all of you who reviewed last week. Knowing you're reading and supporting this story means the world.


	58. Are You Prepared?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which discoveries are made, and offers are rejected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: dysphoria, potentially.
> 
> There are some nods to Daughters of Destiny in this chapter, but I've avoided spoilers (though there are hints at what's to come in that story).

 

When the golden light faded, Sailor V stood before us.

Long blonde hair crowned with a red ribbon, rippling blue skirt, crimson domino mask—the same person I'd met the night before last, down to the gloved hands set proudly on slender hips. Sailor V stared through the mask at Kagome and me without flinching, regal bearing and flashy costume entirely out of place inside my mundane bedroom. We'd run (we'll, they'd run and I'd hobbled) up here the minute we realized who Minato was.

"OK," I said from my spot on my bed. I'd propped my foot up on a pillow, which seemed entirely too undignified a pose when meeting a literal superhero. "Color me convinced. You're Sailor V."

Kagome, straddling my swivel chair with arms crossed over the backrest, raised her hand into the air like a kid trying to get a teacher's attention. V looked at her and quirked a brow.

"Sorry, if it's awkward, but, um—the costume doesn't really fit your civilian image." Kagome's eyes darted sidelong toward me. "Why do you—?"

V's smile looked tight and tired. "I'm afraid I haven't quite figured out how to change this outfit. The transformation does what it will." V's feet shifted, clacking neatly together at the heel. "Observe."

Once more golden light suffused V's body, skin glowing as if lit from within by the light of some warm sun—and when it faded, the young Minato stood before us once again, wearing his slacks, starched button-up, and smart blue tie. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, trying my best to recall the face of the Sailor Scout who had only moments before stood before us. Nothing came to me, however, red domino mask dominating my memory of her features until the face behind the mask blurred into obscurity.

When Kagome gasped, I dropped my hand from my eyes.

Minato's neat crewcut had not returned along with his clothes. Instead Sailor V's flowing mane fell in a golden wave down the length of his back, unbound and silken. He reached back and lifted a lock between his fingers, granting the hair an absolutely rueful smile.

Like this, he looked like a girl wearing boy's clothes—and I almost covered my eyes again. This seemed too intimate, too personal, too potentially painful for me to witness. Not when we'd only just met.

"I'm afraid this happens every time I drop the Sailor V persona," he said, still staring at his long hair. "I have to be very careful about when and where I transform." Minato's other hand disappeared into his pocket; it emerged holding a pair of scissors. "I've taken to carrying these around just in case." Another rueful smile. "Have gotten quite good at cutting my own hair, for the most part, though I carry a hat in case an emergency chop job goes awry."

"That's…wow," I said, because what else could I say?

Kagome, true to form, had no trouble summoning words. "Not to be the one to point out the elephant in the room, but I have to ask," she said. "Your name is Minato, not Minako?"

It was like a cat spotting a dog, the way Minato stiffened. Blue eyes fixed on Kagome, and with deliberate movements he reached back into his pocket. The scissors he exchanged for a simple hair-tie, which he slipped over his wrist as he began to braid his hair in a tail over his shoulder.

"I picked it myself," he said, voice low and soft and wary—and for a moment he looked years younger than the impressive Sailor V, fingers working with artificial confidence around the length of his long braid. "Is it a problem for you?"

"Not at all," Kagome said, head shaking—and then she broke out in an easy, breezy grin. "I just don't wanna call you the wrong thing and sound like an idiot, is all."

Minato had a good poker face, and it didn't even flicker at Kagome's cheerful statement. The minute pause in his sure hands gave him away, however, as did the deep breath he took once he tied the end of his braid.

"Good," he said, and in that muttered word I detected the faintest undercurrent of relief. Shoulders now at ease, he looked between Kagome and me in turn. "Understand this, both of you. In my past life I was six foot four, in perfect physical condition, and a  _Kampfschwimmer,_ or frogman, of the  _Kommando Spezialkräfte der Marine_. In other words, I was what you might call a German Navy Seal." The German words rolled off his tongue guttural off his tone, and now he almost glared, serious expression incongruous on his young face. "I could kill a man with my  _thumb_."

Kagome, true to form, laughed at that assertion. Me, though? I didn't let it show on my face, but the statement picked up my pulse, punted it into high gear, blood coursing painfully down the length of my broken leg.

Please tell me he wasn't the type to revel in his killcount, or something.

_Please_.

"The most important factors of who I am did not change when I inherited Aino Minako's body," Minato continued. One more look at Kagome, and then at me, heavy and assertive. "Do you understand?"

I had to wonder if this was the first time he'd confessed the truth of his in his short tenure as Aino Minato—and how often his gender became an issue in Japan. I answered him quickly, pushing aside my earlier discomfort in order to comfort him. "Yeah. We understand." I offered a crooked smile. "All I've gotta say is Hiruko sure does have a knack for making stuff complicated, doesn't he?"

Minato frowned. "Who?"

"You haven't—? Oh." I let out a low whistle. "We have a  _lot_  of ground to cover."

"Seems like it." Minato flipped the braid over his shoulder, lifted the scissors, and very casually sawed at the base of the tail. "I go by Minato in this life. My pronouns are he and him, though when transformed, you may use feminine variations." The scissors made a metallic noise when they cut through the last of the hair. Braid held tightly in his fist, he shrugged. "Don't blow my cover, I suppose. I work hard to maintain it."

Kagome (in the spirit of his past, I think) flipped Minato a cheery salute. "Roger that, officer." She eyed his severed braid, which he wound around and around his hand. "Do you wanna throw that out, or something?"

"No. I have a buyer in the city. You'd be surprised at the worth of human hair." A smirk. "My buyer wonders where I so often acquire such quality hair, and at such length, but I don't think she'd believe me even if I told her."

I couldn't help but laugh. Kagome all but cackled, saying, "Cheat! You've got your own little racket set up, don't you?"

Minato looked pleased in spite of himself. Much as I wanted to hear more about his little get-rich-quick scheme, his joke about his hair had calmed my nerves, and with that calm came clarity.

"Before we dive in, quick question," I said. "Where's Botan?"

Minato's smile faded. "She's safe. Safe and sleeping."

"Unconscious?"

"No. A restful sleep, complete with REM cycle."

Relief felt like a drink of water, bracing and cool. "Good. I've been worried." Lacing my fingers together, I stretched my arms over my head and felt my knuckles pop. "But with that out of the way—how're you enjoying the Sailor Moon life?"

"Well enough." Minato shoved his hair into his pocket and turned, wandering away from me and toward the edge of my room—probably to look at the poster of Johnny Cash on my closet door. "Though it was never my thing, really."

"Oh?"

"I only watched some of Sailor Moon: Crystal. I was never a fan. That was Greta's wheelhouse."

"Greta?" Kagome said.

"My wife." He pointed at the closet. "Is this a closet, a bathroom, or a hallway?"

"A closet," I said. A beat, and then: "Why?"

"I will need the two of you to follow me. Provided you're comfortable doing so."

Kagome and I looked at each other.

I said, "Follow you…into my closet?"

Minato held up a finger. "Give me a minute."

He had pockets like the TARDIS, given the amount of crap he kept pulling out of them. Minato pulled forth four small objects, no bigger than coins and glimmering like liquid gold, which he placed on the four corners of my closet's doorframe. I squinted and managed to discern the shape of crescent moons—but before I could ask what the moon-shaped chips were for, Minato pushed open the door.

The door no longer belonged to my closet.

Past the frame, lights whirled, dappling the landscape of my bedroom with neon splats. The sounds of coins dropping into slots clanged through the formerly quiet bedroom air. The scent of dry carpet and cotton candy wafted into the room, polluting the homey smell of ramen and laundry detergent. Around the corner of the door I spotted a shape moving, small and lithe, and behind him—

Behind the kid, the Super Mario logo burned bright and red.

"Is—is that an arcade?" Kagome asked.

"Holy shit," I said. So much for Minato's pockets, because, "You turned my closet into the TARDIS!"

Minato shut the door; the lights and scents and sounds ceased. "I suppose that works as a measuring stick," he said, eyeing me up and down. "What Doctor were you on, before you came here?"

"You mean before we died?" Kagome said—and all three of us winced. She took a deep breath and continued, "Yeah. We both died, and then…here we were. In these bodies."

"Also, Capaldi as 12, and he was brilliant," I added.

"I see," Minato said. "Me too, about all of it. I had wondered." He gestured at the door. "But we'll talk more inside."

Even though the thought of walking through a portal into some unknown arcade (which existed who-knows-where in the breadth of time and space) was more than a little daunting, Kagome and I exchanged only a short look before rising to our feet. She helped me get my crutches under me and walked me to the door ahead of Minato, who stayed behind to usher us through. I braced myself before passing over the threshold, but crossing through the doorway felt no less ordinary than stepping from my bedroom and into the hall. In fact, the only real indication that this wasn't a normal door came from the humidity, of all things. My bedroom felt drier, and when I entered the arcade a wash of humid air perfumed with burned bulbs and the scent of sweat washed over my wrinkling nose.

What lay beyond the door felt ordinary, too. It was just a hallway leading to the arcade, short and carpeted and commonplace, lights of the arcade flashing at its end. We had taken no more than a three steps into it when Kagome stopped walking.

"Oh, hey! I know where we are!" she said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "This is the Game Center Crown! And that means—"

She dashed away with no further preamble, too fast for my limping gait to follow. I stared after her with a sigh; behind me Minato passed through the portal, coming to my side with a disgruntled frown.

"Wait!" he called after Kagome, but she was too far gone for that, having disappeared behind the corner of a racing game at the end of the hall just as Minato spoke.

"She has a tendency to bolt," I explained. "You'll get used to her, promise."

Rather than look reassured, Minato scoped me out, eyes traveling up and down my frame as he frowned. The scrutiny was innocent enough, but even so, pulse beat heavy in my lips and chest, thudding with needless fear (he was almost a head shorter than me, after all; what did I have to be scared of?). He said, "I admit, neither of you are what I was expecting."

"We sure as hell weren't expecting you, either, if it helps," I said, tone artificially breezy. "What'd you say you were? German?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a moment's hesitation he said, "German by birth, Polish by descent."

"Ah. Kagome and I are both American."

Minato's lips twisted. "That explains a few things."

"Oh, does it now?" I said. "What, we live up to an American stereotype or something?"

Minato flushed, looking away with expression most guilty. "We should find Kagome."

His plan was not difficult to follow, goal even easier to fulfill. Down the hall and a left turn later, I spotted her in the midst of a gigantic floor of games, standing in front of a pink and gold machine with large red and blue buttons on its console table. She spied us just as we saw her, beaming as she pointed at the screen.

"Eeyore, look!" Kagome said.

Minato's brow shot up like a rocket. "What did she call you?"

"Oh. We have nicknames. I'll explain later."

Minato did not seem placated in the least by my non-explanation, but Kagome was mimicking a palm tree in a hurricane to beckon us over and people were staring; best get over there, fast as one could on crutches. I hobbled my way to her and did a double-take at the machine she'd chosen—specifically at the blonde haired, blue eyed character painted on the side of the pink console.

"Wait," I said. A game demo played, showing a tiny Sailor Scout traversing a side-scroll environment full of cartoon monsters. The character leapt up and kicked a beast with her bright high heel, golden hair flowing in the air behind her. "Is that a Sailor V game?!"

"Yup! Spotted it a few weeks back. This is how I found V," Kagome said, jabbing her index finger at the screen as the demo ended, giving way to the game's title card. "Look at the leaderboard!"

The screen—which had displayed the Sailor V logo alongside a posing cartoon version of the person literally standing a few feet behind me (fucking  _bizarre_ )—flashed and changed, red and gold letters scrolling up from the bottom of the screen. I almost didn't bother to read them, but Kagome pointed with more vigor at the screen, so I did as she asked and scanned the roster of MVPs.

My eyes promptly bugged out of my skull at message streaming past. Specifically the message in the name section of the leaderboard, which someone had filled in with…well.

They'd fill it in with  _us_ , I guess.

_YU YU HAKU_

_KEIKO YUKI_

_KAGOME HIG_

_INUYASHA_

_SAILORMOON_

_HELLOVENUS_

_WASSUP_

"Impressive, right?" Kagome said, pointing at the high scores accompanying the letters. "I got really good at this game, lemme tell ya. If I scored even a little higher or a little lower, the whole order got messed up. Took me ages to get it right."

"…I see." I looked over my shoulder. "You were right, Minato. She spends way too much time at the arcade."

Minato chuckled, hands jammed deep in his pockets. Kagome gave an indignant squawk and planted her hands on her hips.

"Hey! It worked, didn't it?" she said. "I remembered that in the manga, Minako used the game to train, so I figured if she was monitoring the leaderboards and was one of us, there was no way she'd miss my message—but to everyone else it just looks like gibberish." She winked at Minato, then. "You lived right up to my expectations, buddy."

"You made it easy," he said. In the arcade's uneven light his hair looked more silver than gold, his eyes more black than blue. "I admit, I was shocked when I saw it. I thought I had to be hallucinating." Another of his most rueful smiles. "More people like me? Or was it some trick?"

Taken aback, I asked, "You mean—you mean you didn't suspect we existed?"

He matched my shocked expression with one of his own. "How could I? I still have no idea how you learned of my existence."

"You were in the papers," Kagome said. "Took down a mob ring, right?"

Understanding gelled. "Oh. Right. That  _would_  explain it."

"And how'd you find us in return?" I asked.

"After I spotted Kagome's message, I started monitoring the games. Eventually I recognized her as the one leaving the messages." Minato stepped close, voice pitched low under the clamor of the surrounding video games and laughing patrons. "Truth be told, Keiko, finding you two nights ago was an accident. I had no way of knowing at what part in your plot you were. There was no sign of you at Sarayashiki Junior High—and yes, I checked once I saw your name on that leaderboard. But then the call came on the radio of rioting in Sarayashiki, and they mentioned Meiou High School…"

"Two and two makes four," I surmised—but before we could go further, a kid ran over and queued up behind Kagome, waiting for a turn at the shiny Sailor V game. "Um. Got a quiet place where we can talk?"

Minato's eyes flickered to the kid, who bounced up and down on his heels and craned his head over Kagome's shoulder at the gleaming game. Minato nodded, and without a word we followed him into the depths of the Game Center Crown.

He'd made this arcade his base of operations, just as Sailor Venus had in her manga series; he knew the building inside and out, leading us through the maze of games and to a door tucked behind a dusty old shooting game no one wanted to play anymore. Through the door lay a hall, dark and echoing, and at the end of it stood another door—ordinary, made of metal like an exterior door to an alley or something. Nothing that would draw attention, that's for sure. Minato put his palm on its handle and paused, waiting for the handle to take on a faint orange glow before pushing the door open wide.

What lay beyond was anything but subtle.

The gigantic circular room, tiled all in white, looked almost like an amphitheater, concentric levels descending stair-like down to a bottom floor. A half-circle of computer panels cupped the bottom level, consoles like something from a space mission, transparent screens of flickering data and cascading numbers projected into the air above the boards of blinking buttons. A few chairs and benches had been set near the control panels; it was to these Minato led us, helping me and my broken foot down the steps and onto a plush blue couch (made of burnished white metal, very futuristic, very  _Sailor Moon_ -control-station). Minato took a seat across from Kagome and me in a high-backed bucket chair, which had been set in front of the computer console like the captain's seat on the Starship Enterprise.

"Now." He sat still and straight-backed, hands resting neatly on his knees, control panel behind him blinking like a meteor shower. "Where do we start?"

Kagome and I exchanged a Look—and then we both giggled.

Minato lifted a brow. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, just—we asked that same question the day we met," I said, gesturing between Kagome and myself.

"Where do you start with something like this?" Kagome explained. "We're all anime characters. It's like a huge crossover fanfiction nobody had any business writing!"

"Fanfiction," Minato repeated. Kagome had said the word in English; he pronounced it with heavy Japanese inflection. "I don't know the word."

"Oh. Um." I shifted in my seat, wondering how good this German soldier's English was. "Well, hey. Let's start at the start, huh?"

And so, we told him everything—everything from our respective births to the days we discovered who we were, and that we hadn't merely been reborn with intact memories. No, nothing so simple for  _us_. He listened with rapt attention to our stories, to our recollection of meeting during  _aikido_  lessons, to our current places in the many plots of this patchwork world.

"Eeyore is farthest along in her story, I think," Kagome said.

Minato looked at me at the sound of my nickname, so I said, "We gave each other our nicknames the first night we met."

"Yeah, because  _this one_  was being all mopey," Kagome said, elbow against my ribs. "'Eeyore' fit like a super morose glove."

"And  _you_  bounce off the walls, so…" I returned.

Kagome put on her very best poker face. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said—and as one we giggled.

Minato frowned, but then his expression cleared. "The two of you are friends," he said.

It wasn't a question, but then again, it was such a random (not to mention obvious) statement that I had to pause. Minato held my gaze for a moment longer than was necessary, and did mine eyes deceive me, or did he look…sad, almost?

Why the hell did have reason to look sad?

"Yeah. We are," I said. I leaned forward, unable to help it. "You OK?"

Minato hesitated. When he spoke, it came slow and soft and pondering, like even he wasn't quite sure where his words meant to venture.

"When I met you," he said, "I wondered if you were like me." Blue eyes briefly closed, lashes like soot on his cheeks. "Not just in the obvious ways, but…when I saw those traps you laid, for a moment I wondered if, perhaps, you were from my company. Another frogman I'd known before." And then that smile, full of hard regret, crossed his young face once more. "I see now that you're not."

"I'm so sorry," I said, wincing inside—because while I'd only been protecting myself with those traps, the thought that I'd gotten his hopes up cut to the core. Conscience screaming at me to make it better, I offered: "But even if I'm not what you were hoping, I hope you know you can call me a friend."

"And me, and me!" Kagome said, hand in the air. She nudged my thigh. "Think we should give him a nickname, too? Really induct him into the tribe?"

I wore the kindest smile I could offer when I looked at Minato. "Only if he wants."

I expected him to leap onto the idea, to be honest, the same way Kagome and I had cleaved to each other moment we met. Two lost souls finding each other in a huge, cold world against all odds. Who  _wouldn't_  cling to someone in that situation, forge a family where before there had been only isolation?

Instead, Minato surprised me.

He didn't hesitate a moment. Voice firm, though not unkind, he told us, "I think we had best keep this relationship of ours professional."

I blinked. "Professional?"

"Professional?" Kagome repeated. Her nose scrunched. "It's not like we're not coworkers."

Minato's ramrod posture straightened even further, if such a thing is possible. "Mixing our various fandoms seems like a poor idea," he said, clipped and rehearsed, a soldier repeating back the contents of a dossier. "As such, I believe it is best we limit our interactions when possible." His voice softened just a tad. "I understand the two of you have a close relationship, one which appears to be based on a sense of mutual support. While I appreciate your willingness to induct me into that arrangement, I assure you it is not necessary."

Neither Kagome nor I said anything. Frankly, I had no idea what to say. I started to talk, then stopped, then started again.

"That's…logical, I suppose," I said.

"Haven't you been  _lonely_?"

Minato's head whipped toward her, as did mine. Kagome stared at Minato with jaw clenched, teeth visible behind her curling lips. Upon her thighs her hands clenched, tension vibrating her arms and tightening her shoulders, small frame alive with pent-up energy.

"You were just saying," she said, "that you hoped we were part of the Kommand—the Kommando Special Mar—?"

"The  _Kommando Spezialkräfte der Marine_ ," Minato supplied.

"Yeah, that." Kagome tossed her head, hair flying, eyes like lit coals. "And we're  _not_ , which I guess sucks, but we're still in this with you. We're still regular people who got dragged here against our will. We're still  _just like you_." Her face spasmed, pain and fear and anger turning her eyes darker still. "And you said you didn't even know we existed until now, and you're what, thirteen? Thirteen years of solitude, and you want to  _keep it professional?_ Some of us don't get so lucky, finding friends all over the place. Some of us have to be alone our entire lives, and yet you're going to  _reject us_?!"

Her voice had risen with every word until it reached a feverish crescendo, echoing high and biting in the cavernous control room. Minato didn't move while she talked, staring her down with a neutral poker face that probably rivaled my own. I put a hand on Kagome's knee, giving it a light, warning squeeze.

"Kagome. Calm down." I kept my voice as neutral as Minato's blank face. "He doesn't have to be buddy-buddy with us if he doesn't want to."

Kagome's teeth gnashed. "Yeah, but—fuck,  _ugh_!"

She shoved my hand away, bolting off the couch and back up the stairs, back the way we'd come toward the door to the arcade. She didn't leave the room, merely stood by the door with her back to us, hands wound tight into her thick hair. Trying to calm down, I suspected.

And she had every reason to be not-calm just then, after what had happened on our trip to the past.

Minato had no way of knowing, but he'd just stepped on a fucking  _rake_.

"I've offended your friend."

My head jerked back toward Minato. He stared up at Kagome uncertainly, and when I caught his eye, he tried to smile. Didn't do a good job, though. I don't think he'd been expecting her to react with that much piss and vinegar.

"She went through something difficult recently," I said, keeping my voice down. "She learned something about her presence in this world that makes things like isolation a sore subject. But it's not my place to tell you about what she went through. That's something I think she'd only share with a friend—a  _true_  friend."

Minato didn't look happy about that. He was the type of guy who didn't like being left in the dark, or at least that's how he seemed to me. I wasn't about to go flaunting Kagome's pain to this guy so soon, though. Not after he'd rejected the offer of friendship, and not after only meeting him a few days prior.

We were in this together, just like Kagome had said, but that didn't negate the fact that we were still—for all intents and purposes—total and complete strangers.

"Still. She does have a point." I sat back in my seat, trying to keep my body language open and free of accusation. "All of this would be easier with support. But it's not like I can force you to be our friend."

"Thank you for understanding," Minato said. He glanced up at Kagome while he spoke. "I intend to do what I must and play my part on my story's canon, but once that part is over, I have every intention of returning to my old life. Having friends to leave behind would only make that harder."

My brow knit of its own accord. "Is it even possible to return to our old lives?"

Minato's eyes closed, pain flashing bright and raw before his lids concealed what he felt inside. When his eyes opened again, they held nothing but cool detachment, like he spoke of subjects no more personal than the weather.

"Perhaps not," he said. "Not the exact life we left behind, at any rate. But once my duty as a Sailor Soldier is finished, Germany calls me home."

How he'd manage that, I couldn't say, but… "If that's your choice, I'll respect it. Just know we're here if you need to talk, or whatever. OK?"

He nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

I got the sense he didn't mean what he said. His expression hadn't changed, hadn't shown appreciation for my offer—but it's not like I could force him to want companionship (or admit that he wanted it, at least). After one more smile I turned in my chair, looking up toward Kagome.

"Hey, Tigger?" I said. "Why don't you sit down?"

She wheeled in place, glaring at us with arms crossed over her chest—but after a moment she slumped, trudging down the stairs with head hanging low.

"Fine," she grumbled, throwing herself onto the couch beside me. Pointedly ignoring Minato, she asked, "He knows he'd get a really hilarious nickname though, right?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, he's analytical and whatnot, so clearly we'd call him 'Rabbit'—and considering his fandom, that's pretty ironic, dontcha think?"

She said "Rabbit" in English, and I admit it took me far longer than it should have to recognize the pun. When my brain translated the word to Japanese, however, it clicked, and suddenly I was a puddle of helpless laughter, arm thrown over my face as I leaned back against the couch and cackled.

"Rabbit!" I said, eyes streaming, breath coming in hard, hilarious pants. "Oh my god!  _Rabbit_!"

Minato's scowl could've cut stone. "What's so funny about that?"

Kagome looked at him askance. "Rabbit," she said with a toss of her hair. " _Rabbit_. Get it?"

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

I sat up and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. Minato stared at Kagome without blinking, trying to read the punchline in her stubbornly quiet face. The pun was obvious as heck, though, which could only mean…

"Minato," I said. "Did you only ever watch the dub of the anime?"

He didn't reply verbally, but the pang of guilt that crossed his face said it all.

"…oh." Huh; this guy's anime knowledge was even more limited than I realized. Trying to be helpful (but wary of talking down to him) I said, "Sailor Moon's name is 'Usagi' in Japanese."

It clicked at once, of course, Minato's lips twitching in a smile of humored recognition. "Usagi" meant "Rabbit," and for another Scout to bear Sailor Moon's civilian name was an irony indeed.

"Plus," I went on, "in the anime, Venus spent some time pretending to be Sailor Moon herself, so…"

That pulled a laugh out of him, finally. "Now I'm regretting turning down your offer of a nickname," Minato said.

Kagome huffed. "Damn straight you are!" She paused, but then she grinned—and she tipped Minato a wink, unable to help herself. "There's always time to reconsider. Lord knows we could use someone like you if we run into Hiruko again."

Minato smiled back, but the look faded into one of stony resolve. "This is the second time you've mentioned that name. Dare I ask to whom it belongs?"

Kagome and I shared another of our Looks, one that conveyed far more than words ever could. Her eyes had hardened at the sound of the demigod's name, mouth a line of thin aggression, so I elected to take point on this subject.

"Well, we have to get to him sometime," I said. "Minato, how much do you know about Japanese myth?"

Nothing at all, it turns out. He had never even heard of the god Ebisu, much less his ancient name of Hiruko. I filled him in on the basics as best I could, outlining what I knew of Hiruko's origin, how I'd met him, and the fact that I had no idea what his goals were. Minato didn't bat an eye when I said Hiruko had probably stolen thread from the Fates themselves, though, which I counted as a lucky break. Minato could adapt, could roll with the punches as they flew, and that was an enviable trait indeed. When I finished telling him about Hiruko's insistence that I "break the rules," he gave me a resolute nod.

"Although I wish I knew what this Hiruko was planning," Minato said, "I can only assume it isn't with good in mind. To long for such chaos isn't the mark of a well-intentioned man." A grim smile, satisfied but dark. "Too bad for him I do not intend to break the rules."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Once again he straightened in his seat, posture as rigid as it was formal. "From what I understand of the anime, Aino Minako was Sailor Venus, leader of the Sailor Scouts and sworn protector of Princess Serenity." His chin inclined a fraction, pride evident in his glimmering eye. "As I have had tactical and military training, I am uniquely suited to assume Sailor Venus's role in events to come."

"All right!" Kagome could roll with the punches too, it seemed, because she beamed at Minato without compunction, earlier quarrel forgotten (especially if it meant gaining an ally against Hiruko). "Hiruko picked the wrong damn guy, that's for sure!"

"Thank you. If he aims to take Serena off her path, I will not let him." His head rose higher, confident and purposeful. "I will protect her with my life. It's what I have been trained for."

Kagome crowed, pumping a fist into the air. I didn't cheer, however. Something nagged at me—something small, but wrong. Too wrong to just let go.

"You said earlier the anime was your wife's hobby," I said. "How much of it have you seen?"

Kagome's expression turned curious; Minato's brow furrowed, body shifting toward me in his seat.

"I admit, only parts of Sailor Moon: Crystal," he said, "but Greta spoke of the series often."

Well, that was a fat load of help, little did he realize. "I think it's easier to start with what you know," I said after a moment's contemplation. "Tell me all you remember?"

Minato did. He had a decent grasp of the start of the series, thankfully. He knew about the Inner Senshi, Mars and Mercury and Jupiter, and knew that the evil Queen Metaria had destroyed the Silver Millennium hundreds of years ago. This same queen would menace the world again soon, and it was the Scouts' job to save the world from her dark reign.

"Good start," I said when he stopped talking. "What about the Outer Senshi?"

But Minato frowned. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean."

I paused. Then, hesitantly: "Chibiusa?"

"No."

"…Wiseman and Demande."

"I don't—?"

"Did you read the Sailor V manga?"

"No," he said. He raised a hand before I could throw more names his way. "I assume these are all details I missed?"

"Yes, they are, I hate to say it, and I hope you don't take offense—but I think Hiruko picked the right damn guy, after all."

My hands trembled on my lap as I spoke, words tumbling in a mad rush of babbled dialogue. I really did hate to say it, truth be told, because Kagome's face fell and Minato adopted a look of burgeoning determination I wasn't sure I liked very much. It made my mouth go dry, made the breath hitch in my lungs as Minato appraised me.

"What do you mean?" he asked, tone uncomfortably inscrutable.

I took a very deep breath.

This could go one of two ways: Either he could listen, and absorb, and alter his thinking…or he could get defensive and tell me to get the hell out of his secret Sailor Scout clubhouse, and take my opinions with me.

I had no idea which road he'd travel.

My pulse quickened in my belly, hot and nauseating at the thought of challenging him.

The last time I'd dared question a former military operative, I'd gotten shoved face-first into a wall. But that had been in another lifetime, and I tried not to think about that asshole ex-boyfriend of mine anymore. He wasn't worth the time. He wasn't worth the heartache.

Hopefully, the man that was Minato would not be like  _him_.

Fingers crossed that I wasn't about to alienate this already distant person, or make me the target of his ire, I said, "How does the  _Maboroshi no Ginzuishō_  work?"

Minato's chin rose once again, proud he could answer me. "The Silver Crystal is a jewel of immense power. It's a weapon enemies wish to steal."

"I didn't ask what it is. I asked how it worked."

Though I tried to voice that statement gently, Minato still looked taken aback. "I—I don't know," he said, tone hushed.

Another deep breath, to quell my mounting nerves. "The Silver Crystal's power is directly tied to the emotional state of Sailor Moon," I said. "If she's emotionally unstable, sad or angry or despairing, the Crystal doesn't work as well. Emotion is the key to her power. It's the key to  _all_  of the Scouts' powers."

Minato did not reply. In fact, he didn't even move. His chest stopped rising and falling, still as his lungs caught a breath and held it tight.

"In fact," I said, "Sailor Moon was praised by critics for its positive portrayal of emotion. Emotion is generally regarded as a feminine weakness, but Sailor Moon weaponizes girls' feelings, turning them from liability to asset in what many critics deem is a decidedly feminist statement about expressing feelings."

Minato had no idea how to take that, judging by the look of absolute shock on his face—and for a moment I regretted bringing up that point at all. He had enough crap about gender on his plate without me shoving that down his unsuspecting throat, too…but the fact remained that Sailor Moon defeated Metaria, and other villains, thanks to the power of her bond with her friends.

That was the hard truth of the matter.

Military strategy would only get him so far if he didn't forge the necessary bonds to back it up.

Kagome hummed in recognition. "Right. I'd forgotten most of that, but you're right. They fought, yeah, but in the end it was their relationships and feelings that mattered more than fisticuffs."

"Exactly." I reached for her, found her hand and held it, grateful for her presence as I looked at Minato's frozen eyes. "You have military training, Minato, and that's great. I wish I had that, too. But I'm afraid that that's not what the Scouts rely on to win their battles. It's part of it, sure, but bonds of love, friendship, and trust are what give the Scouts their true strength."

Something shuttered behind his eyes. "They will be able to trust me. I know the value of teamwork. I know what it is to work cohesively."

"Teamwork isn't the same thing as friendship, though, is it?"

Minato drew himself up, shoulders straightening, mouth opening to draw in breath—but then the shutters in his gaze cracked open.

Behind them, I saw pain.

"I'm sorry," I said. He was too far away, but even though I feared how he'd react to me, I wanted to reach for him, give him a hug and ease some of the stark loneliness hiding in plain sight within his features. "I know I sound harsh as hell right now. But you haven't seen the anime much, and I don't want you caught off-guard." My smile came sad and slow, apologetic and unyielding all at once. "Protecting Usagi is going to take more than acting as her bodyguard and directing fights. Half of the Scouts' missions revolved around their friendship and character development—and the battles Usagi wins with the Crystal hinge on the love she has in her friends. Becoming the Scouts' friend will be just as important as protecting their lives."

No one spoke when I was through. Kagome stared, small fingers firm around my larger ones. Minato had stopped breathing again, hands digging into the fabric of his pants hard enough to crease their ironed pleats.

"Are you prepared for that?" I said, so soft Kagome leaned in closer to hear. "Are you prepared to make friends in this world, I mean?"

For a little while, Minato didn't speak.

Then he stood.

I flinched, but he didn't lunge for me. He simply stood, walked away, and exited the command center via the door behind us.

Kagome and I met each other's eyes. She swallowed, action audible in the quiet room. I took a deep breath and tilted my head back, stretching my neck with a pop. Tension, hot and tight, had gathered there while I hadn't been paying attention. The ceiling of the room, I noticed, was black, winking with a million points of light—a star map. One I guessed would be quite accurate given Minato's personality.

"Where do you think he went?" Kagome whispered.

I opened my mouth to reply.

Minato came back into the room.

The words soured, shriveled, and died as Minato marched smartly down the steps towards us. I tensed, neck aching as my muscles pulled taut, but Minato walked right by and returned to his swivel chair. He sat ramrod straight once more, but this time his hands didn't rest atop his knees. In them he held a pen and a pad of stationary, Game Center Crown logo stamped in black at the top. Minato scribbled something, and then he looked straight at me, young face wearing expectance like a tailored suit. Kagome tittered, eyeing the stationary in his steady hand.

"What are you doing?" Kagome asked.

"I'm setting up to be debriefed," Minato said—and the shutters behind his eyes had gone, replaced by open determination. "I'm ready when you are, captain. Teach me everything you know about  _Sailor Moon_."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strength comes in many forms. I think that might be one of the themes of this fic.
> 
> Minato is a badass for sure, but the Sailor Moon series isn't necessarily tailored for his particular brand of badass. He's going to have to change how he thinks about strength, emotion, and friendship if he wants to do well as Sailor Venus. I wanted to make it clear that while Minato is very competent with military strategy and fighting, he isn't necessarily going to be team leader of the Switcheroo Crowd. I think all the switched souls have strengths and weaknesses, and not all of their strengths will be applicable in their respective series.
> 
> I started to write a flashback scene for this chapter about an exboyfriend who was in the military, and how he could not handle any challenge or criticism of his opinion, which affects how I'd likely feel about giving criticism to Minato (and to this day affects how I behave around people in the military)…but I got a pretty bad trigger-flashback because my ex was an abusive asshole. I had to leave it out and just stick with a few little lines about it. But those moments where NQK worries about being frank with Minato spring from that ex of mine, whose military training enabled him to act violently at the slightest perceived slight, and in ways I was unable to stop. I still have trouble speaking to people in the military, and it's been years.
> 
> I know this was both late and short, but this week (insofar as my personal life goes) was…actually sort of scary. I get migraines. They're bad. They've been getting worse over the past year or so, decline remarkable and drastic. This week I got very dizzy, and remained severely dizzy and disoriented for more than 24 hours. I couldn't stand up for a good chunk of the day.
> 
> It's not often I get scared over my own health. I've shattered an arm, had two tumors removed, and endured more broken toes than I can count. When I get sick, I generally power through, but those 24 hours were actually rather terrifying. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. Paired with my dramatically worsening migraines, I admit I'm alarmed. I'm seeing a neurologist and price-shopping for an MRI (fuck you, American healthcare, for forcing me to type that phrase). I don't know what that dizzy spell was symptomatic of, but I intend to find out and kick its ass.
> 
> Thanks for the support, everyone. You're all lovely, and your comments were a bright spot in my topsy-turvy week. You had no idea how buoyed I felt by your comments, but just the same they lifted me up when I felt indescribably low. Thank you.


	59. Got My Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko plays a joke and kicks someone in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Parents fighting/fractured home life
> 
> NOTE: I'm in a terrible rush and don't have time to give this as thorough an edit as I'd like, but I will do that this evening. Please forgive the inevitable typos!

Kagome had fallen asleep, and I had grown more than a little hoarse, by the time Minato ran out of questions. He surveyed the notepad on his lap with a critical eye, quiet as I eased back against the couch and tried not to rouse Kagome. She leaned heavily on my shoulder, snoring, head nestled in the crook of my neck. I draped my arm around her shoulders and pet her thick, soft hair, motions absentminded and slow.

"This should do for now." Minato closed the book and nodded. "Thank you, captain."

He'd called me "captain" more than once over the past few hours. I didn't mind it (I'd suffered far less dignified nicknames before) but its grandiose quality felt a bit weird. I said, "Please. Call me Eeyore."

Minato eyed Kagome's sleeping face. "I confess I am still mystified at your nicknames."

"Why?"

"Keiko and Kagome are perfectly good names," he said, as matter of fact as a weather report.

"Yeah, but…they aren't  _ours_. We forgot our names when we became who we are today." I hesitated. "Did you…?"

"Yes." Blue eyes turned nearly navy, dark with uncertainty. "I forgot mine as well. I remember everything else about my life, but…"

"Everything but  _that_. Same here." I pointed at Kagome with my free hand. "Neither of us felt comfortable using a name that didn't belong to us. Not around someone who  _knew_  it didn't, in fact, belong to us. So we picked the names, and we use them when we're alone." A shrug, best as I could manage given I currently functioned as a human pillow. "Gives us something of our own to hang onto, I guess, when we have so little else of our past selves."

Navy brightened back to royal blue. "Ah. I think I understand." He put a hand to his chest. "I chose my name in this life. Or I altered Minako's name, at least. I made it my own, as did you."

"Right." Another hesitation, but my curiosity got the better of me. "Can I ask something potentially invasive and awkward? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, of course. Safeword is…um, 'swordfish.'"

Minato smirked. "Good to know. And sure. What is it?"

"Your school, your parents. What do they think of your new name?"

This was, of course, a carefully coded way of asking how he got away with staying true to being a man, despite inhabiting the body of Aino Minako—or at least a question of how he was treated by society. Japan was a conservative place compared to 2016 America. Part of me knew it was way too personal a question so early in my relationship with Minato, but he didn't react badly to it. Minato merely looked above my head, staring off into space as his thoughts gathered.

"My parents…you mentioned the anime and the manga portrayed them differently." He scanned his notepad, flipping back a page or two. "According to this, my current life follows the canon of the anime, in the sense I live alone."

I couldn't help but wince. In the anime, Minako was a tragic character, totally alone and without family. In the manga she had parents, even if she didn't have a great relationship with them. Even so, having parents of any stripe after being torn from your old life would be better than a life of loneliness, wouldn't it?

Minato must have sensed my unease, because he elucidated without prompting.

"My father travels. My mother is dead." He shrugged. "I never knew her, and I barely know him. He rarely sees me, and has no opinion of how I live my life. As for school and teachers…" At that he smirked, conspiracy in expression. "I have access to technology not of this world. Altering my records was easy enough."

My brow lifted, impressed. "So, legally…?"

"My birth certificate says male, now." He gestured at himself. "And when this body develops more, this transformation brooch will prove useful indeed. It transforms me both into Sailor V and into a variety of different forms." Another smirk. "I've experimented. It can make me look like just about anyone, changes subtle or severe as I see fit."

It was, essentially, perfect for someone who wanted to "pass"—and I got the sense that for Minato in particular, passing was the goal. I smiled, some of my worry abating. "That's awesome."

Minato nodded; I started to speak, change the subject to something less person, but a yawn rose high and round into my throat. Kagome stirred against my shoulder, muttering under her breath.

"You should head home, I imagine." Minato gave my foot a pointed look. "You're still recovering."

"We'll go in a little while," I murmured, offering him a soft smile. "We told you our stories. You're still a question mark, though, but I don't want to pry more than I have."

His brow knit. "What would you pry about?"

"Well…where's Artemis, for starters?"

At the mention of the talking white cat, who had led the original Minako through her awakening as a Scout, regret coiled behind Minato's eyes. "At my apartment," he said—but softly, like he didn't want to admit he'd left the cat behind at all.

"Does he know?" I couldn't help but ask.

"No. I haven't told him." Still, a tightness gathered in Minato's shoulder. "But I think he suspects. I'm nothing like the Venus he used to know."

"Now  _that's_  a question mark." The idea had been brewing at the back of my mind since I learned a Sailor Scout had been switched out, and now I finally had a chance to say, "V and the other scouts were all reincarnations. So you…?"

"I have no idea what I am." Minato spoke with matter-of-fact assurance, and if not knowing bothered him, he gave no sign. "I have no idea what happened to the soul of the original Venus, and if I took her place in this world. From what I recall of  _Inuyasha_ , your…Tigger, was it?"

"Yes."

"Tigger likely has similar questions, given her relationship to…I forget her name. The priestess."

"Kikyo. And we actually figured that whole debacle out over the summer break."

Minato's calm exterior crumbled just a little when he leaned toward me, intent. "Oh?"

I smiled. "The Feudal Era is lovely the time of year."

He looked impressed. "She went to the past? But she's so  _young_."

"She is. But I didn't let her go alone."

"You both—?" Minato cut himself short, chuckling under his breath. "Hiruko must be pleased, I imagine."

"Maybe. I haven't seen the little bastard in months." Thoughts of his pink hair and ever-present smile set my teeth to gritting. "Remember how I said Kagome went through trauma recently? It happened on our little vacation to this past this summer. We have our answers regarding her reincarnation…but again. She needs to be the one to tell you." A look at her sleeping, snoring, trusting face hardened my resolve, even when Minato looked less than pleased. "I'm sorry, but I can't say more without her consent."

For a moment, he did not reply. Eventually he admitted, "You're a loyal friend. I can see that now." Minato gazed at Kagome like he could read the answers in the fall of her hair. "For all the crime-fighting I do, I suspect the two of you have had far more interesting adventures than I have."

"Hey," I said, winking. "Stick with us and life's bound to get pretty exciting, right?"

I half expected him to snort, brush the overture of companionship aside, and soldier on…but the soldier in the body of a Sailor Scout hesitated, instead. He flipped through his notebook in silence, fingers skimming the words on the page like they were written in braille.

"I don't know how good of a friend I can be to the two of you," he murmured, so low I almost missed it. "It isn't…it isn't in my nature to open up."

Poor guy. I couldn't help but feel for him. If my past experiences had taught me anything, it's that emotional vulnerability didn't come easy to people who'd had to guard themselves in warzones. Didn't blame him for that, of course. It just meant becoming his friend (if he ever let it get that far) wouldn't be as easy as it had been with Kagome.

"You don't have to open up right away. Or ever, really." At that he stared, surprised by my soft words. "We'll still support you. We're in this together whether you want to open up or not."

Another glance at the notebook. "Given what you've told me about the Scouts' powers, I might have to try."

I caught his eye and smiled. "You a fan of fro-yo?"

"I like it well enough. But what…?"

"Well, Kagome and I routinely get fro-yo and rant about how hard it is to relate to teenagers when you're an old fogey inside—"

(That time Minato did snort, lips twisted with wry humor.)

"—and you're welcome to join us any time." I lifted my free hand in surrender. "No strings. No expectations. Just fro-yo and a good venting session, if you have a need for it. Here, write my number down."

He took it down as dutifully as a secretary, scribbling down his own number on a torn bit of notebook paper. Midway through the proceedings, Kagome groaned and sat up, rubbing her eyes with both hands.

"What'd I miss?" she mumbled.

I smoothed down her hair, which had fluffed in the back as she slept. "We're just planning future fro-yo dates, that's all."

"Oh. Good." Sleepiness vanished at the mention of her favorite snack. "Do you like fro-yo, Minato?"

"I like it well enough."

"Good." Arms over her head in a long stretch, Kagome yawned, sending a ripple of sympathy-yawns through the room. "Man, I'm beat. What time is it?"

"Late," I said, and I reached for my crutches. "We should head back."

"Right. Let's go!" She bounced to her feet, but before she took a step she put a finger to her chin. "On second thought, I'll take the front door and leave the TARDIS to you, Eeyore. This arcade is closer to home than your house."

"Ah, really?"

"Yup. It's deep in the heart of Tokyo…" Kagome glanced at her watch and sighed. "And yup, the last train left already." Her face paled, eyes widening beneath her fringe of heavy bangs. "Oh god. My grandpa and mom must be worried sick!"

"Well, quick like a bunny, then," I said—and I shot a glance at Minato, sheepish. "Pun not intended."

His lips twitched. "Though I appear stoic, rest assured that inside, I'm screaming."

Kagome cackled; I laughed, too, pleased when Minato smiled and didn't run away terrified from my bad jokes. When he cut a glance at the computer console nearby, however, the smile faded.

"Before the two of you leave, I have something for you," he said.

While Kagome helped to my feet, Minato headed for the computer and typed something on one of its many flashing keyboards. The transparent screens projected above the console glittered and pulsed, symbols in a language I did not recognize, and after a few moments out of the console popped a metal drawer. From this Minato lifted two pink capsules, like something from a gatchapon machine, which he brought over and handed to each of us. At his nod Kagome and I exchanged a look, then as one we opened our respective capsules.

Inside mine lay a necklace—or, more specifically, a pretty golden pendant on a gold chain. Shaped like a star with cute rounded tips, a circular stone occupied the star's center, bright red facets scintillating in the computer's blinking light.

"Press the gem three times in succession if you need to speak with me," Minato said. He took the necklace from my capsule and demonstrated; three sharp clicks, and the jewel pulsed with its own internal radiance like the beating of a gemstone heart. "Reserve the beacon for emergencies, of course."

Kagome looked thrilled, draping the chain around her neck with eager hands. "Wow! It's so pretty!"

"I'd change it to something less twee if I could, but for the time being it serves its purpose," Minato said. He held out the necklace, draping it around my neck when I bent my head for him. That done, he turned smartly on his heel and headed for the door. "Follow me."

The chain settled cool and smooth against my nape as we trailed him up the stairs and out of the command center, down the hall, and onto the arcade floor. The place had closed for the day, games dark and desolate, an unnatural quiet swathing the normally bustling arcade like the cast of some great shadow. Minato unlocked the main doors (sliding, glass, and automatic) with a key and pushed them open manually. Kagome skipped out the gap between door and frame like her namesake cartoon tiger, spinning in place to wave at us from the sidewalk beyond.

"See ya later, Eeyore," she said. Her eyes moved from me to the boy at my side and darkened. She hesitated, rocking on her heels, then sighed and shook her head. "And Minato—it was nice meeting you. Sorry I got grumpy earlier."

But he merely shook his head. "Don't apologize. The captain here told me you've been through recent stress, and that I walked right into it."

Kagome chuffed at the nickname, shooting me a rueful glance. "'The captain' is right." She banished the regret in favor of a merry grin. "I promise to tell you all about it if you buy me fro-yo, though!"

"Sure." He waved in farewell. "Safe trip home."

She saluted to Minato. "Roger that, officer!" And to me she waved. "Night!"

Kagome vanished into the midnight of Tokyo like a ghost into fog, dashing down the street toward home without a backward glance. Minato locked up after her and led me back to the TARDI door, which he opened with a push of one strong hand—on the other side lay my bedroom, dark and tidy, moonlight streaming in the uncovered window above my desk. As I passed through it, that odd change in humidity brushed against my skin, the only mundane tell revealing the laws of time and space had been bent and broken just for me.

I couldn't help but wonder how many of those same laws Hiruko had bent—and perhaps outright broken—to put us in our various positions.

"So." Turning around on crutches isn't easy on thick carpet, but somehow I managed, hanging off them with my armpits so I could kick off my shoes. "Before we shut the door on this—pun intended, this time—what's going on with Botan?"

Minato (who did not join me in my room, staying firmly on the arcade side of the TARDIS door) reached into a pocket and pulled out a metal tube, about the length of my hand and no thicker than a finger. Out of this he yanked a small metal rod; between the rod and the main tube appeared a screen, a pull-out monitor that flashed twice before filling with light and color. More Sailor Moon tech—but I did not have time to marvel.

Upon the screen I saw Botan.

"I'll call when she wakes," Minato said. "Doubtless she'll be confused."

He held out the screen, showing me an image of Botan asleep in some sort of metal cradle with a transparent dome lid, like Snow White in her glass coffin. Various symbols and ciphers scrolled across the dome, and when I caught sight of a heart monitor pulsing with a steady rhythm, I surmised they were medical readouts. Her face looked serene enough, I supposed, bangs brushed straight back over her forehead to reveal the black slit of her (mercifully closed) third eye.

So. She was safe, it seemed. Good.

But how long before she woke, I wondered?

"I didn't say this before," Minato said, "but I can page you via the necklace I gave you." He pointed at the star upon my chest. "If it lights up, call me immediately."

"Will do." It was even harder to bow on crutches that it was to turn on them, but I managed anyway. "Thank you for caring for her, Minato. And please know I'm happy I met you."

"Thank you." He bowed back. "I—"

Minato stopped. We weren't close, and perhaps we never would be, but his roving eyes and parted lips conveyed a lot of things—uncertainly, mostly, as if he knew what he should say, but had no idea how to actually speak the words.

"Don't force it," I said, tone gentle. "I was just telling another friend of mine to just let relationships evolve organically. So, please don't stress. I'm not going anywhere, and neither is Kagome."

The confusion in his eyes cleared, and when he spoke, I got the sense he meant every word sincerely. "I appreciate that." He reached for the door. "I'll be keeping in touch."

Just as he started to close the door, something occurred to me. "Oh, wait—Minato?"

The door paused mid-swing. Blue eyes raked my face, confused. "Hmm?"

"I don't suppose you've ever had any interest in taking  _aikido_  lessons, have you?"

I had the pleasure of seeing him look surprised, then—surprised and  _pleased_.

Minato and I weren't close. Perhaps we never would be.

But it turned out we had common ground, after all, that would help bridge the gap between us in ways both small and necessary.

* * *

He stood with hands behind him, rocking forward and back atop his wooden sandals. Time had not dulled the high-wattage intensity of his smile, nor had it cooled the mischievous glitter in his blue eyes. In fact, he looked exactly the same as he had the last time he visited me in my dreams—way back when Yusuke was still dead, months ago, when Hiruko and Cleo visited me together and I banished them from my head out of frustration. Red kimono, fishhook dangling from an ear, insouciant grin pulling his lips into a cheery bow, he looked every inch the boy I remembered, diminutive and lithe.

But this was not a boy to be trusted. Not after what I'd seen when Hiei invaded my head, and not after my trip to the past with Kagome, where we saw of what Hiruko was truly capable.

"Not-Quite-Keiko," he said, but only after I said nothing. "Or is it Eeyore now?"

"You are not allowed to call me that."

One petal-pink brow lifted. "Oh?"

"Only friends call me that."

"Ah, yes." His smile took on the faintest tinge of regret. "And you don't consider me one of those. I had forgotten."

I couldn't help but snort. Fat chance this puppet-master had forgotten anything. Putting my back to him, I took a deep breath and organized my spinning thoughts, shuffling and reshuffling questions in order of importance. I finally had this asshole in my grip; no way was I going to fuck this up. Before me stretched an endless field of green grass dotted with pink flowers, sky overhead shifting from powder blue to periwinkle behind a smattering of puffy clouds. Nice of Hiruko to craft this dream into something pleasant. It made getting centered all the easier, calm landscape easing the nerves fluttering in my gut.

"So tell me. How was your little soiree in the past?"

I turned. Hiruko waited, expectant, still with his hands clasped politely behind him. I put my hands on my hips and scowled, trying to affect the look of a stern teacher.

"So that's what you're here about," I said.

A nod, chipper and efficient. "It was quite alarming, seeing you vanish from an entire time period the way you did."

"Sorry to have startled you." I pivoted (my leg wasn't broken in this dream, interestingly enough) and gazed back at the gilded horizon. A distant, rising sun stained the sky there gold and violet and magenta, a technicolor maelstrom it almost hurt to look at. "And if you want to know, talk to Kagome."

It wasn't often I managed to throw Hiruko off-balance, but judging by his sharp intake of breath, I managed to do so just then. A smirk twisted both my lips and my heart. Fucking  _good_. Little prick deserved to feel uncomfortable.

"Oh, yeah," I said, tone deceptively pleasant. "We know what little trick you pulled with her. And she's going to tear you into  _pieces_  for what you did." Eyeing him over my shoulder, I shook my head. "But it's not my place to beat the shit out of you. Not even my place to scream your ear off. I'll leave that to her."

But Hiruko shrugged, voice a humored song. "Perhaps you shouldn't. Her story won't start for some time." He spread his hands as if he were helpless, which was a total joke and we both knew it. "Who knows when I'll be seeing her?"

"You little  _shitstain._ "

Even Hiruko's ever-present smile flickered at my hissed jibe, at the pure wrath radiating from every syllable. I rounded on him, fists clenching with the fury that had flared to life inside me—because how fucking dare he? How fucking dare he say something like that?

"That's just so like you, isn't it?" I snarled. "You tear people's lives apart and then abandon them like they mean  _nothing_  to you! That's what you did with Kagome and her family, what you're doing to me, what you did to  _Minato_ —!"

When he held up his hands this time, it was with actual helplessness, because my rage was the one thing beyond his direct control. "I haven't abandoned any of you," he said.

" _Then what the fuck do you call what you're doing to us?_ "

I wanted to strike the patronizing look off his face with my fist. "Now, now, Eeyore. You know I can't tell you that."

"Just like you can't tell me what happened before I woke up as Keiko, I imagine." But Hiruko didn't look guilty, or conniving, brow furrowing merely with confusion. "Hiei unlocked something, that day he went inside my head. I  _know_  you fucked with my memory, Hiruko." I stepped toward him; he stepped back, smile a ghost upon his lips. "I saw the couch. I saw meting you after I died. I saw how you ripped off  _The Good Place_. What other memories did you take from me?" When he didn't speak, I snarled, "Answer me, dammit!"

"You're stressed." He held up a hand. "Here. Let me help."

I opened my mouth to tell him he could take his help and shove it up his ass.

He snapped his fingers before I could get the words out.

And with that, we were not in the field anymore.

No fading, no morphing, no bleeding of color or evolution of shape and form. One second we stood in a field, the next we were somewhere else with a jolting shift of hue and solidity. No sky arched overhead and into the distance. Instead a white ceiling crisscrossed with elegant beams hovered above my head, a ceiling fan spinning in lazy circles through the quiet air. I wheeled on reflex, taking in the windows on the rectangular room's every wall. One bank of windows overlooked a dark, quiet bedroom, huge bed draped in white linen and velvet pillows. Behind the bed stood a set of built-in shelves filled to bursting with books, two white statuettes of rearing horses cupping the set of signed first-edition tomes on the top shelf. The other three walls looked out over riotous greenery, a caramel wood fence cupping the garden like hands cupping a whispered secret. Two robins and a blue jay splashed in a fountain in the garden's back corner, water dripping onto the purple and pink and blue cabbages at the fountain's base, and onto the face of the stone cherub watching from the fountain's top.

I said nothing. I merely turned in place, staring out the windows, eyes scouring the room's black and white checkerboard floor, the green velvet fainting couch in the corner, the wicker furniture with black cushions, and the myriad potted plants lining the sunporch's many windowsills. A chess set, brass and heavy, sat on a glass-topped table in the corner, board draped with delicate ivy trailing from a hanging planter. Next to it atop a white pedestal sat a bronze bust depicting a young woman, laurel-crowned and smiling.

Nostalgia—nostalgia and pain—filled my chest, like the garden's birdbath had spilled inside me.

If I went to the bust of the young woman and turned it over, I'd find my name written on a scrap of masking tape beneath its heavy base. And under my name I'd find the words, "This is for my granddaughter when I die, and no one else."

My Nana had bought that bust of Daphne, the tragic girl from Greek myth, when she was 26—the same age I'd been when I died.

"You don't recognize it?" Hiruko said.

"No." The rebuke came hard and sharp, a blade in the stillness. "I know where we are. Just, how…?"

"I know everything about you, Not-Quite-Keiko. And I know this is one of the places you feel most at ease in all the world."

I closed my eyes.

I hated to admit it, but Hiruko was right. My grandmother's sunporch—smelling of old books, growing things, lemon-scented cleaner, and Nana's rose perfume—eased the rage inside me like cool water on a burn.

"I know everything about you," Hiruko went on. "I know everything about Kagome, about Minako—or Mina _to_ , rather." His smile turned wistful and morose. "You think I have abandoned you. Maybe in some ways, I've done exactly that. But that doesn't mean I care nothing for you."

It felt pointless, somehow, to argue. I walked to the pale green fainting couch and sat, pulling the angora throw atop it across my lap. The blanket felt just as I remembered, silky and yet rough at the same time. Typical angora weaving. My family had raised those goats for decades.

"What do you want, Hiruko?" I said, fingers tangling in the blanket's fringed edge.

"What do you think I want?" Hiruko asked. "Cleo all but told you."

I took a deep breath, Nana's perfume homey and disturbing on my tongue. Of all the relatives I worried about, she I worried for the most—because I'd been her girl, her favorite grandchild (which she admitted freely, to anyone who'd listen). My death would have killed her, I was sure.

But now was not the time to cry, much though I wanted to wrap myself in angora and sob into this facsimile of her furniture. My eyes pricked, but I did not let tears fall.

"You took something from Cleo. From the Fates," I said. "Cleo coughed up a stone when she tried to tell me exactly what…but when I had that dream with the both of you in it, you had string. That glimmering cord you used to fight her. When she saw it, she got angry. I assume you stole…the thread of destiny, perhaps. The loom of fate, maybe." A shrug. "I don't know all the terms to describe working of destiny, so maybe my feeling is right and my words are wrong."

Hiruko's grin amped up a few watts. "Something like that."

"Just…why? Why did you take it from her?" My many questions reordered themselves, vying for answer. "What are you planning? What are you doing?"

I expected him to deny me. To prevaricate and equivocate, change the subject and shield the truth with cryptic nonsense, the way he always did.

Instead, he looked hurt.

Raw pain clouded his eyes the way a storm clouds the sea, drear polluting his crystalline vision like wine poured into water clear.

"Cleo…she said you were a lost soul looking for his place." I knew I was on the right track when Hiruko's eyes flicked down to the clawed feet of the fainting couch, away from my questing eyes. "Is that why you created this world? To make a place for yourself?"

He hesitated—but then, in a voice like a quiet wind, he said: "Something like that."

It was both an answer and not an answer, stirring my earlier ire back into being. "But why the fandoms?" I asked. "Why ask me to break the rules?" When Hiruko didn't reply, and stared instead at the bust of Daphne in the corner, I shook my head. "I don't understand. I just don't—I just don't understand."

Hiruko walked away from me, wooden sandals clicking against the tile, and approached the windowsill overlooking the garden. His hands alit on the sill like birds, as likely to stay as they were to fly. His pale face and pink hair reflected in the window's wide glass, image just clear enough for me to read the resignation in his eye.

For the first time that dream, his smile had faded down to nothing.

"You had a terrible relationship with your parents," he said. "That's why you love this place so much. Your grandmother protected you from them here."

"Why are you bringing up—? Oh." It clicked, the legend of Ebisu provided neat explanation. "You weren't so cozy with your parents, either."

He snorted. "If you call them putting me to sea in a basket as a baby 'not so cozy,' I suppose that's true enough." A long sigh, low and desolate. "You did everything you could to get their attention. But nothing ever worked, did it?"

We were no longer alone on the sunporch.

As soon as he finished speaking,  _they_  appeared—the golden-haired girl with ringlets the width of my wrist, eyes grey like polished pewter, and at her side the slender woman with eyes of the same burnished shade. Nana looked younger than she had when I last saw her, face less lined, back less bent. Instead of a short pageboy cut, she wore her hair in an intricate mass of braids woven across the base of her skull, held in place by three jeweled pins (they had belonged to her mother, and her mother before her). I'd cried when she cut her hair short when I was thirteen or so—but the girl on the floor, fingers clasped around crayons, was younger than that. My hair had turned brown and lost its curl when I turned eight, which meant…

Screaming, guttural and raw, cut the silence like a buzz saw.

The little girl's eyes—my younger self's eyes—filled with tears as the sound echoed through the bedroom and into the sunporch. Her hand paused over her notebook, the story she'd been writing stopping short at the sound of a plate breaking in the distance.

"Now, now," Nana said, chiding and warm. "You can't stop there. I want to see how the story ends."

My heart nearly broke at the sound of her creaking voice, at her cadence, the way she over-enunciated the last three words for comical effect, eyes as wide as they'd go for emphasis. Little Me nodded and went back to work, eyes still swimming, as Nana began to hum. She wasn't particularly on key, but the strain of Sinatra's "New York, New York" covered the sounds of my parents fighting like a fog covering the sun.

Another plate crashed.

Nana stopped humming.

A tear fell down the face of my past self.

"Stop it," I whispered as my child avatar climbed into Nana's lap. Nana hummed again, that same cheery tune, but it couldn't drown out my mother's shrieking or my father's returned bellow. " _Stop that._ "

"That's why Nana kept the pictures you drew, and why your refrigerator at home was bare." Still he didn't turn from the window, watching me in the reflective glass. "That's why she read the stories you wrote, and not your parents. She was the only one to ever value what you made. Your parents left you with her for months at a time, and it was the only time you ever felt like you belonged." His fists clenched on the sill, in time with yet another breaking plate. "Well, Keiko. I don't have a doting Nana like you did. I was all alone—I've  _always_  been alone."

From inside the house swam words, shrieking distinct as the screaming grew closer. None of the words were kind. Some of them concerned me, my birth a mistake my mother never should have made, my father a mistake she never should have married—and my father agreed with her, because she was a petty fucking bitch, and he should have left when he had the chance, before she popped out a kid and ruined his life.

Nana hefted my younger self into her arms, stood, and—expression thunderous—opened the sunporch door and took me into the garden, over to the birdbath and the decorative cabbages. The door shut behind her as she sang "New York, New York" aloud.

From what I remembered of that day, her voice would only cover some of my parents' fight—a fight still raging in the house behind me, screaming melding with Nana's song, the two amalgamating in terrible, disgusting harmony until I had no choice but to cover my ears with my hands.

"I said stop it!" I shouted.

But the fighting, the singing, it didn't stop. It only grew louder, gathering behind my eyes like a brewing migraine. Hiruko turned to face me with teeth bared.

"I thought you, of all my chosen, would have the capacity to understand me," he said.

My eyes squeezed shut. "Stop it, Hiruko!" The signing only reached a crescendo, though, my mother's voice a collection of harsh, wordless shrieks of pain and fury, Nana's song a desperately futile plea for peace. " _Stop it!_ "

But he did not obey. "I thought that you—"

The rest of his words blended with the cacophony of singing, of screaming, of pain and misery all rolling together, filling my chest like someone had packed me full of concrete. My teeth gnashed, my fists clenched in my hair, and the words ripped out of my gut as if pulled free on the end of a sharp hook.

"I said, QUIET!" I bellowed.

And all at once, silence reigned.

I opened my eyes.

Hiruko, hand clutched to throat, gaped at me. Nothing came out when his lips moved, and when he took two steps in my direction, his feet made no sound against the tile. Out in the garden Nana still sang, carrying child-me in her arms, body swaying in time to music…but I couldn't hear her.

From inside the dark house, the fighting had ceased.

There was…nothing.

It was, at long last, quiet.

"Well. That's. Um?" My voice echoed in the tiled sunporch. "That's interesting."

Hiruko glared at me, because apparently he found this turn of events far less interesting. One hand rose, fingers snapping (though soundlessly) and movement flickered at the corner of my eyes. Into Nana's bedroom surged two people, a man and a woman.

As soon as I saw the woman's livid green eyes and the man's purple face, I scowled.

"Go away," I said.

My parents obeyed, vanishing as if they'd never been.

Hiruko's expression of wild, shocked confusion nearly made me laugh, but I held the mirth at bay. Instead I rounded on him, holding aloft a single accusatory finger, glaring down its length like I aimed at him down the barrel of a hunting rifle.

"You  _do not get_  to conjure an image of the one place I ever felt safe, and turn it into  _that_ , in some misguided attempt at forcing me to empathize." Every word rang like a gunshot, purposeful and deadly. "You are  _not allowed_  to do such a thing."

Hiruko's mouth opened and closed, but still no sound came out. Blue eyes cast about, desperate for some escapee, some clue as to how I was doing this—but even I wasn't sure. Still pointing at him, still staring with all the imperious, righteous fury I could muster, I took a deep breath and made a wish.

At once, the windows blacked out.

The garden and bedroom through the glass disappeared into featureless black.

My wish had been granted in the time it took to breathe.

"I don't want you here," I said to the wide-eyed Hiruko. "I don't want you near me." My finger swung toward the door. "Get out.  _Leave_!"

The door swung open, blackness beyond as deep as an empty galaxy. Hiruko's body jerked backward toward the door as if pulled there by the vacuum of space, like I'd jettisoned him from the airlock, but at the last second his fingers caught the doorframe and held on tight. He clung to it and stared at me, mouth moving as he spoke his silent pleas—but like the pharaoh before Moses, I remained unmoved.

"This is  _my_  dream, isn't it?" I said. "My dream, my mind?" A wicked grin split my features, and his face reflected horror in return. "Well, buddy, I have news for you. This is  _my_  brain, and that means it's  _my_  playground—and right about now, solipsism has never sounded so good."

I strode toward him. Lifted my foot.

"Get lost, asshole," I said. "Boy, bye!"

I smashed my foot onto his hand.

Hiruko let go, and he vanished into the black.

For a moment I just stood there, silent, as in the back of my brain I felt his presence dissolve and disappear. It felt like a literal weight vanishing, someone removing a textbook from a pack I hadn't realized I carried on my back. I closed my eyes and hummed, more room opening up inside my soul as Hiruko's manifestation faded.

Once I closed my eyes, I found I didn't want to open them again. Not here, anyway. Not in this nostalgic place, one which carried as much love as it did pain.

"I don't want to be here anymore," I said. "Gimme…oh, I dunno. Oz?"

When I opened my eyes, I stood in a field of poppies, the Emerald City looming high and stately against the azure sky. The gold slabs of the Yellow Brick Road pressed firm and hard under my feet, scent of sweet flowers filling my lungs like cotton candy.

"Huh. That's neat." And because this was a dream, and because the lightness in my chest could not be denied, I spread my arms and sang, "I believe I can fly! I believe I can touch the— _eek_!"

My feet lifted off the golden cobblestones at once.

A shriek tore out my mouth, but I didn't rise any higher, didn't careen into the endless blue firmament as Hiruko had careened into the black of deep space. I breathed hard, staring at the ground below, and swallowed down my fear.

"OK," I said. "Here we go."

Flying in a dream works best when you don't think about it. It's like moving your muscles, really—not controlled by conscious thought, but propelled rather by the sheer force of your will. It didn't take me long to get the hang of it, zooming over the tops of the red and pink poppies like Matilda, gathering blossoms in my hands as I flew past. Cackling like the Wicked Witch, I gathered an armful of flowers and darted up into the sky, scattering the blossoms to the wind with a wild whoop of joy.

And then a phone rang, incongruous and shrill, and I found myself lying awake in my bed.

"Way to kill my lucid dream," I muttered, somehow wide awake. I snatched the phone from its cradle by the second ring and shoved it between my chin and shoulder. "Hello?"

A pause. Then: "You're up late, kiddo."

I knew that scratchy voice, those deadpan words ringing with an undercurrent of wry amusement. All grumpiness forgotten, I said, "Shizuru! You're back?!"

"Apparently." A low exhale, probably exhaling a cloud of smoke. "But lemme ask you something."

"Anything."

"Why the hell is Urameshi Yusuke asleep in my bed?"

In the shadows of my darkened bedroom, all I could do was laugh.

* * *

The door popped open as my mother hummed a merry tune. "Keiko, honey, are you— _oh my god, Keiko, are you all right?!_ "

I popped up like a jack-in-the-box, hands aloft and placating. "I'm fine, I'm fine, Mom, I promise! It's fake blood! Fake!  _Fake_!"

Truly, she had every right to freak out given how much fake blood I'd poured on the bandages wrapped oh-so-liberally around my head and arms. I'd even blacked one of my eyes with makeup and done a good job faking a split lip with lipliner, and I'd put my leg cast on prominent display atop a mound of pillows. I'd been lying down when she came in, head lolled piteously to one side, every inch of me posed for maximum tragic effect.

Too bad she wasn't my intended target.

"But—but  _why_  are you—?" Mom stammered.

"Yusuke's coming over and I'm going to scare the crap out of him."

Dad appeared in time to hear this explanation, and after doing an impressive double-take at my costume he threw back his head and cackled. "That poor son of a bitch!"

Mom turned and swatted him. "Language!"

"Sorry, darling! But Yusuke is in for it." Dad chortled behind a hand. "Our daughter could be a comedian!"

"I knew  _one_  of you would be proud," I grumbled, and then I slapped on a sheepish look. "I'm so sorry I scared you, Mom, but he's going to come over in the next hour or two so I thought I'd get ready early. And then I heard you coming up the stairs, so…"

She considered this, and then her face softened. "Well. I suppose Yusuke has scared you enough times in the past to deserve some payback. But sweetheart, why didn't you ask me for help?" She walked over, leaned down, and sniffed me. "Is that…is that  _jam_  on your bandages?"

My sheepishness intensified. "Yeah."

"Oh, dear." She tutted. "You know you can make  _much_  better fake blood with cornstarch and food coloring, don't you?"

I stared at her, both because she knew how to make fake blood and because, "We have food coloring in the house?"

"Of course. Leftover from those White Day chocolates you made a few years back."

Mom winked, and I cracked the hell up, because apparently giving Yusuke a good scare was meant to be a family activity. Mom and Dad scampered downstairs giggling like the co-conspirators they were and returned a few minutes later with a mug of surprisingly convincing fake blood. We exchanged my sticky, jammy bandages with clean ones and then doctored me up all over again, maniacal laughter reverberating off the walls as they helped me perfect my best I-am-about-to-die pose and facial expressions.

Soon they left, however, to go keep watch downstairs ("We'll warn you when he gets here!" my mother promised with devious glee). With that done, there was little left to do but wait. I sat up in bed and pulled out my latest notebook, opening it across my somewhat bloody lap as I uncapped my favorite pen.

Before I could start writing, however, a voice muffled by glass and distance said, "Meigo?!"

I flinched, but it was only Hiei crouched outside on the roof, white showing all around his irises as he stared. "I am scaring literally everyone but Yusuke today," I muttered, and then I waved and pitched my voice a little higher. "It's fake blood, don't freak out." A point at my cast. "Leg's a little banged up; can you let yourself in?"

He did as I asked with his brain, Jagan glowing as he opened the window lock from the inside. Clambering over the sill and onto my desk, he snapped, "I  _wasn't_  going to freak out."

"Well, your face suggested otherwise," I said, good-natured and teasing. Before he could bristle I added, "How've you been, Hiei?"

He ignored the question, looking my over with a scowl. "What happened to you?"

"Suzaku sicced the infected humans on me." I shrugged. "Broken foot and a cut up shoulder, but I'll survive."

"Hmmph. Yes. You're  _nothing_  if not  _resilient_."

It was amazing how he made a compliment sound like an insult. I brushed aside his derisive tone and chirped, "Aw, thanks Hiei! And by the way, I heard you kicked some ass against Seiryu."

"That's putting it mildly." He wore the haughtiest smile you ever did see. "I  _slaughtered_  him."

I gold-clapped. "Good show, old chap. Though I don't imagine you came here just to get your ego stroked."

His pert nose turned up. "As if the opinion of a weakling  _human_  would matter to me."

Pretending to look cowed, I opened my journal back up atop my lap. "Well, then, far be it from me to keep giving you compliments." And with that, I pointedly began to write in my journal, ignoring him completely.

Hiei wasn't the type to let that slide, however. Hands jammed in his pockets, he strode over and stared down at my notebook with a sneer. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

I closed the notebook, sighing, because would I  _ever_  get to write down my interactions with Minato and Hiruko at this rate? "I'm journaling."

"What in the world is that?"

"It's—it's  _journaling_?" The fact that he could operate a record player but didn't know what journaling was struck me momentarily dumb. "Y'know? Writing down all your thoughts and observations so you don't forget them?"

"Hmmph." Once more, he turned up his nose, snooty as a little prince. "A human invention, no doubt. A demon would never forget what matters."

"Maybe so." His supercilious act had me biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. "All I know is that it helps me."

His brow arched, disappearing beneath both bandana and bangs. "Helps you how?"

"It helps me worry less. Makes things less scary." I tapped my temple with my pen. "My brain has a way of puffing things up. Makes monsters look bigger than they really are. But if I put the things I worry about on paper, they become…small. And then they're a lot less scary." I couldn't help but grin. "Monsters look smaller in broad daylight."

"I don't understand."

Hiei's scarlet eyes, stare bold and bald and combative, bored into me with unrelenting confusion…and perhaps some curiosity, if I read him right. He knew how to operate a record player, so while he put on quite the show of disdaining humanity, I suspected he wasn't the type to reject researching them, either. To know one's enemy and all that…

"Expressing how I feel helps me cope," I said. "Helps me move on past things that trouble me. Whether it's journals or venting aloud, getting my fears and anxieties out in words makes me feel better." Once more, I tapped my temple with my pen. "My worries are really subjective in my head, too, so getting them out in front of an audience is helpful. I do it for my mental health, I guess."

For a moment he just stood there, brow furrowed, staring—and then his eyes solidified, almost, as he gave a resolute nod.

"So  _that's_  why you refuse to shut up when we eat ramen," he said, half accusing and half satisfied.

"Eh?"

"You talk and talk and talk about  _pointless_  little worries until you run out of air, not caring that I don't give a damn." Now he was all accusing, glaring at me as if I'd personally insulted him. "You do it  _every single time_."

"Well, you're a good listener, even if you don't care about what I'm saying." My smile was as sweet as peach pie, which Hiei met with a somewhat disgusted scowl (because of course he did). "Thanks for that, Hiei. I really do appreciate you."

Hiei's scowl vanished. He blinked twice—but before he could snap at me, tell me to quit being an emotional sap—my mother's voice cut the silence as it bounced toward us up the stairwell.

"Well, now, Yusuke," she said with the fakest, most overblown sadness she could muster—complete with a dramatic sniffle and an artificial crack or two,  _totally selling it_ , acting worthy of soap opera stardom. "I'm glad you're here. Poor Keiko could use a visitor, given her condition." Another sniffle, and then an overacted wail of anguish. "Our poor daughter! Who knows how much time she has left?"

"Oh, dammit!" Yusuke said. Feet slammed onto the stairs. "I'm comin', Keiko, just hold on!"

I suppressed a maniacal laugh and flopped back onto the bed, quickly assuming the I'm-dying-so-please-be-sad pose my mother and father and I had workshopped—but I cracked an eye and growled at the slaw-jawed Hiei, "Quick! Hide!"

He looked positively mortified. "Hide?  _Why_?"

"Don't fucking argue, Hiei just get in the closet or something, just  _go_!"

Hiei glared, seemingly debating the merits of obeying as Yusuke thundered toward us—but just as the door to the room burst open and slammed against the wall, he disappeared, flitting from sight so fast I had no idea where he actually managed to hide. No time to wonder, though—I heaved a heavy groan and let me head fall to the side, allowing my lashes to flutter as if the act of opening my eyes had become a heavy burden.

"K…keiko?" Yusuke stammered from the doorway.

"Yus…uke…" I muttered, and I stretched one shaking hand out toward him.

Poor sucker absolutely bought it. He gasped and dashed to me, on his knees at my bedside, gathering my hand in his and holding it to his heaving chest. Through my slitted eyes I saw figures gather in the doorway, Kurama and Kuwabara, Mom and Dad, even Shizuru standing with hands over their mouths, trying desperately not to snicker and give the game away.

When Yusuke turned his head to look at the cast on my leg, I gave everyone in the doorway a cheesy-as-hell wink.

"Keiko," Yusuke said. "You broke your—and the blood— _oh my god_." He clutched my hand tighter, peering into my face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't get to the whistle faster."

"Yusuke," I grated out, trying my best to sound pained. "Come…come closer."

That drama queen didn't even hear me, too busy muttering. "I'm going to kick Koenma's ass, I promise you, Keiko, I—"

"Closer, Yusuke," I said, a bit louder this time. "I—I can't see…!"

That got his attention, finally. He leaned in, eyes wide and horrified. "Yeah, Keiko? What is it?"

"Clo…ser…"

He held his breath and did as I asked. I waited for him to put his ear basically over my mouth to speak.

"Eat," I said.

"What was that, Keiko? Are you hungry?"

"Eat…eat a  _dick_ , Yusuke…"

He sat up.

Stared at me.

"Huh?" he said.

And then everyone in the doorway burst out laughing. So did I, in fact. I rolled to my side and howled, slapping at the mattress as Yusuke's jaw dropped. He looked between me and the others in turns, mouth working as he tried to summon words and failed.

"You idiot!" I wheezed, eyes streaming. "You big  _idiot_! You should see your face right now!"

"What the—?" he managed, and then he bolted to his feet and leveled a finger at the others. "You tricked me! You were all in on it!"

But no one answered him right away. Too busy laughing, even cool-as-a-cucumber Kurama and Shizuru unable to form words amidst the riot. Yusuke turned the color of the fake blood on my bandages and wheeled on me.

"What is that, pig's blood?" he said, snatching the bandages off my head. "It certainly suits you, old hag!"

My dad laughed loud at that. "She got you good, Yusuke, you have to admit!" Arms around each other, my parents waved and wiped their eyes. "Now we'll leave you kids to it. Thanks for the laugh, kids!"

They left, and the others filed into my room and shut the door—but I hadn't yet recovered, lying flat on my back and trying to catch my breath, giggles cresting over and over again. Yusuke stared down at me with teeth grit, but when I buried my face in my pillow, I heard his feet scrape over the carpet.

"And to think I was worried about— _is that my Famicon controller_?!"

His voice cracked on the last syllable. I lifted my face and saw him holding the controller, face purple with fury, the controller's long cord snaking from his fist to the space under my bed—the space where I'd stashed the gaming system when I got home from the hospital. But how had he seen the controller? I thought I'd shoved it pretty deep under there.

"I  _wondered_  where this went!" he said. Before I could make a quip about him caring more about his gaming system than he did me, his childhood friend, he glared and said, "What, you stole it while I was asleep?"

I pointed across the room and threw a certain someone under the bus without compunction. "Kuwabara did it."

"He did WHAT? OH, that's it!" But Kuwabara hid behind Shizuru, who rolled her eyes, and Yusuke decided he'd beat the other boy black and blue another day—because right now he had to find his precious Famicon. Glaring at me, he demanded: "Where's my game, huh? Where is it? Where'd you hide it?" He followed the controller's cord and dropped to the floor, lifting the bed skirt to peer beneath my mattress. "What, did you hide it under your— _oh my god what the fuck?!_ "

In half a second he was across the room, back against my closet door, pointing in horror under my bed. Before anyone could ask what he was yammering about, however, something rustled—and then Hiei appeared, brushing off the front of his black cloak and glaring straight at Yusuke. The others all stared, open-mouthed with shock.

"What the fuck is Hiei doing under your bed?!" Yusuke yelped.

Hiei pointed at me. " _She_  told me to hide!"

"I don't care what she did!  _You scared the shit out of me!_ "

Hiei's stare was as baleful as it was unapologetic. "Perhaps if you'd been more observant—"

Yusuke bared his teeth. "Why you little—!"

As was custom, a squabble broke out, replete with threats and headlocks and all the yelling you could ask for. Kuwabara jumped in, gleefully mocking Hiei's size ("Doesn't surprise me a shrimp like you could fit under a bed!"), while Kurama and Shizuru looked on from the sidelines, amused. The giggles caught up with me again, of course, because their antics were the stuff of legend—but then they died down, leaving me to stare at the boys (and one girl) in awed silence.

I'd finally gotten my wish, I realized.

All of my boys were here at last, together in one place.

They were all here, and they were all OK.

My boys were together at long last, and aside from Botan, everything—well. Everything had turned out OK, hadn't it?

The sensation settled over my shoulders like a blanket, warm and soft and bracing.

Everything was going to be OK.

I'd done a lot of crying over the past few days. Tears of worry, tears of sadness, tears of fear, tears of mirth. And all of them—no matter how unpleasant, or even how fun—served their varying purposes.

That day, as my eyes welled and my boys bickered, I learned that tears of happiness felt the best of all…not that that should come as a surprise to anyone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Rescue Yukina…or at least the build-up to that arc.
> 
> Just a few loose ends to tie together at this point. Namely Botan's situation, Shizuru's experiences, and Yusuke's thoughts on the Saint Beast Arc. We'll get that wrapped up in chapter 60, for the most part, and then we'll barrel on ahead to the next big case.
> 
> Also: 60 chapters. YEESH. This has been a long ride, hasn't it?
> 
> I was happy to end this chapter on an upbeat note. The boys are comedy goldmines and getting to put a twist on "Yusuke thinks Keiko is dead when he wakes up" bit was super fun. Her parents totally stole that scene, which I didn't expect, but I LOVED writing them.
> 
> Many thanks to those who reviewed last week!


	60. Good to be Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko sings some tunes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely cannot recall if Kurama knows about Keiko's aikido lessons. This fic is huge; I can't find a moment where she tells him. If I missed it and you remember it, let me know and I'll rewrite a certain bit in this chapter. Otherwise it'll be left as-is because I'm tired and hungry and just want to post this damn thing already, HAHA but not really.

The one reliably private place I could think of was a nearby karaoke booth—because we sure as hell weren't playing this enormous game of supernatural catch-up in my parents' house, no sir. The walk there took longer than normal, however, since I had to hobble at the tail end of our group on my crutches. Kurama and Kuwabara very politely hung back to keep me company while Yusuke walked backwards in front of us, hands knotted behind his head. Shizuru plowed ahead, leading the way with a streamer of cigarette smoke trailing in her wake.

Hiei, of course, had jumped out the window (literally) the minute we proposed going to karaoke, much to the ire of everyone—but that was just his style, and I tried not to mind it too much.

Kuwabara certainly didn't seem bothered by Hiei's absence. He was too busy gaping at the back of his sister's head, mouth dropped wide as she gave us a by-the-numbers rundown of her recent time away. Seems she hadn't gotten a chance to fill in her brother yet.

"You've been training with a former Spirit Detective?!" he yelped when she divulged the identity of her tutor.

"Wow, bro." A baleful glance over her shoulder. "It's almost like you want the entire street to know my business."

"Sorry, sorry." His chivalrous instincts could not be denied however. He stammered, "It's just—you could've been _hurt_!"

"Maybe." Her eyes slid to me, pointed and cool. "But maybe that's better than ending up on the wrong end of a teacher possessed by a demon bug."

I winced. "I can attest that one would not want to face a horde of those suckers untrained." I paused, struck by an incongruous observation. "Wait. You know about the demon bugs and—?"

She took a drag of cigarette, exhaling a gray plume upward. "Oh, I know all about Kazuma's little field trip. Forced the truth out of him when I came home and saw Sleeping Beauty there asleep in my bed." Yusuke squawked at his unflattering nickname, but he shut up fast when Shizuru glared at him. "And Kuroko filled me in on the big picture crap. I know about everything."

That made sense, because heck, even I'd told her quite a bit about Spirit World, Demon World, and all that associated jazz back when I explained where Kuwabara had gotten off to during his summer training with Genkai. I couldn't suppress a relieved sigh, knowing Shizuru was in-the-know about everything. Girl was a total asset to us, especially given her recent training.

Kuwabara, meanwhile, didn't appear to agree. He shoved his hands into his pockets with the poutiest of scowls (and seeing this, Kurama hid a smile behind his hand).

"She couldn't even wait till breakfast to interrogate me," Kuwabara muttered. "Flipped my mattress to get me out of bed."

"Tough tittie," said Shizuru. "I've been sleeping on rocks for weeks."

"Yeesh. Sleeping on _rocks_?" I said. "I didn't imagine Kuroko's training was a walk in the park, but…"

"It was the exact opposite of that," Shizuru said, blunt as the rocks that had formed her bed. "Final test was a walk through the woods, for a week. Had to keep up while she ran, fight the demons that came out at night. A stroll through hell, more or less." Her smirk held equal parts satisfaction and mischief. "But I have some neat tricks to show for it, at the very least."

Kurama, walking at a sedate pace at my side, said, "Care for a demonstration, Shizuru?"

"Nah." Now her smirk was all mischief. "I'll save the big reveal for a special occasion."

Yusuke was not impressed. Not breaking from his backward walk, he looked over his shoulder at Shizuru and whined, "I can't believe you met another Spirit Detective before I did!"

"I can't believe _Keiko_ met another Spirit Detective before you did." She jabbed her cigarette my way over her shoulder. "She's the one who introduced me to Kuroko."

"She _what_?!"

Yusuke wheeled, coming to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk. I swung like a pendulum atop my crutches, rubber pad at their top biting into my armpits as my fingers scrabbled around the hand grips. Probably would've tumbled off my crutches had Kurama not put a hand on my back to steady me, but Yusuke hardly noticed. He looked me up and down with mouth agape, as if seeing me for the first time all over again.

"Keiko, how the hell did you know about Kuroko?" he said. "I had no idea there were other Spirit Detectives!" Brown eyes narrowed, glittering with suspicious. "Did Koenma tell you? You're my assistant so I bet he's told you tons of things, that rat bastard."

My eyes rolled of their own accord. "Actually, no. Koenma never tells me shit. Hell, I haven't even met the guy."

"Then how—?"

"You know my fancy-ass _aikido_ lessons you love to mock?" I said, and when Yusuke looked confused I couldn't help but giggle. "Turns out my teacher is a friend of Kuroko's. Helped her with cases back in the day. Introductions happened when Hideki- _sensei_ learned I was helping the new Detective, and when Shizuru asked where you two had gone…"

"Wasn't about to let my baby bro fight demons without backup," Shizuru said. She stood a little ways away on the sidewalk, careful to aim her cigarette smoke away from our group. Eyes on Kuwabara, she said, "I've had your back since you were born, Kazuma. Really think I'd stop now that there are demons involved?"

The big guy looked touched, chiseled face melting. "Shizuru. You really—?"

This time she blew smoke directly into his face. "Save the weeping for a romcom, kid." Shizuru pointed over her shoulder as her brother coughed, cigarette aimed at a building bearing a garish neon _karaoke_ sign. "We're here."

Yusuke whooped, gunning for the door with a cry of calling the tambourine. Shizuru followed him, and Kuwabara followed her, tugging at her shirtsleeve with sappy (and adorable) comments about her being the best sister in the entire world, looking out for him the way she did, only she'd better not get hurt fighting demons because then he'd be sad (to which she replied he was an ugly-ass crier, which meant she had to stay alive to spare the world the sight of his hideous tears, to which _Kuwabara_ replied with an irate yodel, to which _Shizuru_ replied with an elbow in his ribs, and so on and so forth). I laughed and started to swing myself after them, once more glad that our group had solidified, all the canon characters together at long last—but a hand brushed my elbow and I stopped.

Kurama put his hand in his pocket, regarding me with eyes as appraising as they were amused. I quirked a brow at him. "What's up?"

He paused. Then, softly: " _Aikido_ lessons?"

"Oh. Did I not mention those?" I said, nervous chuckle tickling the back of my throat.

"You did not," he said, even-keeled as ever. "Why are you taking them, may I ask?"

Because admitting I didn't want to be utterly helpless felt wildly embarrassing, I just shrugged and adopted a flippant grin. "Gotta keep up with the rest of you somehow, don't I?"

Kurama's smile was small, yes, but warm. "I suppose that's true." A gentle incline of his chin, commanding but not pushy. "I'd like to see these lessons for myself sometime, if you'd allow it."

"Uh—sure thing, I guess?" Only if I warned Kagome not to show up ahead of time, though. "But why?"

"No reason," he replied—but the musical tint to his words, not to mention the conspiratorial glint in his eye, spoke of motives I felt certain he didn't mean for me to understand.

* * *

"…and then I saw you fall off the roof, and I managed to get mad enough to beat that asshole Suzaku with a final Shotgun—and yeah. Beat the guy's ass in one hit!"

Yusuke sat back in his seat with a grandiose grin, arms crossed proudly over a puffed chest. It was the first time anyone had heard the story of Suzaku's defeat (he ran straight to my house when he woke up, after all) and we'd listened in awed silence to the tale of daring do—not to mention a recap of my own fight with the infected, witnessed by Yusuke in all its gory glory on Suzaku's big screen. While Kuwabara winced along to the recounting of traded blows and Suzaku's devious tricks (not to mention what I'd been through at the hands of the infected), Kurama paid attention to the mentions of Yusuke's various techniques, gears and pistons working behind those green of his eyes like the unending tide of a deep ocean. Shizuru, meanwhile, just looked bored, because nothing and no one could shake her unflappable calm.

Me, though? I listened to Yusuke's story with heart lodged firmly in my mouth. Even though I'd known Yusuke would (likely) come out alive, getting a play-by-play wracked my nerves like thumbscrews in the hands of a very capable torturer.

"Wow," I said when he was through. "Just…wow." I shook my head, trying to calm the nervous pulsing of my heart. "I'm so glad you're safe."

" _Me_?" he said, peeved. " _You're_ the one who took a flying leap off the goshdarn roof of your school! How'd you even survive that, anyway?"

To stall, I took a sip of the soda I'd ordered when we rented the karaoke booth. Swirling lights from a disco ball above our heads dappled the room in rainbow colors, Yusuke's hair an oil slick in the multifaceted light. So, he hadn't seen what happened after I fell, because that's when he beat Suzaku and passed out—which meant he hadn't seen Sailor V. Good to know.

"Botan," I said by way of answer. "She flew up on her oar and caught me." I glared at my foot, which sat propped atop the karaoke booth's coffee table (and a pile of napkins for sanitation purposes). "Though _that_ still happened."

"Well, even so. From what I saw, you handled yourself like a badass." He laughed long and loud and thrilled. "You're a real chip off the old block, Grandma!"

"Really? And whose block would that be?"

"Mine! Duh! You learned from the most badass delinquent in town and it shows!" Pride as obvious as a bleeding wound made his eyes shine from within, and in response I could only preen and try not to blush. Yusuke leaned across the table and rapped his knuckled against my cast, smirking when I flinched at the sharp pain in my shin. "But man, you've been holding out on me. Why didn't you tell me you know how to make a taser?"

My eyes watered, but I managed to grin anyway. "Gotta maintain an air of mystery somehow."

"Kei is full of surprises," Kurama murmured.

"I'll say," said Yusuke. "Thought for sure she'd bit the bullet when she jumped off the roof. It was the last thing I saw before I passed out." Another rap on my shin, but he stopped when I hissed between my teeth. "Gave me quite the scare, you little brat."

"Sorry, Yusuke. It seemed like a good idea at the time." Thinking of the infected as they surged through the roof hatch, I winced again. "And I didn't have much time to think it over."

"I'm just glad you didn't go splat on the pavement," said Yusuke.

Kuwabara bounced in his seat, hand shooting into the air. "Me, too! Me, too!"

"Thanks, guys." I took a deep breath to steel myself for the hard conversation I knew we couldn't avoid any longer—and a hard conversation I needed to manipulate. "But much as I'm enjoying being the object of everyone's affection, we have to talk about Botan."

The entire room tensed at the sound of her name—expect for Shizuru, of course. She stubbed her cigarette into an ashtray at her side, scanning our dire faces with her trademark pokerface. We sat on a circular sectional couch around a low table, one wall of the rectangular room taken up by a huge TV screen. Lyrics scrolled down the monitor, bright yellow highlighted with pink, but nobody sang along to the familiar tune pumping through the speakers mounted by the ceiling. Still eyeing us, Shizuru drew a new cigarette from her pocket and lit up.

"Dare I ask?" she said. "Who's Botan?"

"Yusuke's former guide to the Spirit World—a ferry girl who shepherds souls to the afterlife," Kurama said, answer as neat and clean as his ironed white shirt. He looked to Yusuke for confirmation. "As I understand it, she helped Yusuke return to life."

"Damn right, she did!" Yusuke barked. "And she doesn't deserve any of what's happening to her."

Shizuru took the talk of resurrection and ferry girls in stride, eyebrow lifting the merest fraction. "Which would be?" she asked.

It fell to me to explain, given I'd been there when Botan had been cut by the Shadow Sword and given I'd been the last to see her at the school during the infecteds' attack. I gave Shizuru the same explanation I'd given Kurama and Kuwabara since, like them, Shizuru hadn't met Botan yet. I covered the Shadow Sword debacle (though I left out my presence in that scenario for brevity) and told her about Botan being kept in isolation, as well as the fact Botan developed her third eye when she came to Human World to help me. She listened in silence, taking slow drags off her cigarette every now and again.

When I finished, her eyes slid to Yusuke.

"No wonder you freaked when Hiei bugged out," she said.

Yusuke bristled, a low growl grinding under his breath—not that I blamed him. The minute my parents had left the room back at my house, Hiei had made a beeline for my window.

"Hey," Yusuke had said, word bearing the barest hint of an edge. "Where ya goin'?"

"Away." Hiei lifted a foot and placed it on my desk. "This is getting far too chummy for my tastes."

"Well, hey—don't worry," Yusuke said, and this time the edge in his voice could cut. "We're about to get the _exact opposite_ of chummy, Hiei. So stay."

Hiei stilled, one foot on the desk, poised to leap from the window—and then he did just that without a backward glance, flitting from view like he'd never been there at all. Yusuke bolted to the window as the papers on my desk rustled in the wind of Hiei's departure. Hands braced on the frame, he stuck his head over the sill and bellowed, "Hey, get back here you little asshole! I have a bone to pick with you!"

But Hiei did not return, and Kurama and I shushed Yusuke in unison. We were still at my house, and my parents could overhear.

In the present, face colored like a clown under the light of the disco ball, Yusuke slapped his fist into his palm. "He knew that if he'd stayed, I'd've punched his face in." His voice rose in timbre, frustrated and reedy. "You can't just do what he did to Botan and get away scot-free!"

Kurama caught my eye, then, the merest hint of worry clouding his green gaze. Yusuke was too distracted to see the subtle nod I gave Kurama in recognition. Kurama knew Hiei was meant to be our ally. It was time for damage control, stat.

"Look, Yusuke." I leaned forward, earnest, and met his grimace with a mollifying smile. "I want to hold Hiei responsible, too, but he's our ally now. We can't—"

Yusuke blinked, surprised, and his aggression faded. "Oh—I wasn't gonna _kill him_ or anything. Jeez, Keiko! I just wanted to maybe give him a wedgie and call him some names, that's all." A resolute nod as he crossed his arms, apparently more than satisfied with a wedgie as punishment for Hiei's sins. "Hiei wasn't our friend when he did that to Botan and you. I know he wouldn't do that now, but still. Gotta get some comeuppance for Botan, right?"

Even Kurama looked relieved to hear Yusuke say that, though he hid it well. Shizuru had no stake in this game and just puffed away on her cigarette, picking up the room's food and drink menu and flipping through it absently. Kuwabara, however, frowned, looking between Yusuke and I with nose quite scrunched.

"Hey, uh?" To Yusuke he said, "What do you mean, what Hiei did to Botan 'and you?' What did Hiei do to Keiko?"

My turn to look confused. I shot a glance at Kurama, murmuring "I thought you filled him in?"

He nodded. But: "I told him you and Hiei were acquainted after a previous case of Yusuke's. I spared the details, however. There wasn't time."

"Oh. Um. Well." Shoot; when Kuwabara said Kurama had told him how Hiei and I met, I thought he'd covered the kidnapping. With a shrug, voice as breezy as I could make it, I said, "It was no big deal. Hiei sort of kidnapped me and Botan to get to Yusuke, and then—"

Kuwabara was on his feet in an instant, voice upped an octave with outrage. "What the?! He _kidnapped_ you?" A fist slammed into his palm, rage now his instead of Yusuke's. "Oh, that's it, he's going down!"

"Slow down there, sport," I said, yanking on his sleeve to send him back into his seat. "It's like Yusuke said. Things were different then."

"Yeah, well, he's still a little punk in need of an attitude adjustment, doing to you what he did!" Teeth ground in his carved jaw. "I oughtta—"

"My honor doesn't need defending, Kuwabara." I settled into the couch with a coy smile. "And I've got Hiei handled."

"You do?"

"Yup." I inspected my nails with manufactured detachment. "He's easily persuaded if you have the right incentives. Which I do."

Kurama shot me a sidelong glance. "And what 'incentives' might those be?"

"It's a secret." I thrust my nose into the air, prim as a girl from finishing school. "Like I said: Gotta maintain an air of mystery somehow."

Kurama didn't look like he wholly approved, lips pursed, eyes critical. Meanwhile, Kuwabara looked like he wanted to be sick, and Shizuru looked like she didn't give a crap (because, _Shizuru_ ). Yusuke rolled his eyes at me with a snort. He knew my tricks better than anyone; I'd coaxed him into doing my bidding with promises of food as reward one too many times for him to not get the joke.

"OK, OK, enough about Hiei," he said. "What do we do about Botan?"

The others sobered at once. Kurama said, "Finding her takes top priority, I should think."

"Agreed, and I don't even know the girl," Shizuru said.

"Yeah, Kurama's right." Yusuke grimaced like I'd just asked him to hand in his homework on time. "And I know just the demon who can get the job done."

"Think Hiei will even want to help?" Kuwabara grumbled. "You said he's our ally, but that little twerp…"

"Oh, he'll help, all right." Yusuke's feral grin made even me shudder. "We'll _make him_ help."

"I doubt it will have to go that far," Kurama said. He sat with legs crossed, hands cupped around the higher of his knees, back straight and posture authoritative. When Yusuke's eyebrows rows he clarified: "Much though Hiei can be cutthroat, he possesses an honor code—one he seems to have reclaimed in recent months." Green eyes flickered in my direction. "I doubt he'd shirk taking responsibility for his actions now."

"Not that I'd give him a choice, but yeah, I see your point," Yusuke said (Kuwabara looked totally skeptical, though, miming barfing behind Kurama's back). Nigh conspiratorial, Yusuke asked, "Grandma, think you could use your 'incentives' to get Hiei's help?"

"I'll see what I can do," I said.

He nodded, and then I think he considered the conversation closed, because he picked up the nearest songbook and thumbed through it, looking for a karaoke track to sing. I tried not to let relief show on my face, but it was hard. The conversation had gone well—better than I'd hoped, actually. Much though I wished Hiei had stayed, stuck around to bond with everyone, it was good he'd left when he had. If he helped us find Botan, and Botan was still with Sailor V, that'd be a _hellacious_ mix of fandoms. I felt badly about lying and keeping V from my friends, but it was for the best, right?

…right?

Trying not to feel guilty about my many secrets, I grabbed my glass of soda and raised it. The others quieted, all eyes at once on me—and oh shit, maybe this was a bad idea, after all. Spotlights weren't my strong suit.

"Well, gang," I said, swallowing my nerves as I lifted my glass a little higher. "To all of us. For making it out alive."

They raised their glasses and chorused back, "For making it out alive!"

We drank as one—and for the next few hours of karaoke, drinks, and catching up, it felt good to be alive, indeed.

* * *

Close to closing time, I stood up and headed for the door of our private karaoke booth. Yusuke and Kuwabara caterwauled to a Megallica song, competing to see who could outshout the other. Only Kurama noticed I'd moved, Shizuru too busy cackling (and chucking cigarette butts at her brother and Yusuke) to notice me.

"Do you need something?" Kurama asked, red hair dyed utter black in the dim booth.

"Bathroom," I said, and he let me go without further inquiry.

The bathrooms lay at the front of the establishment, next to the reception desk and behind a big swinging door, which provided quite the obstacle thanks to my crutches (I'd begun to hate them most sincerely, especially when out in public). On my way out of the bathroom, an attendant at the desk stood up, craning his neck to watch the spectacle of my exit. I balanced all my weight on the crutches and pushed the door open with my good foot, cackling as I swung through the swinging door like Indiana Jones dodging traps in some ancient temple.

"Hey there," the attendant said as I shuffled past. "You need any help?"

He offered _now_? Too late, buddy. But to keep from being rude I opted for a neutral, "Nah, I got it. But thanks."

I headed around the desk, but the guy—a bit older than me, with a pierced ear and trendy clothes—looked me up and down. I knew the look, shoulders tensing even before he asked, "You with the big group in room seven?"

I hated that I smiled at him on reflex (because you never knew which dudes could or could not handle rejection, nor which ones would try to give you hell for it). "Yeah. Room seven.

"Cool." A lazy grin, another sweep of appraising eyes. "How old are you?"

"Too young for you, I'm afraid."

"What?" He put a hand to his heart, barb not slowing him down in the slightest. "I'm only seventeen!"

"Like I said. Too young."

"Aw, c'mon. Just one date?"

"Sorry. But you're a handsome guy. You'll be fine without me, promise."

But he remained undeterred—although I got the sense he wasn't upset at the rejection, just passing the time by flirting, which was better than the alternative. Nothing worse than a guy who couldn't handle rejection. "What, you already got a boyfriend?" he said with a bright laugh.

I shook my head. "Nope."

"There's a guy you like, then?"

"Nah, nothing like that. I just don't date."

"Pretty girl like you?" he teased. He leaned his elbows on the upper riser of his desk. "Why's that?"

"Personal policy." I shrugged. "Life is way too hectic to focus on relationships."

"If you say so." He winked. "But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

I laughed, though I didn't really want to. "Sure thing. Good luck!"

"Thanks!"

He didn't give chase as I limped around the corner and started down the hall, back toward the karaoke room, and for that I was grateful. I was also grateful to find Kuwabara, Yusuke, and Kurama standing just a few feet down said hall. They stood in a lose knot, hands jammed in pockets, looking for all the world like the most oddball delinquent squad on the planet.

"Oh, hey!" I said, careening to a halt. "What's up?"

They exchanged a Look, all three of them, which was honestly kind of concerning.

"Not much," Yusuke eventually said. "Just decided we could use the bathroom, too, is all." But his eyes hardened. "Was that guy giving you trouble?"

"You heard that?" I muttered, scowling as I started hobbling anew. "Nah. Just an overeager flirt, is all. Nothing I can't handle." They moved to let me pass. I said, "See you guys in there."

A chorus of "see you laters" followed me down the hallway, as did an utterance of my name. A glance over my shoulder revealed Yusuke and Kurama walking away, Kuwabara hanging back and staring at me. He hesitated when our eyes met; my brows lifted.

"What's up?" I said.

"Ah—" But whatever he meant to say, he appeared to think better of it. A wry smile crossed his features as he said. "Never mind. It's nothin'."

I frowned, starting to press him to just spit it out, c'mon man, we're friends—but he turned and skulked off down the hall, hands jamming back into his pockets like they'd done him some personal wrong.

For a minute, I just stood there.

Then I went back to room seven, because I wasn't sure what else to do.

* * *

Two nights later, Hideki- _sensei_ stood before me on the sparring mat, surveying my casted leg and the bandages edging above the neckline of my karate _gi_ with face utterly devoid of expression. His hair looked silver in the dojo's harsh floodlights, glinting with almost as much frost as his gray eyes. Kagome stood off to the side of the sparring mat while she put on her shoes and stretched, and while she did a good job of not looking directly at us, I could tell she was trying to eavesdrop (though she also kept her eyes on the door to the dojo; I knew why, and I'd let her handle that little wrinkle if it came up). Not that Hideki was saying much to overhear, of course. He just _stared_ , eyes as brittle and biting as flint.

I gulped.

He scowled.

"I'm sorry, sensei?" I ventured, unsure if he'd appreciate an apology or just find the sentiment annoying.

The latter, it seemed, because his scowl deepened. "Apologize to yourself, not to me." A tired wave of a tired hand. "The fight. Describe it."

I did so. By the time I finished, he looked grudgingly impressed—which honestly surprised me. I waited on pins and needles to get berated, but he just sighed and ran a hand through his long hair.

"Not bad for your first fight," he said.

I blinked like an owl caught in a floodlight. "I'm sorry?"

"This was your first fight. Your first of note, anyway." His head tilted to one side as he surveyed me again, cataloguing the damage done to my body in light of the fight's details. "Facing multiple enemies, defending an untrained friend. Those are handicaps. And at the point of the night in which you were cut, you had been fighting for a while. To come out with bruises and merely one stab wound…" He shook his head, clucking between his teeth. "You did well, all things considered." And then his eyes turned stony indeed. "But you also got lucky, lucky child."

Kagome couldn't keep from butting in at that point. "Maybe it was skill that got her through?" she ventured, and when Hideki looked her way, she turned her back on us with an 'eep!' of fright.

"Some skill, some luck," Hideki said. "Luck is sometimes just as important." He lifted a hand, pointing first at Kagome, and then at Ezakiya standing over by the warehouse door. "You two, _katas_." The hand extended down to me. "You, come here."

While Kagome and Eza got to work (Kagome shooting me concerned glances all the while) Hideki helped me stand and get my crutches situated before leading me off to the side of the dojo, over toward a couple of wooden crates I had long ago assumed been left over from whatever this place had been before Hideki converted it into his personal training ground. Turns out I was wrong, because from one of the crates he pulled a big wooden board painted like a shooting target (big black outline of a person, with point values at various vital spots) and a rolled-up length of canvas that clinked when he lifted it into his arms. Which was….well. Ominous, I guess? He leaned the wooden target-board against the warehouse wall, grabbed a folding chair from the stack of them by the dojo's door, and gestured for me to put the knee of my bad leg atop the seat. The chair acted like a prosthetic, almost, letting me put my weight on it instead of my foot.

Before I could ask what dubiousness we were about to get up to, Hideki unrolled the canvas with a snap of his wrist.

The canvas was covered in knives.

Sleek silver knives, handles painted black, of various shapes and lengths and weights, all held fast to the canvas by small elastic strips. Hideki plucked one of the smaller ones free and—in a movement so fluid it looked almost supernatural—hurled it overhand at the target.

The knife buried itself right in the middle of the painted person's face.

He turned back to me and waited for me to pick my jaw off the floor before speaking. "You should be trained in ranged weaponry, anyway. With your leg like that, now's the time." He pointed at the target. "Aim there. Throw like this."

He forced a knife into my hand, walked me through the motion a few times, demonstrated a few more whip crack throws, and set the knife-covered canvas on the chair next to my knee.

"Go," he said, and he walked off to train the others.

Across the dojo, Kagome's astonished mouth snapped shut with a clack of startled teeth.

Knowing failure to perform would result in some form of punishment (maybe situps or pushups since I couldn't run laps?) I picked up my first knife—the first knife of the many, _many_ I'd throw in the coming weeks—and got to work.

* * *

By the time practice ended, my arm felt like it had caught fire.

Correction: My _arms,_ plural, felt like they'd caught fire, because Hideki insisted I learn to throw with both hands.

Kagome regarded me with pity as I struggled atop my crutches, arms like jello as I used them to cart around the weight of my lead-heavy body. She walked like a snail so I could keep up, huffing and puffing after her like an out of shape wolf chasing a fairy tale pig.

"Think you can make it all the way home?" she asked, halfway teasing and halfway serious.

In response I could only glare, because I had not the breath for a clever retort.

Kagome insisted on walking me home that night, even if my laborious gait might make her miss the final train of the evening. She epitomized patience when she recommended I sit on a bench to recuperate and rest, even though we still had quite a bit of journey ahead of us. Still, I said yes and collapsed, letting her blot my sweaty forehead with her sleeve when my noodley arms wouldn't cooperate.

"So," she said as she blot-blot-blotted away my perspiration. "Minato didn't show."

"Nope." The word came out in a pathetic wheeze. "I guess he really did mean it when he said he didn't want to be friends."

"That sucks," she said, sighing. "And you said he seemed excited to join us, too."

I didn't say anything—because I was still having trouble breathing, and because Minato had indeed looked pleased when I invited him to _aikido_ with us. I mean, training certainly had seemed up his alley. He'd even said he'd be there, give it a shot, gave his _word_. And he didn't seem the type to break his word, which meant…I wasn't sure.

All I knew is that I'd have to give him a call in the next day or two and check in. I could still worry about him even if he didn't want to be our friend.

"I kept looking at the door all night, waiting for him to walk in." Kagome sighed, pressing the back of her wrist to her brow. "How horrible it feels, to get your hopes up only to find them dashed upon the rocks of despair!"

She threw herself onto the bench next to me with a moan.

"Drama queen," I said, and I rolled my eyes. "Now help me up. We gotta get you on that train in time."

She hauled me to my feet and kept up a chipper stream of chatter on the rest of the way home, talk only ceasing when we reached the end of my block. She stopped walking and popped a smart salute.

"Well, captain. Think you can make it home from here?"

"I should be able to manage a block on my own. See you next week?"

"For sure!" Kagome whirled on her heel and danced off down the sidewalk, waving over her shoulder. "See ya next week!"

"Bye!"

I watched her go until she disappeared around a corner, crossing my fingers that she made it home on time. Few people wandered my parents' street this time of night, mostly drunk businessmen and the occasional gaggle of young adults from a nearby college out on the party prowl—though it was only Thursday, but I suppose the weekend starts early for college kids. I passed a group of them, tipsy and stumbling, and grinned to myself. I'd been the same way at their age. Heck, my 21st birthday had fallen on a Tuesday, so my friends and I bought a bottle of whipped cream vodka and mixed it with pineapple juice the morning before a midterm. That philosophy paper had been a wild ride, as I recalled. I chuckled as I entered the alleyway running alongside my parents' business, caught in the grip of reminiscence. Man, that paper had referenced _Lion King_ and _Bladerunner_ , right? Marrying a take on particularist ethics with a take on personal agency and—

Something ahead of me moved, a flash of molten gold amidst the dinge and dark.

I stopped moving, the rubber tips of my crutches scraping gummily across the pavement, shoulders and back tensed up at the sudden flash of color. Ahead of me, under the glare of the single overhead light in the alley, the restaurant's side door swung open. I relaxed at that, mouth opening to greet what would surely be my mother or father—but instead gold flashed again, and I fell quiet.

From the dark of the door stepped Sailor V, blue and red and resplendent in her crimson domino mask.

"I apologize for not making it to _aikido_ ," she said. She ('she' in her hero form per Minato's request, I reminded myself) took three steps forward, facing me with hands perched on hips. "Something came up."

I said, "Something came—?"

Said someone else, "Keiko?!"

"Oh?" I blinked—and when blue flickered in the doorway, I gasped. "Oh! _Botan_!"

She ran from the door at full tilt, and at the last second I tossed aside one of my crutches so I could throw an arm around her. Its metallic clatter didn't quite mask the sound of her buried sob, tinny accompaniment as she buried her face in my neck, arms tight around my chest, clutching at me like I could save her from drowning in a cold, dark ocean. I clung to her right back, of course, hand traveling from her shoulder to her waist to the fall of her soft hair just to make sure she was real.

"Oh, Keiko." Her voice shuddered into my neck, breathy with tears. "I was so worried!"

" _You_ were worried?" I said. "Ha! You're one to talk, sleepyhead!"

She hiccupped and pulled away, hands still on my shoulders but far back enough to meet my eyes. We drank in the sight of each other's faces in unison, and when we both asked "How are you feeling?" at the same time, we collapsed into (perhaps slightly hysterical) giggles. She touched her forehead, careful not to disturb her bangs—which fell in a straight curtain across her brow, not parted and curled in the middle like she'd worn before. Her hands shook, touch nervous and tentative.

"I feel like _myself_ ," she said, emphasis clear. Her mind was hers, not the bloodthirsty monster's I'd seen the week before. But her face spasmed, eyes welling with tears. "Keiko, I'm so sorry about what happened. I saw my blood and I just—"

"Hey, it's OK," I said, smiling as she sniffled. "We'll get this all sorted out, I promise. Trust me."

"I do. I _do_ trust you." She nodded and scrubbed at her eyes, composing herself before she gestured over her shoulder. "So, um. This…person…said she's a friend of yours?"

V's mouth twitched at Botan's hesitant wording—and when I looked at her, it was difficult to see Minato behind the mask. His demeanor completely changed as V, though the hidden smile felt familiar. Damn V's masking technology, handy as it was for Minato in his daily life and V in her pursuits as a superhero.

"Botan, this is Sailor V," I said. "She came to help us during the incident at the school." I smiled, sunny and brilliant, hoping Botan would be as dazzled by V's presence as Amagi had been. "She's a superhero."

"Really?" Botan stared, staring at V with interest. "A real superhero?"

V popped up a victory sign, holding it over her mask in her trademark pose. "That's right. I'm the guardian of love and justice, Sailor V!"

"I knew Spirit World would take you back, so she agreed to hide you," I explained.

Botan paled, and then she looked grateful, and then she paled again. "Oh. _Oh_." Taking a deep breath, she dropped into a bow aimed at V. "Thank you, Sailor V. I am truly in your debt."

"No debt required. It's my duty as a hero to aid those in need," V said, every inch the cheerful, upbeat hero she'd been the night she saved me. She reached into a pocket sewn into her skirt (wow, that short thing had pockets?) and pulled forth a tiny gold box tied with a red ribbon. "Before I forget—Botan, this is for you."

Botan looked to me for support, and when I nodded and gave her an encouraging smile, she took a timid step forward and lifted the box off V's palm. She tugged the red ribbon away and flipped open the box's lid with hesitant hands—but the hesitation evaporated when she saw what lay inside, eyes lighting up like magenta lanterns.

"Look, Keiko!" Botan said, thrusting the box toward me.

I craned my neck to see. Inside lay a pair of earrings on a cloud of white satin, gold studs in the shape of stars. Botan cooed over them, simple and pretty as they were, but I shot V a look with a quirked brow.

"Thought she might have a little trouble walking around with her new feature," V said. When Botan looked up, frowning, V smiled. "Try them on."

Another look to me for confirmation, and Botan put the earrings in her ears (lucky thing she had them pierced, I guess). They glimmered against her pale skin like stars fallen on a snowy field, brilliant against the powder blue of her hair. Nothing happened, however, so we just stood there blinking at each other—until V cleared her throat, reached once more into her pocket, and drew from it a compact mirror. Botan took it, opened it, and lifted it to view her earrings, smiling at their golden sheen.

Then she did a double take, gasped, and shoved her bangs aside with one shaking hand.

Her forehead looked as smooth and blank as a drift of newly fallen snow, her newly acquired eye nowhere in sight.

"What?" Botan sputtered. She rounded on V with wide eyes. "What? But? But _how_?"

"Cloaking technology," V said. She pointed at Botan's forehead. "The eye is still there, and you can feel it if you touch it, but those earrings will hide it from the naked eye."

"Pun intended?" I said.

It was V's turn to do a double take. Eyes rolling she said, "You really do love your puns."

"It's my mortal weakness." Since Botan was much too stunned and much too busy staring at her empty forehead to speak with any degree of coherence, I did my best to bow atop my single crutch. "Thank you, V."

Botan remembered her manners with a start. "Yes, thank you. Thank you so much!" She dipped ten bows in quick succession. "This is—this is amazing! _You're_ amazing! Where did you come from, Sailor V?"

V struck a pose, cheesy but totally fitting. "When a hero is needed, one shall appear!" she said, and then she dipped a frilly western-style bow of her own. Her eyes met mine through the holes in her red mask. "Alas, my time here runs short. Keep in touch, captain."

"Roger that," I said.

Botan looked into the mirror again, too (understandably) entranced by the sight of her forehead to realize V was about to make her exit. Before V walked back through the door to her base, however, she stepped toward me and closed one gloved hand around my elbow.

"I can keep prying eyes away," she said, voice low and lacking V's exuberant, affected pizazz, "but you should move Botan, and quickly, when I'm gone."

"Right." I needed to get Kurama's Spirit-World-spy-disrupting seed from my bedroom first chance I got. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," she said—and with a final wave at Botan, who had finally torn her eyes away from her reflection, V walked through her TARDIS portal and vanished from our view. Botan ran over and wrenched the door open for one final "thank you," though, and stood there blinking at the inside my parents' restaurant in shock.

It took a minute, but eventually she gathered her wits and turned my way. "Keiko, it's ever so good to see you and I'm sorry to get serious so soon—but 'Captain?'" She searched my face, confused. "You two seem awfully familiar."

"Fighting hordes of infected bug-people will do that, I guess." Hoping that would be enough to satisfy her, I kept speaking. "But we need to—"

Botan was not so easily placated. "What do you know about her, Keiko?" she said. "What do you know about that hero? I woke up only an hour ago, but she has technology and powers I've never seen before—and I never heard of her in Spirit World, even when Koenma still considered me his right hand! She didn't balk at my third eye, either." Guileless and curious, yet brow knit with critical inquiry, she stared straight into my eyes and placed her hands on her hips. "Keiko, where did Sailor V come from?"

Processing, I stared at her. I'd wondered at the intersection of Spirit World and the galactic scope of the Scouts, but it honestly surprised me that they hadn't crossed paths (so far as Botan knew, at least). More importantly, however, it felt like Botan was still doing her job even though she and Spirit World aren't on the best of terms—and that was so utterly, perfectly, adorably _Botan_ I couldn't help but smile. I hoped the smile looked more confused than affectionate when I said, "You've really never heard of Sailor V?"

"No. I haven't." Sadness weathered her determined jaw, making it quiver. "But I suppose I've been out of the loop for some time now, haven't I?"

My heart near about broke at that. "I'm sorry, Botan," I said, reaching for her hand. She squeezed my fingers, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry it all went down this way."

She took a deep, shaking breath. "Part of me wants to go home, back to Spirit World. But…"

"Not if they intend to isolate you like that again," I said.

"Right." She shivered, wrapping her free arm around herself. "I couldn't handle that a second time, I think. So I suppose the question becomes…"

"…what do we do with you now?" I finished.

We stared at one another, gazes equally uncertain, both of us unsure of how to grapple with that boding rhetorical question.

A rhetorical question that someone _answered_ , voice floating from the alley's darkness like silk on a damp wind.

"I believe I can answer that," Ayame said, and the reaper—the last being either of us wanted to see that night, for reasons both obvious and chilling—materialized from the shadows like a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (TV announcer voice/the voice of Jorge Saotome:) "Keiko thought she had more time to spirit Botan away after V's departure, but with Ayame waiting in the wings, it seems Botan might be spirited off to Spirit World, instead. Have we regained Botan only to lose her once more to Koenma's misguided clutches? Find out on the next episode of Lucky Child!"
> 
> I had way too much fun writing an episode outro like you hear at the end of the anime episodes.
> 
> Had a three-day migraine this week, hence this chapter's late posting. Will let y'all know if I make headway on fixing the migraine issue. So far no progress.
> 
> Thinking of writing another very short chapter and posting it tomorrow or Monday, but we'll see. It'll probably end up too short to be a full weekly update but I like this cliffhanger too much to keep going. No promises, though; please stand by.
> 
> Your reviews made a painful week bearable. Thanks to all who chimed in with their thoughts over the past week. You're awesome and you should feel awesome.


	61. If Anyone Can, It's You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ayame shows her true colors, Yusuke has feelings, and Hiei hates feelings.

The moment—taut as molten glass pulled from the depths of a cooling forge—held for far longer than it had any right. I hopped sideways on my crutch, free hand fanning between Botan and Ayame. Botan stared at Ayame with hand pressed over her mouth, knees trembling in the quiet night air.

My hair stuck to my neck and face, and not because the night was humid.

"Botan," I said, her name a growl in my throat. "Botan, get inside."

Magenta eyes flicked toward me and then back to Ayame. "I'm not leaving you."

I went on like she hadn't spoken, thoughts a whirlwind, planning next steps as fast as I could. "There's a little silver jewelry box on my desk. Take it," I said, because it contained the seed that could hide her from prying eyes like Ayame's and  _oh my god how the fuck did she find us so fast?!_  "And look in my phonebook and call Kurama—and call Yusuke, too,  _now_."

"Keiko—!" said Botan.

At the same time Ayame said, "There's no need for this, Keiko."

Words bubbled like magma beneath a tectonic plate. "Like hell there isn't," I snarled. "I won't let you touch her. Now, Botan. Go."

"But Keiko—"

" _Now_!"

With one last, desperate look at Ayame, Botan obeyed and vanished into the restaurant. Ayame wore a bitter smile as the door fell shut, eyes somber as I swiped my other crutch off the ground and positioned myself between her and the door. I was a piss-poor barrier, but at least I was better than nothing.

I wasn't letting Ayame take Botan without a fight.

"You really didn't have to send her away," said Ayame.

"What, and let you take her back to Spirit World?" I said. I tossed my hair with a snort. "How'd you even find us, anyway?"

"I've been on high alert for Botan's energy signature since her escape. Naturally I'd keep watch on your home."

"Right. Spirit World and their spies." Summoning my most heated glare, I asked, "So tell me this, Ayame. You planning on dragging Botan back to Spirit World yourself? I'd hate for you to mess up that pretty kimono."

A slow shake of her dark head. "I'm not here to drag Botan back, Keiko. I'm here to warn you."

At that I could only snort again. "Warn me? What am I, stupid? Like I'm really gonna believe  _you_?"

The barest flash of annoyance wrinkled her pale brow. "I meant what I said in the hospital. Botan's treatment was a misstep, one I do not wish to repeat."

"Ayame—is that true?"

I cursed as Botan's voice drifted through the door to the restaurant, and I cursed again when that door swung open. Botan stood on the stoop and stared at Ayame, eyes watering like she'd plucked them fresh from a saline bath. Clearly she hadn't obeyed me at all, eavesdropping from just inside the door like…well, that's a move I'd expect from Yusuke, really. Ayame smiled at her, but I just cursed a third time and swung toward Botan with a clack of crutch against concrete. "Botan, get back inside."

"Ayame, is Jorge OK?" she said, not bothering to look at me. Her eyes welled even more. "I tried to be gentle, but…"

"He's fine, Botan," Ayame assured her. "How are  _you_?"

"I'm good." She swallowed, swiping a thumb across her powder blue bangs. "Scared, but…"

Her feet carried her forward. I lurched in front of her with a shake of my head.

"Botan,  _don't_ ," I said.

She blinked, and then her tears dried all at once. Her ponytail flew when she shook her head. "No, Keiko," she said, resolute as a revolution. "If Ayame says she's not here to take me back, I believe her."

"You believe—?!"

"Ayame trained me." Fire lit her eyes, magenta nearly emitting sparks. "She showed me what it means to be a ferry girl. She wouldn't lie to me. We're  _friends_." And then the tears returned as she looked at Ayame, lip trembling as she spoke. "Even if she made a mistake before, I know she wouldn't hurt me on purpose."

Ayame wore the softest look I'd ever seen from her, pale face melted like snow in sunlight. "You have always been the kindest of the ferry girls," she said. "When I saw what this had done to you…" Her eyes lit on Botan's forehead, smile tinged with regret and sorrow. "I worried that kindness might not survive, but…I am happy to have been proven wrong."

There was no stopping Botan when she burst into tears, darted around me, and threw herself at Ayame with a cry. Ayame wrapped her billowing kimono sleeves around Botan and held her tight, pressing her face into Botan's shock of brilliant hair. "Oh, Ayame!" Botan wailed into Ayame's chest, but Ayame only stroked Botan's back and murmured comforts I couldn't quite hear.

I, of course, had no fucking idea what to do and stood there staring like an idiot until Botan's sobs turned to sniffles, and until then her sniffles to wet hiccups. She pulled away and beamed into Ayame's face, although her lips still trembled. Ayame swept Botan's bangs from her forehead with a smile and inspected her brow, eyes narrowing in confusion at the bare flesh there. What the hell was Ayame doing here if not to take Botan back? She said she'd been waiting here and keeping watch for Botan, but—

Wait.

" _I_  kept watch," I said.

Botan started, like perhaps she'd forgotten I was there, but Ayame only lifted a brow.

" _I_  kept watch," I repeated. "That's what you said.  _I_  kept watch. Not  _we_." I looked around for emphasis. "Ayame. You're here alone, aren't you?"

Her chin inclined. "I am."

Suspicions confirmed, in that case. Which begged the question, "Does  _he_  know you're here?"

Botan frowned. "He? Do you mean—" she looked to Ayame "—do you mean  _Koenma_?"

Ayame nodded, slow and intentional. "I do mean Koenma. And no, he doesn't."

Much though I wanted answers, Ayame didn't give them. She slipped her hand into Botan's and squeezed, gazing at her fellow ferry girl with understanding eyes. Eyes that promised gentleness and sympathy, and not the cold calculation I had grown so used to seeing in her dark gaze.

"May we take this inside?" Ayame said—and because my curiosity is undeniable, I led the way upstairs.

* * *

Seeing a grim reaper in Japanese formal wear sitting atop my bed felt absolutely  _wild_ , but I tried my best not to stare as both ferry girls settled in. I heaved myself atop my swiveling desk chair and propped my casted foot on the bedframe. Botan looked nervous, fiddling with the hem of her sweater, but her eyes stayed focused and clear as they rested on Ayame. Clearly Botan felt we could trust her—though I wasn't so certain just yet, not even after our moment of connection at the hospital a few days prior.

Even so, despite the trust she felt for Ayame, Botan had questions. She was too sharp to have nothing to say.

"You said Koenma doesn't know you're here, Ayame," Botan said, "but I know you well enough to know you're loyal to him.  _So_  loyal. That's why you're our leader."

Ayame nodded, hands folded neatly on her black-clad knees. "Koenma does not know I'm here. Nevertheless, this meeting has his blessing."

My eyebrows shot up. Botan shook her head. "I don't understand. How can that be?"

Ayame's dark gaze slid toward me. "I told him what we talked about that night in the hospital. In the end, he agreed that Botan's treatment was unacceptable—but he felt that way before you raised concerns."

I scoffed. "Seriously? If that's true, why did he allow her to be kept in insolation for that long? If he knew it was wrong—?"

"He knew. But Enma- _daio_  held another opinion."

Although Ayame spoke with the detached air of a refined noblewoman, all gracious and poised and soft of voice, the very absence of emotion in her words said quite a lot. It said she sought control in this situation—because if she lost it, I'm sure the results would be quite unflattering. At once puzzle pieces clicked, falling into place and aligning to form a picture I hadn't even considered. When I saw what they depicted, I slapped a hand to my forehead.

"Of course," I said. "Why didn't I see this before?"

Ayame shot me an approving look, barely visible and yet distinct, but Botan spoke first. "King Enma himself wanted me locked away?" she said with a strangled gasp. "But why?"

"He felt it the most prudent option, even in light of your unfailing loyalty to Koenma, given the severity of your condition," Ayame said—and once again, her robotic response felt like a study in negative space. In the act of saying little, Ayame said so much.

And what she said, or didn't say, made sense. Enma brainwashed demons on the regular. Of  _course_  he'd want to lock Botan away now that she didn't play the part of a docile little ferry girl—and at this stage in the game, Koenma would be powerless to protest. He wasn't meant to rebel against his father until after Chapter Black. He hadn't uncovered his father's misdeeds yet, which meant he held none of the capital necessary to overthrow the current monarch.

Koenma was stuck.

And I'd bet my left buttcheek Enma was counting on that to get his way.

"Maybe it was  _especially_  in light of Botan's loyalty," I said.

Botan frowned even as a flicker of recognition sparked in Ayame's eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Kings often fear the rise of their progeny. Just take a look at history." I waved in the vague direction of Yusuke's house, myself, Botan. "Koenma has a new Detective, loyal ferry girls, more responsibilities…maybe this was a pull for power on Enma's part. Or a reminder of who pulls the strings, at least."

Botan gaped. "He wouldn't!" She pivoted on the bed, grasping at Ayame's sleeve. "He wouldn't Ayame, would he?"

Ayame said nothing. Her long and measured stare, as emotionless as a statue, revealed nothing.

And that nothingness, in and of itself, told me everything—as did her utterly political response, as calculated as the life's work of a brilliant mathematician.

"It is not my place to comment on the affairs of my superiors," she said as if reading from a script. "I am certain my small mind could not fathom the workings of my betters."

I had to laugh, while Botan stared at Ayame with uncertainty painted across her face. Ayame waited a beat for those words to sink in, as if hopeful someone might overhear and report them back to Enma in Spirit World. Soon she turned to Botan, however. Her hand alit on Botan's knee; Botan blinked at it and met Ayame's gaze with the tiniest murmur of question.

"I come with a message," Ayame said. "Koenma has placed me in charge of finding you. He will not look for you himself, as he is much too busy to attend to such a trifling matter. The only things he will report to his father are the things I tell him."

Botan nodded, expecting more—but I just snorted, and Ayame stopped talking to look at me.

"Well," I said. "That's certainly clever of him."

"Hmm?" said Botan.

"He's engineered himself some plausible deniability," I said, "and that's good for him, but it puts  _you_  at risk, Ayame."

Ayame demurred, lovely face tilting toward her lap—and yeah, OK, she totally knew what I was talking about. Botan, however, appeared quite lost. She looked between me and Ayame in turn, blue hair lashing like a flag.

"Plausible deniability? Risk? What risk?" Botan repeated. "I don't understand."

"I mentioned loyalty earlier," I said. In dry tones I said, "It's a wonder Enma hasn't come after  _you_ , Ayame. "

She smiled, bland but firm. "I am prepared to deal with Enma- _daio_  should he change his mind."

"Are you?" I pressed. "The wrath of a king isn't to be taken lightly."

"Agreed." Her already perfect posture seemed to straighten. "But I fear the disappointment of princes far more."

I gasped. It was quite the declaration, small though it seemed, but it flew right over Botan's head. She threw up her hands and said, exasperated: "Will someone  _please_  tell me what's going on?"

Ayame demurred once more—which meant she was leaving the dirty work to me. Great. Let's see if I got all this right.

"Koenma's turning a blind eye to you, Botan, and on purpose," I said. If my hunch was correct, these were the things Ayame could not say. "He can't tell his father what he doesn't know."

Botan stared at me, processing—which didn't surprise me. Botan was no liar. She had trouble keeping secrets per anime canon; understanding deception wouldn't come naturally to someone so kind. I was, of course, intimately familiar with lying by omission, and by manipulating the technicalities of semantics. I knew full well how to speak in half-truths, how to keep from lying without ever giving away my secrets.

Technicality.

Lying was all about manipulating the technicality—and I got the sense Ayame's mastery could put mine to shame.

Botan's eyes lit up soon enough, though, meaning clicking into place. "Oh. I get it now! He's delegating the work to Ayame, and she'll keep things from him to protect me, but he won't know about it! And that keeps him safe, and it keeps me safe, too!"

"Exactly. If Enma learns Ayame is hiding you, Koenma won't get in trouble," I said. "Ayame's in charge, after all, and anything Koenma knows will have come through her. If Enma realizes you're roaming free in Human World, Ayame will take the fall. Koenma's protecting you, and so is Ayame—but she's the one bearing the greater risk." I couldn't help but shake my head, chest rumbling with irritation (Botan looked like she didn't know if she should be touched or appalled). "There he goes again, risking his loyalists. Did Koenma put you up to this, Ayame?"

Ayame said: "It was my idea."

She spoke plainly, simply, too elegantly to be lying. I stared with my mouth open for a minute, jaw shutting with a clack of teeth.

"Are you really that loyal to him?" I asked, voice more hushed, more  _awed_  than I intended.

"I am." A minute raise of her head, proud but subtle. "He does not place faith in me blindly, just as I do not blindly place faith in him. Or in you, Keiko."

I blinked. "Me?"

"You're at risk, too, if you agree to hide Botan."

I hated that Ayame was right—but it's not like I'd let that stop me. I shrugged, a quip about not being afraid of King Enma on my tongue (I'd died before so death wasn't a big deal, and surely he was too busy to deal with the likes of little old me, anyway) but Botan put a hand to her mouth, horrified.

"Keiko, she's right!" she said, and she was on her feet and heading for the door. "I can't stay here. I can't stay with you, and I can't go back, and I—"

I shoved away from my desk, rolling chair sending me careening after her. I snagged the edge of her shirt with my fingers and said, "Botan, calm down!" A desperate look toward Ayame for backup. "I'm assuming you have a plan?"

"Of a sort," she said, and like a charm Botan stopped to listen, attention rapt and eyes wide. Ayame cleared her throat and angled herself toward us. "Much though King Enma wishes for Botan's return, he is too preoccupied with more pressing matters to attend to her capture. In short: We have time."

"Time to what?"

"Time to prove Botan is an asset and not a liability," Ayame said. "If she can prove herself here, then—"

"Wait, wait, wait," I said. I spun in my chair, pointing my good foot at Ayame in accusation. "The last time we talked, just days ago, you said Botan needed energy therapy. What's 'proving herself' got to do with that? Is energy therapy just  _not a thing_  anymore?"

Botan perked up, nodding so hard I feared she'd give herself a concussion. The nodding stopped when Ayame donned a regretful smile, one that spoke of incoming Bad News.

There it was. There was the catch. I knew there had to be one. This was Spirit World, after all.

"Over the past few days, we've analyzed her condition." She took a breath, hesitating for the merest of stolen moments. "We think she is past the point of therapy curing her of…her new addition."

Botan's eyes widened. "You mean—"

"Yes, Botan. I believe that in the act of coming to Human World, this change to you has been made irreversible."

Ayame spoke like the personification of ripping off a band-aid, quick and searing and to the point. Botan didn't understand, however. She just stood there, staring, until I couldn't help but reach out and lace my fingers through hers. At my touch she came back to herself, startling like a deer hearing a gunshot.

"I don't—" she said.

Ayame said nothing. I remained quiet, too. Eyes locked on Ayame, Botan rocked in place on her heels, back and forth like a kid on a seesaw—and then her lips began to quiver, and then she was crying. Wet, meaty sobs filled my quiet bedroom, but Ayame moved before I could even think to react. The sleeves of her kimono flowed like the wings of a bat as she rose from the bed and enveloped Botan in a hug, shushing the sobbing ferry girl as she broke down.

"What even am I?" Botan cried. "Not quite a Spirit, but not a demon, just—just both?  _Neither_?"

"You're you, Botan," Ayame said. Understated ferocity crept into her voice, urgent and low and bracing. "You always have been. You always will be." She held Botan tighter, pressing her fingers into Botan's shimmering hair. "The construction of your soul changes  _nothing_  about who you are."

Botan sniffled. "Really?"

"Yes. Koenma believes so, too. In fact, he told me to give you a message."

"H-he did?"

"Yes."

Her hands slid over Botan's shoulders, holding her at arm's length, black meeting magenta straight on. Botan snuffled and tried to stop crying, holding her head up high as she received orders from her prince. Ayame straightened, loftily staring at Botan down the length of her nose.

"Train hard, Botan," Ayame said, voice resonating with power and command. "Find control. Prove to everyone you are the same smart, sassy ferry girl you've always been." And her voice softened, kind and gentle and warm. "And do not  _ever_  give up, on pain of Koenma's infinite disapproval."

Botan teared up again, but she kept her emotions in check this time. "That's my Koenma," she said, stanch even though her words trembled. "His methods are, at times, haphazard, but his heart…it's always been in just the right place."

Ayame's hands dropped from Botan's shoulders. She returned to her seat on the bed as Botan composed herself, scrubbing at her cheeks with her sleeves. I put my back to them both and scooted to my desk. The moment they shared felt private; it didn't feel right, inserting myself into the middle.

"So!" Botan eventually chirped. "Down to business!" Her bright smile had returned, even if her swollen nose and eyes still burned red. "What happens now, Ayame?"

"You stay here in Human World," Ayame said. "Your friends can help you learn to control your new powers. They will protect you until you are ready to show all of Spirit World that you are not a Spirit to be feared."

"Right! Um." She kicked at the ground before venturing, "And how do I gain control, exactly?"

Ayame chuckled. "The demon Hiei is a good place to start. The Sword seemed to give you powers similar to his."

"Right. Hiei," she said, but she looked a bit green at the idea (metaphorically, but also ironically considering Hiei's Jagan form). "And what do I do when I'm not training, would you say?"

Ayame said, as if it were obvious, "Perform your duty, Botan. It's what you were born for."

"Oh. Right. Right!" She nodded, arms crossed over her chest—perking up like a bloodhound finally catching a scent. "I suppose I'm always telling Yusuke to do his homework. Now it's my turn!" She paused. "Does that mean I can aid Yusuke again?"

As Ayame and Botan discussed the pros and cons of Botan returning to work as Yusuke's assistant, and whether or not Botan would need a part time job to cover her living expenses, I allowed my mind to wander—namely to the issue of Koenma. I didn't enjoy being wrong, but the fact remained that this…well. I hadn't been expecting it from him, because this display of reasonableness didn't seem in his character. No, this was the demigod who routinely abused and derided Jorge, who recruited teens to do dangerous work, who imprisoned Botan in isolation against her will—but at the same time, it hadn't occurred to me to think Enma himself might be behind Botan's treatment, and I had no one to blame for that oversight but myself.

Was Koenma, in fact, blameless in this scenario? Or did this situation exist in shades of grey I didn't possess the context to fully fathom? It did make me feel better about Koenma to know he was willing to bend rules to benefit his allies, but something still bothered me about the situation.

In his willingness to bend the rules, Koenma had put more than just Ayame and myself in danger.

"Keiko. You look concerned."

My head jerked up at the sound of Ayame's voice. Rubbing my nape with a hand, I shot Botan an apologetic smile. What I wanted to say wouldn't go down easily, I was sure.

"What I'm going to say will sound harsh, but I promise you, Botan, I'm not judging you personally." A deep breath to steady myself, a moment taken to ensure I spoke with care. "This eye of yours is new. You haven't had time to master the changes it's brought. But…you flipped a switch when we were fighting the infected humans. You even attacked  _me_." Her face spasmed, and while it hurt me to see her hurt, I soldiered on. "While I don't want you in any form of isolation, is it wise for you to run free in Human World?"

Her face fell at once, because while Botan might be flighty and gregarious, stupid she most certainly was not. "Oh," she said. "Oh, Keiko, you're  _right_. I didn't mean to lose control that night, but I couldn't help it. Something came over me and I was powerless to resist." Her eyes filled with fear like water fills a jug, heavy and cold. "What's to say I won't accidentally harm a human, Ayame?"

The question was fair, even if it came at Botan's expense—but when Ayame hesitated, I sensed it wasn't because she feared Botan harming humans. She reached into the sleeve of her kimono and pulled forth something small and golden, links of a chain wrapped around her pale fist.

"I was hoping not to have to use this," she said, "but I agree that it's prudent to give Botan a failsafe, if you will."

Botan and I leaned forward, both peering at her hand. "What is it?"

Ayame held it out, palm opening to reveal the circular face of a watch. Delicate golden hands tick-tick-ticked in circles, skimming over delicate black numerals and a small box bearing the number 15—oh. Today's date. It was a cute watch, fancy and simple, old-fashioned and maybe antique. Botan reached for it on reflex.

"Its look deceive," Ayame said. "Truthfully, it's a shock collar, of a sort."

Botan recoiled, snatching back her hand at once.

"Should you exhibit abnormal levels of aggression," Ayame continued, "or should your energy spike beyond a certain level, that bracelet will render you…momentarily incapacitated."

Her careful wording sent a chill skittering up my back. "I don't like the sound of that," I said.

"Me, neither," said Botan with a dreadful gulp.

Ayame grimaced. "I feel the same. However, it was the only device I could slip from the Spirit World vault without detection." She pulled back her hand, though her fingers did not close. "If other options of control avail themselves, I can—"

Wheels turned behind Botan's eyes, clicking together like the gears of a clock. With preternatural speed she lifted the watch off Ayame's palm and slipped it over her wrist, thumbing closed the catch with a resounding snap. Ayame looked thrown for a loop, rare sight drawing a giggle from me unbidden.

"You already went to such trouble stealing this from the vault," Botan said, more determined than ever. Not a shred of doubt marred her clear expression. "No. This will do, and you will  _not_  take another risk stealing another item." She heled out her hand and admired the watch's golden gleam. "And besides. Most of our technology is rather dowdy, but this? It's actually pretty. And it even matches my earrings!"

Botan flipped her hair to show said earrings off—but Ayame looked less than impressed with them. In fact, her eyes narrowed nearly into slits, staring at the earrings (and then at Botan's forehead) with outright suspicion.

My stomach dropped straight into my toes.

"Speaking of which," Ayame said, voice all silk and scheming. "Who was that who gave them to you? I did not sense her when I approached. Her presence took me by surprise. I sensed only you, Botan, and only because I had been looking for you. Her presence caused a pronounced obscurity."

"Oh, that was Sailor V!" Botan chirped. "A superhero, I'm told, though I hadn't heard of her before tonight."

"A superhero?" Ayame said, incredulous. "I haven't heard of her, either." She reached for Botan, curling her hair behind her ear to better see the earrings and Botan's smooth forehead. Botan bore this inspection with a smile; Ayame's mouth thinned. "Her methods are befitting of her occupation. These are remarkable."

"She's, um—she's up and coming." The words tumbled from my mouth almost of their own volition. When Ayame glanced at me I ducked my head, regretting having opened my big mouth, and muttered, "She's very, ah, new to the game."

Botan nodded vigorously. "She and Keiko are good friends!"

Ayame's brows rocketed upward. "Is that so?"

Helpless, I nodded, feeling every inch a bug pinned neatly under glass.

"I see." Ayame appraised me, long and slow. "And how did you meet her, Keiko?"

"She came to the school during the infecteds' attack." Which was true, even if it left out so much. I shrugged and tried to play it off. "You know. Just being her superhero self."

Ayame said nothing for a moment. Eventually her eyes swung toward the window, staring into the dark beyond.

"The disruption in our monitoring was obscured the night of the attack," she murmured, "and I couldn't sense her tonight, either. She possesses abilities that are most interesting." A long pause followed. Her lips curled. "Very interesting indeed."

I didn't like that look on her face, shrewd and contemplative (though of course any shreds of deviousness were obscured by Ayame's usual sleek manner). Clearing my throat, I tried not to fidget or look unnerved by the topic at hand.

A difficult feat indeed, since Ayame then asked me, "Though why you failed to mention her when last we spoke I am uncertain."

While I seized up as though electrocuted, Botan looked surprised. "You didn't tell Ayame about her, Keiko?"

There's only one way out when a question knocks you on your ass, and that's to tell the truth—but tell it slant. Because I was sure to trip all over myself if I lied, given how flustered I felt. My cheeks flushed hot and bright, supernovas made flesh. "Well, I, um—I asked V to take Botan. To hide her from you, Ayame, and she agreed and I thought you'd take Botan away, so I lied to you and I'm sorry." A deep breath, hoping my babbling would come across as sufficiently contrite. "But I really didn't know whether or not you'd take Botan away, so at the time—"

She held up a hand "Stop."

I stopped. She said nothing for a second, but the hand lowered soon enough.

"I understand now," she said—but her eyes hardened like chips of polished onyx. "Regardless, I  _will_  have to tell Koenma about her."

Aw, fuck.  _Of course_  she would. Before I could concoct an argument to convince her to refrain (all of which sounded forced, even in my wishful ears) Ayame stood and adjusted the fall of her kimono. I hauled to my feet as well, Botan following suit and sticking close to Ayame's side.

"You will be compensated for any expense regarding Botan's room and board," she said. Her head shook. "I will not ask where she'll stay. If questioned, I want to give as few details as possible."

"Right!" Botan flipped a salute, heels clicking. "The next time we talk, I'll be sure to keep the details close to my chest!"

I half expected Ayame to chuckle, make a remark about Botan's exuberance and untarnishable good cheer. Instead, Ayame's chin ducked, hands folding in the depths of her voluminous sleeves.

"Botan," she said, voice a brusque rip of truth. "I'm afraid that there won't  _be_  a next time. Not for a long time, at any rate."

Her hand fell from her forehead, salute breaking into pieces alongside her smile. "Wh-what do you mean?"

Ayame's eyes briefly shut. "Much the way Koenma has engineered himself plausible deniability, I too must do the same. The less information that can be wrung from me about you, the better."

The truth of the matter clicked as surely as horror settled over Botan's expression. "But—but Ayame—"

"I'm sorry." And it sounded like Ayame meant it. "But for now, you have to be on your own."

For a moment Botan held stoic—but her mouth twitched, and she blinked, and her eyes filled with welling tears. I don't blame Botan for breaking down again, shedding tears for the third time that night—and as Ayame held her once again, I could only look on in impotent silence.

Something told me there was nothing I could do or say to make this right, or to make Botan's flight into the unknown any less terrifying.

* * *

We left Botan in my room to compose herself. Even though traversing the stairs on crutches wasn't fun for me (it was the exact opposite, in fact), I nevertheless walked Ayame down them and out into the alley behind the restaurant.

Botan needed—no. Botan  _deserved_  a minute to herself after all she'd been through tonight.

"I can't say I like this," I said once we walked outside. The end-of-summer humidity clung to the back of my neck and matted my bangs against my cheeks. "But I don't see another way, either."

Ayame turned to me and nodded. "It's not often Koenma breaks the rules. For one of us, however…"

She trailed off. Somehow her complexion remained dewy without being greasy, hot air not ruining her skin's silky finish. I shrugged, trying not to focus on the sweat building in my armpits and squelching against the crutches when I moved.

"Well," I said. "I'm glad he at least saw reason."

Another nod. "He has a message for you too, Keiko."

I scowled. "Me? Not Yusuke? Seems he's the one Koenma should be talking to."

"I'm sure he'll be in touch with Yusuke personally," she said. "You, however…the two of you have yet to meet face to face. About that he sends his regrets."

I didn't bother pretending to look anything but skeptical. "Really," I said, and it was not a question.

Ayame remained as unflappable as ever. "Yes. He's entrusted you with far more than you bargained for. For your cooperation and grace, he is grateful."

"Yeah, well. Tell him thanks for letting Botan off the hook, I guess. It's what she deserves."

"He agrees. As do I." She bowed to me, and from both the finality of her expression and the habit of the gesture I guessed she intended to cut the evening short. She said, "Farewell, Keiko. Until the next big case."

Before she could pull a disappearing act, I shook my head. "Ayame, wait—I'm worried about you."

Ayame's head tilted, curious and seemingly uncomprehending. I wondered if that was an act, but then again, Ayame had been transparent with us tonight. What did she have to gain from lying?

"What if you get caught?" I said. "Is your loyalty worth that?

Her expression cleared, but only so it could darken again—as dark as the hue of her kimono, the color of her hair, the depth of her eyes. Voice no more forceful than a summer breeze she said, "The great King Enma would not deign to speak to one such as me without cause." And then her voice dropped low and hard like a stone into the sea. "And trust me, Keiko, when I say to you that I will not give him cause."

Our gazes held for one moment, and then another. I detected no doubt in her. No hesitation. No sense of wavering. I saw in her only the glare of resolve, scintillating like light off a flawless diamond.

"If there's anyone who can play this chess game," I said to her, "it's you."

Ayame paused—and then she bowed to me again.

"Thank you," she murmured to the ground. When she straightened, her stoic face cracked, the lightest edge of desperation gleaming silver against black. "Take care of Botan, Keiko.  _Please_."

It wasn't like her to say please. It wasn't like her to speak with such bald desperation, either—and the words burst out of me of their own accord. "I swear," I told her, rushing. "I  _swear_. She'll be like my own sister, promise."

Ayame's lips thinned, flinching—and her features smoothed over once more.

Still, though.

I'd glimpsed more in her tonight than perhaps I ever had.

"And what a wonderful sister she is," Ayame murmured, and she walked on wooden sandals away and into the night.

I watched until she vanished into the dark beyond the alley. Once her figure vanished into the gloom, I went indoors again.

I still didn't feel like I knew Ayame well. She dealt inscrutability like a blackjack dealer, specializing in hands built to confuse and mystify—but despite her best efforts to remain an enigma, I was certain of one thing: Ayame was brave. Brave enough to defy the will of a cosmic king to protect a person she cares for. Brave enough to play a game it was far easier to lose than win.

Brave enough to die for her loyalty, perhaps.

I just prayed it would never come to that, and that the thing I respected most about her would not lead to her undoing.

* * *

An hour later, I opened the alley door and said, "Hey, Yusuke."

He swaggered on in with a roll of his eyes and an overstated, totally-trying-to-guilt-trip-me yawn, arms stretching luxuriously over his head. "Don't hey-Yusuke me," he groused once the performance ended. "It's the middle of the goddamn night. This couldn't have waited till morning?"

I ushered him toward the stairs with a bow like a French butler. "Nope."

"Well, this had  _better be_  worth the hike over here, because—oh." He stopped short with one foot on the first step, hand on the railing, staring at the second floor landing with wide eyes. "Oh.  _Botan_."

She stood at the top of the stairs, one foot tucked behind the other like a shy ballet dancer. "Hello, Yusuke," she said, looking at him from under her lashes. "It's good to see you."

A beat passed.

Yusuke vaulted up the stairs like a gazelle on steroids and swept Botan off her feet with a hideous, shrieking cackle, spinning her in place as she laughed, thrilled and surprised and giddy.

"You're back, you're back,  _you're back_!" Yusuke yodeled. He put her down and stared at her (totally ignoring me when I shushed them, I might add, because it was two in the morning and my parents were sleeping down the hall). "Aw, man. I never thought I'd be so glad to look death in the eye again!"

"It's good to see you too, Yusuke," Botan said, once again on the verge of choking up—though this time with happy tears. "I missed you while I was gone."

Yusuke lit up like a Christmas tree, mouth flying open to reply—but his teeth clacked shut and he turned a quite livid shade of purple, instead, turning from her with a cough into his fist. "H-hey, don't go getting mushy on me, now!" he said.

Botan rolled her eyes. "There you go again, not admitting you have feelings."

"I'm just trying to keep you from crying, that's all! Because  _clearly_  you've been doing some tonight."

"What?!"

He pinched her face and stretched it, ignoring Botan's indignant cries. "Just look at these puffy cheeks! You two been holed up in here watching chick-flicks or something?" He let her go, though, studying her face as she sputtered—and then he lifted one accusatory finger. "And hey! I thought death had three eyes these days, not two. What gives?"

"We found a way to hide the eye from view," I called up the steps, "but it's still there."

He did a double-take, apparently having forgotten I existed (ouch). Yusuke's eyebrows did a little dance as he processed that, but in the end he just shrugged, because  _Yusuke_. "Huh. Well, whatever. So long as you're back and—wait." Brown eyes narrowed, murderous and dark. "What about Koenma?"

Before we could tell him anything, a thump came from down the hall. Botan threw her hand over Yusuke's mouth and dragged him out of sight, probably back into my bedroom, and then steps shuffled down the hall. My dad appeared at the top of the steps and rubbed his eyes.

"Keiko?" he said, voice gummy with fatigue. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Dad," I said. "I just went for a midnight snack and tripped going up the stairs, that's all."

"Oh. Well. Try not to do that again, OK?" He yawned into his shoulder. "Night, honey."

"…night, Dad."

I wasn't sure what was more insulting—the fact that he'd mistaken Yusuke's horrific, braying donkey-laughter for my own, or the fact that he considered me tripping up the stairs a plausible idea.

After trekking up the stairs (without tripping, thank you very much) I found Yusuke and Botan sitting on my bed, cross-legged and facing each other, Botan speaking to Yusuke in hushed tones. They turned when I entered, Yusuke saying, "Botan's told me the gist of it, and it's great she's back—but I don't like that Enma's after her. So what happens now?"

I collapsed onto my desk chair, laced my fingers together, and cracked them. Botan and Yusuke winced

"Now we get Botan trained," I said—and when I smirked, Yusuke edged away with fear in his eyes. "Lucky for us, I know just the demon to do it."

Yusuke knew better than anyone that when I put my mind to something, heaven help anyone who stood in my goddamn way.

* * *

Hiei regarded my sweet smile the way most people regard snakes: with distrust, disgust, and a whole lot of  _ah-hell-naw_. "Hello, Hiei," I said, ignoring the way he took a step back when I said his name. "How've you been?"

"…fine." He scanned the alley, not to mention my crutch-occupied hands, and scowled. "Where's my ramen?"

Hungry little bastard, I thought, but I didn't let my smile falter. "We'll get to that. But first, there's someone you ought to meet." I craned my head back at the restaurant door. "Oh, Botan?"

If I could bottle Hiei's bewildered expression, I totally would, and I'd hoard it to savor on a rainy day. As it stands I could only laugh on the inside as he glared at the door, and at Botan as she slipped out of it. She wore a sunny smile, too, even brighter and happier than mine—which in Hiei's grumpy eyes probably just looked deranged. Hiei sidled away from her like she'd presented him with a bouquet of scorpions, though he didn't outright leave. He hadn't had his ramen yet, after all.

"Hiei, this is Botan," I said—with a pointed glare when I added, "You remember her,  _right_? You met right here in this alley."

Hiei either played dumb or had the worst memory on the planet, because without skipping a beat he just said, "Did we? I can't recall." And then it was his turn to glare. "My ramen, Meigo. Where is it?"

But I just glared right back, even as Botan mouthed 'Meigo?' and tried not to look confused. I said, "Don't be stubborn, Hiei."

Botan stepped toward him, then, despite the instructions I'd given her to hang back and let me take the lead—the instructions she'd readily agreed to the night before, back when she and I (and a thoroughly amused Yusuke) planned how to broach this subject with the cantankerous fire demon. She strode toward Hiei and pointed at her forehead, lips pursed into a pink bud.

"Well, if you don't remember me, surely you recall cutting me on the forehead with the Shadow Sword?" she demanded.

"Hmmph." Hiei's eyes raked over her before he turned up his nose. "You're no worse for wear."

Botan bristled. "Aren't I, though?" she said, and she pulled one of Sailor V's earrings from her lobe.

The night before, we'd learned that removing one of the earrings disrupted their overall effect—mostly because Yusuke yanked one out to examine it and had then nearly pissed himself when Botan's third eye flared into sight like a firework. Her eye appeared in the same manner just then, blooming with a spark of violet light amid the fall of her light blue bangs. Hiei took a step back, hand coming up as if to ward Botan away, but she did not approach him. She merely stood there and glared, earring in hand, as Hiei looked her over in shock. I'd never seen him look quite so stricken, actually. Teeth bared, scarlet irises ringed in vast expanses of white sclera, he radiated pure confusion, the kind that bordered on anger for no reason other than Hiei didn't like being taken by surprise.

Sorry, Charlie. But surprise you we've gotta.

"Now Hiei," I said, giving him my most supportive, I'm-your-mother-and-I-love-you-no-matter-what smile. "We don't blame you for this. I know things were weird when you had the Sword. But facts are facts, and Botan could use your help."

" _My_  help?" he repeated, contempt dripping from every syllable.

"Yes,  _your_  help," I said, wishing with every ounce of my being for some deity or another to grant me patience; I wasn't picky about the who just then. "Her power is a lot like yours, I'm told. She needs to learn to control it." I nearly batted my eyelashes at him. "Do you think you could train her to use it while you stay here in Human World? Pretty-please?"

Hiei didn't say anything. He eyed me, then eyed Botan askance, before shrugging.

"What's in it for me?" he asked.

Well, so much for patience. A glare melted my supportive smile from the inside out. From between my teeth I told him, "Well, Hiei, you'll get my undying devotion and gratitude, for starters—"

"And mine!" Botan chirped, because apparently she hadn't realized I was being utterly and completely sarcastic and was planning on following my statement with a threat to jam my fist down his throat and/or revoke ramen privileges for at least a month (though I suspected the latter would be more upsetting for the goth midget). Pasting her smile back on, Botan took a deep breath and walked toward Hiei again, hand outstretched for a western-style shake. Her grin could've melted a glacier when she said, "Hiei, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I'd be  _ever so grateful_ if you helped me. And I'm Koenma's number one ferry girl, so I'm sure he'd be charmed indeed if you helped me learn to control my condition." She thrust her hand forward like a spear, weaponized friendliness radiating from every pore. "So. Friends? What do you say?"

Hiei didn't even look at Botan's hand, which she began to withdraw as her smile faded into uncertainty. Hiei just frowned, stared at her—and then he smirked, tossing at me a malevolent smile and a chuckle most derisive.

"So Koenma would be in my debt, you say?" he said, even though no one had said such a thing and Hiei was  _clearly_  reaching, that devious little asshole. "Well, then. I say Koenma in my debt is something I'll think about."

Botan blinked at him, distracted as she put her earring back in. "Eh?"

"I'm  _saying_ ," he said with scorn abundant, "that I will  _think about it_."

And then Hiei disappeared, a flicker of black and a bladed wind the only sign he'd ever stood before us to begin with.

Botan (who was not accustomed to Hiei's disappearances just yet) let out a startled cry and staggered backward when Hiei vanished. I just released a roar of frustration, throwing up my hands and baring my teeth at the stripe of sky above the alley.

"Hiei,  _c'mon!_ " I yelled. "You didn't even eat your ramen!"

A moment passed.

A wind stripped by.

Botan shrieked again as Hiei reappeared not two inches away from me, hands jammed in pockets and teeth bared.

"Oh, so there  _is_  ramen?" he snarled. "Why didn't you say so?"

I drew myself up to my full height. "I didn't say so because there is only ramen  _if_  you agree to help Botan."

He tossed his head, eyes ablaze, but he tucked his chin behind his scarf and simmered down. "Tcch!  _Fine_. I'll help the damn wench." He rounded on said wench with a sneer. "But I  _won't_  go easy on you."

Botan bounced on her heels with a bright laugh (which only made Hiei reel back as though struck). Once again she approached with hand outstretched. "Fine by me, Mister Hiei!" she said, eyes glimmering with eager satisfaction. "I look forward to working with you. I'm a go-getter and the best student you'll ever have, I promise!"

At last he seemed to notice her hand—insofar as he stared at it, sneered, and turned up his haughty-ass nose at it. On stomping feet he stalked away from her to lean against the alley wall, face turned pointedly away from both Botan and myself as he crossed his arms over his chest and slouched.

Botan's eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to say something.

I grabbed her arm and dragged her inside the restaurant.

Just inside the door and atop a server station I'd set a tray bearing three bowls of ramen, still hot and waiting for the right moment to reveal themselves. "Take that," I told Botan.

She picked up the tray and frowned, steam rising into her face like the fringes of a ghostly dress. "I don't think he likes me very much," she muttered.

"He doesn't warm up to anyone fast," I said, hoping that might bring her some comfort. I tapped a crutch against the ground. "It's good I'm on these and have my hands full, frankly. You giving him the food is bound to help, at least a little." When Botan frowned I whispered, "Hiei is easily bribed with food."

Botan laughed and hefted the tray into her arms. "Good to know. And thank you for helping me with him, Keiko. Without you, I wouldn't know where to start."

I hummed a noncommittal agreement, because deep down I still felt guilty for getting her into this predicament in the first place. Getting Hiei to come around was the least I could do to make things right. No need to hash that out, though. I reached for the door to the alley, and when I propped it open ahead of us, Botan beamed.

"Oh, and Keiko? Don't worry about me." She winked, and for a moment I wondered if her third eye had given her the ability to read minds like Hiei could—and if, perhaps, that's what lay in store for everyone's favorite reaper. Botan declared, "I'm tenacious and I'll make friends with Hiei yet, you'll see!"

Carrying the ramen like a practiced waitress, Botan strutted out the door and presented the food to Hiei with a flourish. He rolled his eyes but nevertheless he tucked in, grunting his extreme displeasure when Botan settled atop a crate beside him and began to chatter about their future training sessions.

There was no way to know if Botan would succeed in her goal of making friends with Hiei—but holy shit, finding out promised to be a wild ride. Unable to keep from grinning, I lurched my way out the door.

I wasn't going to miss a minute of this, that's for sure.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who tuned in last week! I'm so freaking excited to start the Rescue Yukina arc with you. Hope you had great weeks, and see you next Saturday.


	62. Days of the Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which time passes.

Probably to make a point, or at least to express his extreme displeasure at the disruption of our typical lunchtime routine, Kaito marched into the study room with nose thrust straight up into the air and barely deigned to look at me. The door swung shut as he set his book bag and lunch sack on the table with a clatter, sealing us off with quiet hush—and privacy. Gotta love privacy.

"I got your note, Yukimura," he said, looking at me down the length of his thin nose. "Though why you would want to meet for lunch in here, of all places, is beyond—"

He stopped talking.

He assessed.

He said, "And  _what,_ pray tell _,_  happened to  _you_?"

He'd finally noticed the crutches leaning on the wall behind me, the bandages peeking above the collar of my school jacket, the scabbed cut on my cheek, and the casted leg sitting propped on a chair. His eyes ping-ponged from one to the next in turns, wheels in his head spinning in frantic place. I took a bite of my onigiri, leaned back in my seat, and grinned.

"Nice to see you, too, Kaito," I said.

He shoved his glasses up his nose with a finger. "Hmmph. So I see the rumors are true. You really were involved in the incident that happened here last week."

"That's what they tell me."

Kaito didn't say anything for a minute. He pulled out a chair, the scrape of chair on tile echoing in the tiny study room, and began unpacking his lunch—regarding me all the while with a bald, interested stare.

He wasn't the only one. Through the small panel of glass running from ceiling to floor in the study room door, put there so teachers could monitor student activities, students walked by and tried sneaking not-so-subtle glances through the pane. Totally obvious about it, despite their best attempts. They all walked far too casually, eyes lingering on that tiny window as they passed, telltale sign they didn't feel casual at all. Kids had been staring all morning, but none had been brave enough to approach me directly and ask about the crutches.

But they knew. It was pretty obvious.

The whole school was in an uproar, of course, both over the recent rioting as well as its presence in our school building. Classes had been cancelled for an entire week as the police investigated the incident at our school, leaving the student body to grind the rumor mill like cracked pepper over a cooling meal. Cleaning crews hadn't quite managed to fix all the damage left by the infected. Some windows were still covered in cardboard and tape. A few classes were missing doors, and in one room the tile floor sported a suspicious brown stain everybody knew had to be blood. Clear signs of the rioting, the students whispered, and their curiosity only grew.

They were right, of course. But I wasn't about to tell them that the missing windows and broken doors and bloodstains had been a part of the violence, nor confirm that my oh-so-conspicuous crutches were indeed related to the same…let alone reveal the cops had been by to see me three times since the incident to question me about my run-in with the bug-infested Hamaguchi. If my peers asked, I'd tell them the same thing I told the police: I had been there after school to study, and the teachers had attacked without provocation. Nothing more, nothing less.

The police never mentioned the weapons I'd left scattered around the school. I had to assume Spirit World, or perhaps even Sailor V, had cleaned up that part of my mess. I'd have to ask at some point, for sure.

Kaito chewed his food and swallowed. "Well then, Yukimura. Tell me: Which of the rumors is true?"

I looked at him and hummed, mouth full of sticky rice.

"Did you try to kill a teacher, or did the teacher try to kill you?" Kaito asked, not bothering with euphemisms. I nearly choked on my food. "I heard it was Hamaguchi, so really it could have gone either way."

Wow. Of all the rumors, that I hadn't expected. Maybe my violent reputation, born of my relationship to Yusuke, still lingered. I pounded my chest with a fist and coughed, marveling at the inventive mind of teenagers.

"Very funny, Kaito," I said when I recovered. "But for the record,  _he_  tried to kill  _me_. I fought back, then jumped off a roof to get away." I jiggled my broken leg. "Got this to show for it, too."

He almost looked impressed. "Now that rumor I hadn't heard."

"What  _have_  you heard?"

"That a superhero was seen in the area the night of the riots, and she was headed this way." A sharp stare, beady and intrusive. "Know anything about that?"

Leave it to Kaito to know way more than he should, that jerk—but just who the hell had leaked that little bit of info? Shrugging, I pasted on a smirk I said, "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't."

Kaito huffed. "Fine. Keep me in suspense."

The urge to tease him never bore fruit, because behind us the door swung open. Kurama nodded when he walked in, sitting next to Kaito across from me at the small study table. He looked just as he always did: clean cut, polished, with shining hair and even more luminous eyes, and his small, warm smile coaxed a similar look from my lips on reflex. Kaito, however, appeared less than impressed, watching with hawk-like scrutiny as Kurama took his seat.

"Hello, Minamino," said Kaito.

"Hello, Kaito," Kurama replied. "Yukimura. I got your note. I assumed you'd have trouble climbing the stairs to our usual meeting spot." He gestured at the table, upon which he unpacked his lunch like a civilized person. "I approve of the new location."

"Yeah," I joked. "No more eating off your lap like a peasant, huh?"

Kaito's brow lifted while Kurama chuckles. Looking balefully at Kurama, he waved a hand toward me. "You don't look surprised to see her like this."

"Indeed." Kurama's reply was as smooth as it was disarming. "I visited Keiko in the hospital. I've already been filled in."

Kaito's brows shot up higher. "Visited her in the hospital?" he said, disbelieving. "And here I didn't even receive a phone call."

"Aww, you mad, Kaito?" I reached across the table and swatted his arm, smiling when he rolled his eyes. "I figured you'd use the time off to read. Didn't figure I should disturb you."

"Well, you're half right. The time off was an unexpected boon for my reading list." A withering look in my direction. "But I still wouldn't have minded a phone call."

"Sorry, Kaito," I said, and I meant it. "Next time, for sure?"

He gave me the single most 'are you stupid?' look I have ever seen on a living face. "Please, Yukimura. Do not tempt fate to send you a 'next time.'"

"I'll do my best!" Because I had seen this coming, and because I'd forgotten to bring it on our first day back this semester, I reached into my school bag and presented Kaito with its contents atop my supplicating palms. "Please accept this as an apology."

He raised a brow at the book. "Sato Shogo's latest novel? I already own a copy, thank you."

"Not like this, you don't." I shoved the book forward. "Title page. Take a peek."

Kaito scowled, reaching out a finger to flip open the book's cover—and then he gasped and snatched it out of my hands, peering down with bugging eyes at Shogo's signature and the short accompanying message. "To Kaito Yuu," it said. "Let's talk about your papers sometime. You do great work. With admiration from Keiko's friend, Sato Shogo."

"You—you!" Kaito's hands shook around the book, face broken out with a light sheen of sweat. And of course he zeroed in on the part that paid him a compliment. "He's read my papers?!"

"He thinks they're pretty great, actually," I said. "Next time he's in town, I'll set the two of you up on a coffee date. That sound good?"

Kaito nodded so hard his hair flopped atop his head, but he was quite beyond speech (quite a feat, that) and lapsed into solemn silence, staring at Shogo's words with jaw dropped. I had to giggle. It wasn't often I could throw Kaito for a loop, and I confess I rather enjoyed being on the giving end of it this time around.

"I assume you're being grilled by your classmates?" Kurama said. He spoke low, so as not to disturb Kaito's reverential silence, but I heard the amusement in his voice and saw the spark in his green eyes regardless.

"Of course. Teenage curiosity is voracious," I said.

Loathe though I felt to disturb Kaito, I rapped my knuckles on the table and got his attention so I could fill him in—using a revised and condensed version of what had happened at the school, similar to what I told police. Kurama managed to maintain a bland expression as I spun my web of lies, though the telltale glitter in his eyes told me he approved of my fabrications. Kaito, oblivious, looked impressed when I finished speaking, leaning back in his chair with arms crossed over his chest (and the book held tight under them like a protected treasure, which was sort of adorable).

"I've always said libraries are the best weapons." He adjusted his glasses with a smirk. "Don't worry. I'll set the rumors straight, should I have the opportunity."

"Thanks, Kaito."

"Don't mention it." An awed glance at his book. "It's the least I can do."

The bell rang not too long later, scattering our lunchtime soiree to the winds. Kurama offered to help me carry my books, an offer I accepted with gratitude. Halfway to class, however, he stepped close and muttered, "Be careful, Kei."

I knew better than to break stride and call attention to his words. I hummed instead, hard as it was to talk while swinging atop my crutches, and he shot me a sidelong smile.

"Kaito is clever," he said, eyes trained carefully forward once more. "Keep your story consistent, even when speaking with other students."

"Will do my best," I muttered—and when Kurama dropped me off at my classroom door, I was glad he'd given me that word of warning.

The minute I sat down, they swarmed.

Junko led the charge, because even though we were friends at this point, she couldn't resist the lure of gossip. She plopped into the desk next to me and pinned me with a stare so pointed it could skewer meat.

"Is it true, Keiko?" she said, and her words released the floodgates. In a flash all the other students in the classroom (who had been doing that don't-look-at-Keiko dance in the corners) flocked in a knot around my seat. The babble of questions filled the air, and through the throng of students I saw Kurama standing in the doorway, smiling a very smug "I told you so" smile. Eyes warm with amusement, his lips were as charmingly curled as the tips of his glossy hair, and in reply I could only lob a glare at him through the swarm of chattering teens.

Kurama's smile widened—and then he winked, turned on his heel, and walked out the door.  _Good luck,_  he seemed to be saying,  _because Kei, you are going to need it._

All  _I'm_  going to say is that no one has the right to look  _that_  pretty and  _that_  smug at the same time, because holy hell, it's a frightening combination.

A particularly ridiculous question brought me back to the matter at hand. "Did you really fight Hamaguchi off with a meat cleaver?" one student asked.

"No way!" another protested. "I heard she had a gun!"

Everybody gasped and looked at me for confirmation. I rolled my eyes with a derisive snort for good measure. Drama, much?

"Um, no. Neither," I said. "I just ran away when I could and punched when I couldn't, that's all."

Nobody look convinced, however, and some even looked crestfallen at the idea of me not, in fact, being in possession of a very illegal firearm. Soon they rallied, however, and the questions began again. I could hardly pick them out since everyone started talking at once—but one of the questions stuck out like a brick in a shoddy wall, and I honed in on the speaker at once.

"Is it true that Sailor V showed up?" one girl asked. She was in my class, but I wasn't sure of her name.

My eyes narrowed; everyone quieted. "Where did you hear that?"

"A ton of people saw her running around the city the night of the riots!" she said. Her voice rose an octave with palpable excitement. "Did you see her?"

"She saw her," Amagi said. "We both did."

Everyone turned. Amagi stood in the doorway, staring through the crowd and straight at me, bearing in her arms a conspicuous bouquet of brilliant red carnations. My eyebrow rose—both at the flowers and at her unbridled speech. Why the heck was she telling everyone about V, anyway?

"Oh, hey Amagi," I said as she crossed the room, gaggle of students parting before her proud stride. A nod at the flowers. "What are those?"

"For you," she said. She set the flowers on my desk and stepped back so she could bow, deep and long and low. "Thank you very much for saving me, Keiko-san."

The students around us murmured, even Junko whispering to someone else behind her hands. My cheeks colored when a thought flashed through my head: Every single person in the room was staring at Amagi and I. Nowhere to run. Chin ducking I told her, "Oh. You don't have to bow. I didn't do much."

Her unimpressed expression could give even Kaito's a run for its money. "If it hadn't been for you, I'd be dead," she said with utmost certainty.

"You mean if  _Sailor V_  hadn't shown up,  _we'd_  be dead," I countered.

Junko rallied at the mention of the hero. "So it is true!" she crowed. "You did see her! What was she like, what did she say, what did—?"

Chaos erupted, everyone screaming over each other in their pursuit of Sailor V, whom I guess was a lot more famous than I realized given the absolutely nutbar reaction she was getting—but the bell rang before they could tear me limb from limb and they were forced to leave me alone.

Amagi, though? As she went back to her seat, she shot me a smile.

A secretive smile. A knowing smile. A satisfied smile. A smile that said that she had brought V up very much on purpose and had gotten exactly what she wanted out of it.

Too bad for me I had no clue what that something was.

* * *

After class, it took quite a while to fend off my inquisitive classmates—but eventually I did so, answering question after question about the superhero Sailor V until they were satisfied I'd told them everything about her costume, personality, and catchphrases. When the well of information ran dry and I saw their curiosity waning, I told them not to wait for me. I was cumbersome on my crutches, I said, and didn't want to slow them down. Go home, everyone. I'll be fine hanging back on my own.

Amagi, of course, didn't go with them. She dawdled in the corner until the others left, inconspicuous as a shadow. Only when the door shut behind our peers did she look my way. Eyes like bottled ink looked me up and down, skimming the flowers on my desk with another of her satisfied smiles.

My mouth moved of its own accord. "Why did you tell people about—?"

She knew who I meant even if I didn't say it. "To distract them," she replied.

"Distract them? From what?"

"From what you don't want them asking about." A long pause. "I didn't feel comfortable lying about V. She was too conspicuous to leave unmentioned. And since people are too busy asking about V to pry into anything else…" She trailed off, gaze knowing. "They won't ask about anyone  _else_  who might or might not have been there that night."

Our gazes locked and held. For a minute I had no idea what she was on about, but soon it clicked: She was talking about Botan. She'd been the only person there that night aside from the crazy teachers. But why was Amagi talking about the reaper at all?

"How did you know I wouldn't want them asking about… _her_?" I said.

Once again, she knew who I meant without being told. "You said V took her with her," she told me. "You said your friend would be 'safe' with V. That means she wasn't safe staying behind." Her head tilted, short black hair curling over her soft, pale cheek. "Perhaps I assumed incorrectly, but I felt a smokescreen was in order, just in case."

And she was right, of course. No one really had a reason to ask about Botan, but if they were distracted with Sailor V, they wouldn't press for details about the rest of the night in general. And if Hamaguchi mentioned Botan, people would still be way too distracted by V to care. Perhaps Amagi's effort here weren't necessary, but…

"Thank you," I said. Amagi walked across the classroom and sat in the desk in front of mine; I put a hand on her shoulder, staring her right in the eye so she knew I meant it. " _Thank you_ , Amagi."

"No. Thanks are all mine." Amagi shook her head, tone as resolute as stone. "I meant what I said. You saved me. Even before V showed up, you put me somewhere safe. You gave me a weapon and hid me. I owe you."

"You don't," I said, shaking my head. "You watched out for the bugs for me, after all. I already owed you a favor."

I think she sensed I wouldn't let this go, because she smiled at me and said, "That's true, I suppose. Perhaps we're even, after all." But then her dark eyes darkened further still, and her voice dropped low and soft and urgent. "May I ask? The bugs. Where, exactly, did they come from?"

I didn't say anything—mainly because I hadn't been expecting that question. What had I told her about them the night of the riot? I couldn't remember, caught too off guard by the unexpected query.

"You said a man named Suzaku summoned them," she said in that same low voice, "but they were strange. Not of this world." She leaned toward me, gaze imploring. "Where did he get them, Keiko?"

It took a minute for me to gather myself, to remember the half-truths I'd whispered in her ear as we huddled in that dark PE shed, the infected humans frothing at the mouth for our blood. Eventually I reached for the flowers on the desk between us. My fingers traced the edges of a petal, crimson and soft and fragrant.

"Amagi," I said, half to the flowers and half to her. "There's a great big world out there. It's bigger than you know. You know more about it than most people, seeing the things you see, but…" I met her eyes, guileless and pleading, and winced. "If I tell you about the bugs, there's no real going back. Your eyes will be opened, and I don't know if you can go back to being blind after you start to see."

Amagi considered this.

She asked, "But will you tell me about that world, if I ask to hear about it?"

Once more I hesitated. Not because I didn't think Amagi could handle the truth about demons and humans and Spirit World. I got the feeling Amagi could handle anything I threw at her. Rather, the question became this: Was it more or less dangerous to keep Amagi in the dark, and what might be the consequences of inducting this girl into a world more dangerous than she could comprehend? Should that knowledge hurt her, could I live with the guilt that would follow?

But then again, if I kept the truth from her, I'd be a pretty damn big hypocrite, wouldn't I?

Keiko had been kept in the dark for far too long in the anime. She'd suffered for being kept in that dark, had been endangered time and again when a mere explanation could've prevented dire peril. I bemoaned Keiko's fate in that regard all the goddamn time. I rejected remaining uninformed, bullied and bit and scratched my way into Yusuke's inner circle—so who was I to say Amagi shouldn't know the truth if she asked directly for it? Who was I to make that decision for her, the way the decision had been made for Keiko in the anime?

But then again ( _again_ ), who was I to put Amagi's safety in jeopardy?

Call me crazy, but I felt like Yusuke all of a sudden—and in that moment, maybe I understood canon-Yusuke's decision to keep canon-Keiko in the dark just the littlest bit better. My first instinct was to protect Amagi, to keep her out, to ensure her safety by pushing her away from the dark and terrible truth and back into her normal world, just as Yusuke had pushed away Keiko to keep her safe.

Still, though.

I wouldn't,  _couldn't_  make the same mistake he did—because that is exactly what excluding Keiko had been. A big, fat, honking mistake. And I wouldn't do that. Not to Amagi, anyway.

A deep breath stretched my lungs and chest. I shut my eyes and opened them again. Amagi watched in silence, brow knitting and then unknitting again when I met her eyes and smiled.

"If you ask, and if you're sure," I said, "I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

Amagi was not the type to run into anything blindly, however. My word seemed good enough for her. She nodded, staring at the red carnations through distant eyes. "Thank you, Keiko. May I think about it?"

It was a relief, really, that I wouldn't be telling her the truth that day. Someday soon, but not quite yet. "Sure," I said. I reached for my crutches. "Want to walk home together?"

Another nod, black hair gleaming in the harsh fluorescent lights, and together we left the classroom behind.

Although I resolved that day to wait for Amagi to come to me, and to only tell her the truth when she asked to hear it, it turns out my resolution isn't always rock steady. Amagi would be inducted into my world a bit sooner than I would've liked, and more at my behest than hers—and part of me wonders if in doing so, I did her a disservice.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

* * *

Life—thrown so unceremoniously askew by the Saint Beast debacle—returned to normal with alarming ease.

School, homework, the rhythm of being a teenager in Japan has the tenor of a lullaby, drawing you into a haze of routine like a mother's song draws an infant into sleep. The administration fixed the doors and windows and stained floors at our school. The cut on my cheek healed. The bandages came off my back, and with them went the rumors surrounding my role in the riot at the school. People stopped asking me about Sailor V, instead sharing newspaper articles and the blurry photos therein taken by reporters at scenes of various crimes. I stayed the object of school-wide interest for no longer than two weeks.

Life went on, essentially, because that is what life does.

That's not to say life was boring. Far from it, in fact. Life could never be boring when I ate lunch every day with Kurama and Kaito, those anime characters for whom I felt such affection. I spent my evenings with Kuwabara, Yusuke, Kurama, Hiei, Botan, a weekly schedule of social events keeping me in constant contact with the characters I adored so deeply. Until that period of time I had never been more conscious of the cycle of the days of the week, because each day promised contact with another character, another experience, and something new to learn about the pulled-from-fiction world I'd come to call my own. It was honestly kind of amazing how life snapped back into place after the Saint Beasts came thundering in the way they did. Relics of my past schedule (weekly parole meetings and debriefings and tutoring sessions and Dragon Quest playdates with Yusuke) remained largely unchanged after the chaos cleared—though some small differences availed themselves, mostly owing to Botan's renewed presence in everyone's lives.

It turns out Amagi wasn't the only one who'd have to get acclimated to the presence of the supernatural in their life.

* * *

"You need to heal, Yusuke.  _Heal_! You didn't put a white mage in your party for the aesthetic!"

"I don't know what that word means but don't fucking tell me what to do, Grandma, I'm doing just fine with my—aw, hell! He got me  _again_!"

Yusuke tossed the controller to the floor and rolled into a ball, writhing in mental anguish on my carpet. I rolled my eyes at him, as did Kuwabara, the Dragon Quest "End Game" music blaring tinny through my small TV's speakers. He'd been trying to beat a boss for the entire two hours I'd been tutoring Kuwabara, mainly because he didn't give a crap about healing and trusted his tank-heavy party to kill the boss before it could retaliate. Sign of his fighting tactics in days to come? Probably, which explained why Yusuke died so many damn times in the anime. The writing was etched very deeply into the wall, as it were…

"I'm telling you, you need to be healing  _every turn_  even if your characters aren't in the red zone!" I told him, waving my pencil about for emphasis.

Yusuke stuck out his tongue. "Like you could do any better."

"If you'd ever let me have a turn at the controller, maybe I would."

"Well if  _you_  didn't back-seat game so much, maybe I'd let you have a go!"

"Well  _maybe_  if  _you_ —"

"Um." Kuwabara held up his textbook. "Not to break this up, but can we talk about past participles some more, please?"

Yusuke took advantage of my moment of distraction to restart the game and queue up the boss battle,  _yet-a-fucking-gain_. I grumbled about Yusuke using his brain sometime and turned back to the study session at hand, ignoring it when Yusuke took the white mage out of his party in a clear attempt to piss me off.

Kuwabara had taken a shine to English lessons after I helped him pass his test at school, and we'd continued our English homework sessions ever since. Yusuke liked to drop in on these and play Dragon Quest in the corner while I worked with Kuwabara, mainly so he could pester us and ask for help beating the harder bosses (not that he'd ever admit he needed the help, but the next time he lost to the boss I caught him putting the white mage back into his lineup with a sidelong glance at me). It was nice, having Kuwabara and Yusuke over to hang out every week. I got to socialize, (vicariously) play some games, and brush up on my English. Sounded like a win to me.

However, much though I enjoyed spending time with him, I suspected Yusuke was coming over not just to spend time with me, but also to get out of his house for a bit. Botan had been staying with him ever since she got back to Human World since he had a second bedroom (and also since my parents probably wouldn't approve of me having a friend with blue hair, at least not until they got to know her, and we didn't have room for a permanent guest, so she couldn't stay with me). I didn't know what Botan got up to when Yusuke showed up on my doorstep, though. I needed to check in on that soon, for sure.

A little while later Yusuke managed to beat the boss (thanks to healing strategically, I might add), and as he crowed his victory and did a dance around my room like a football player celebrating in the endzone, my phone rang. I shushed him and grabbed the receiver off the cradle; Yusuke just crowed louder. I stuffed a finger in my ear and said, "Hello?"

"It's me," came a smooth, familiar voice.

"Oh hey, Kurama," I said. "How are you?"

Yusuke stopped crowing, thankfully, and Kuwabara looked up from his textbook.

"Am I interrupting?" Kurama said. "I thought I heard—was it singing? I'm not sure."

"Ah, no. No signing. That was just Yusuke being a moron."

Yusuke squawked; Kurama chuckled. "I see. Tell him hello from me."

I did as instructed and delivered the greeting, which Yusuke returned with a wave. Kuwabara also waved and said, "Tell him I said hi, too."

"You're popular this evening," Kurama observed. "I'm calling in regard to our meeting tomorrow. With your leg as it is, our usual walk might not be a tenable option for us."

My hand collided with my forehead; the first of our weekly parole meetings since I broke my leg was coming up the next day, and I hadn't thought about alternate plans at all. "Oh, shit. You're right." Eyes alighting on the video game system on my floor, I said, "Want to just hang out here? I might be able to persuade Yusuke to leave the Famicon behind for us. Can show you Dragon Quest; it's my favorite."

"That would be nice, I think," he said—and I think I might've made him like video games after our trip to the arcade, because his voice sounded more sincere than expected at the prospect of playing a game together. "See you tomorrow, then."

"See you tomorrow."

The received clacked against the cradle, and when I turned back to the boys, I found them both staring at me—Yusuke with outright suspicion, Kuwabara through narrowed eyes set under a furrowed brow. Couldn't really read his expression, truth be told, but I wasn't sure I liked it much.

"What did Kurama want?" Yusuke asked.

"Work out plans for tomorrow." I jiggled my casted leg, glaring at the words Yusuke had scribbled on it with a sharpie (they said things like "OLD LADY" and "GRANDMA," predictably enough). "We can't do our usual thing. Long walks are currently beyond my capabilities."

"Oh, right." A wicked grin made his eyes glitter. "I'll leave you the Famicon if you do my homework for me for a week."

"In your dreams. Not worth it. But I can help you with it if you'd like."

He slumped, defeated. "Aw, phooey."

Kuwabara leaned toward me. He sat on my swiveling office chair, next to me where I perched on my bed. "Hey, uh. Keiko? Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," I deadpanned, and when Kuwabara blanched I giggled. "I'm kidding. What's up?"

He looked momentarily relieved; his features tensed again, though, and quickly. "So…you and Kurama hang out sometimes, huh?" he said.

He said it casually—too casually. The kind of casual that immediately makes your hackles rise because obviously the speaker is up to something sketchy. "Well, we  _are_  classmates," I explained. "So…"

"I mean outside of school," Kuwabara said in that same too-casual-for-comfort tone of voice. He kept his features arranged in a pleasant mask, as well, like he didn't really care about my answer to his questions at all. "You said your 'usual thing.' Do you see each other a lot?"

"I mean. Yes? Technically I'm his parole officer. We have a meeting once a week to check in."

He sat up a little straighter, smile breaking through his too-fucking-casual affectation. "Oh, I get it. So you're hanging out because Spirit World makes you!"

No. Nope. Wrong impression given. "I mean, that's not the  _only_  reason—" I said, but Kuwabara waved a hand.

"Nah, Keiko, it's OK. I get it now," he said, having apparently made up his mind about something, and he wasted no time shoving his textbook at me. "So you were saying that this is called a gerund, right?"

I admit the whole thing caught my off my guard, and when Yusuke started ranting about his latest hurdle in Dragon Quest, I got too distracted to cycle back around and readdress Kuwabara's odd line of questioning. The night passed in a blur, too, and by the time we broke for the evening and it came time to show the boys to the doors, I'd just about forgotten Kuwabara's questions entirely. It wasn't until later—like in my bed, about to fall asleep level of "later"—that I remembered what he'd asked, and wondered if that conversation meant what I thought it meant.

But before that happened, I put another issue entirely to bed before it could get out of hand.

"Hey, Yusuke?" I said and he and Kuwabara packed up their thigs to leave.

"What?" he grumbled.

"Where's Botan right now?"

"Home. Why?"

Figured as much. I leaned back against my headboard and crossed my arms over my chest, staring at Yusuke over the bridge of my nose.

"Do you just leave her there when you go places?" I asked, and I knew I'd hit the nail on the head when he winced. "Ever think of inviting her along?"

"Sure I do!" he said, but his cheeks colored. "It's just, y'know…what'm I, her  _babysitter_?"

Yusuke stared at me with bold eyes, as if daring me to contradict him. Truth be told, I wanted to contradict him. I wanted to tell him yes, you are indeed her babysitter, because she's all alone in this world and we need to take care of her—but Yusuke was a teenage boy, not somebody's mom. Expecting him to take care of another person was unrealistic, not to mention not in his character. I sighed and admitted, "No. I suppose you aren't."

Tension crumbled behind his eyes, slumping with relief. "It was different when she just came to visit and didn't have to live with me, y'know?" he said. "Now she's all up in my ass about Spirit World missions and whatnot. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy as hell she's back—but I'm tired of sleeping on my damn couch instead of my bed!"

"Sounds like you need space," I said—and a thought struck. "Botan probably needs space, too. Her own room instead of sleeping in yours. A space to be herself in." I couldn't imagine she was allowed much of a personal life in Spirit World. Thinking about options, I turned to Kuwabara and said, "I have an idea. You have a spare bedroom, right?"

"Yeah, we do," he said. "But—oh."

His eyes had gone the shape and size of coins, getting it. Yusuke got it, too, sitting up and eager at the prospect of having his own bed back.

"Think you could swing it?" I asked.

"Um, I mean—yeah," Kuwabara said, but his forehead broke out in a sheen of sweat. He looked left, then right, then up and the ceiling, then down at the floor. "I think so, but…"

"But what?" Yusuke said.

"It's just—I'm going to be sleeping next door to  _death_ ," Kuwabara said, and he looked like death warmed over when he said it.

It didn't occur to me that Kuwabara still hadn't actually met Botan until he and Yusuke were walking away from me down the street, and I heard Yusuke telling him that Botan was a skeleton in a black robe who only consumed dead  _tanukis_  and toenails for sustenance—and Kuwabara appeared to believe every single word.

* * *

I knocked three times before the door creaked open, revealing the do-not-fuck-with-me stoicism of Shizuru's unimpressed face. Kuwabara stood a few feet behind her in the foyer of their home, just beyond the rise in the floor, beyond which no one should wear shoes. He appeared a bit green around the gills, though, standing in his socks all knock-kneed, arms canted off to the sides of his wide body. He looked younger than fourteen, weirdly—like a kid expecting an older bully to knock him down, preparing himself for the worst.

And maybe that's exactly what he'd been doing, because when he saw Botan standing behind me, he did the most amazingly cartoonish double-take I'd ever seen in my life.

"Shizuru, Kuwabara," I said, hobbling backward a bit. "This is Botan."

Botan waved, smile on its highest, most winning wattage. "Hello! It's very nice to meet you." She dropped into a bow, her ponytail flopping long and blue and silky over her shoulder. "Thank you ever so much for letting me stay with you in your lovely home!"

"Don't mention it." Shizuru crossed her arms and leaned against the open doorframe, looking Botan up and down. "So tell me. Are there mushrooms growing in Yusuke's shower, or what?"

Botan blinked. "Eh?"

"You've been staying with Yusuke for what, a week now? Can't imagine living with a dirty teenage boy is too pleasant." She tossed a lazy smirk over her shoulder. "Lucky for you, you've got me to balance out my baby bro's gross bathroom habits."

The aforementioned brother purpled, stalking forward to loom over his sister. "Hey, Shizuru! I don't have any gross bathroom habits! Don't say stuff like that in front of Keiko!"

Shizuru rolled her eyes and told Botan to come in, so she could show her where she'd be staying when Botan bunked with the Kuwabara family. I nudged Botan in after Shizuru with a smile, mouthing at her to call me and waving a quick goodbye. Botan grinned back and danced over the threshold, cheerfully greeting Kuwabara when they passed each other—and though he returned the hello, Kuwabara skirted around Botan like he feared getting too close to her.

I figured out why soon enough, just a few minutes into my walk home from the Botan drop-off.

"So Botan," he said. Kuwabara walked with his huge hands laced behind his head, cut of his abdominal muscles visible in the low-cut arm holes of his tank top. "She's…well. Um?" Dark eyes darted over the street, nervous. "She's  _pretty_?"

He sounded like he couldn't believe his own words, nor the sight of Botan's doll-like features and porcelain skin. But it was hard to talk while swinging around on crutches, so I just grunted a sparse, "That she is."

"But like…she's  _death_?" His voice rose an octave on the last word. "A  _shinigami_ , right?"

"Yup."

"Oh. Wow." A pause. " _Wow_. I knew Yusuke had to be messin' with me when he was telling me all that crazy stuff last night, but I never thought death would look like  _that_."

I knew exactly what he meant. Yusuke had had the same reaction to Botan in the anime. Hell, the fandom made memes about Botan not looking anything like death, too. I managed to breathe a wheezing chuckle and say, "Her looks definitely don't fit her job description."

"I'll say!" Kuwabara said, face alight with glee that I'd agreed—but he sobered, crossing his arms as his jaw jutted forward. "But I shouldn't have assumed she'd be scary, I guess. Wouldn't be the first time I guessed something like that wrong."

I eyed him askance. "Hmm?"

"Oh. Well. Y'know." He scratched the back of his neck, eyes cutting to the side. "It's not like I thought demons could ever look like  _Kurama_ , for instance." Before I could agree, or disagree, or even ask him to clarify, Kuwabara threw up his hands with a sigh. "Just, you know—don't judge a book by its cover and stuff, that's all, and I gotta start applying that to all this demon business." His chiseled cheeks colored a bit, pink contrasting with his ginger hair. "That's what you taught me, isn't it? Not to judge too soon?"

The memory of when I'd first met him (or re-met him at the record store, at least) popped into my head. I couldn't keep the smile off my face. He'd been stunned when he learned that Little Miss Perfect Grades had loved Megallica like he did. Tone caught halfway between sarcasm and pride I said, "Well, if that's what I taught you, I sound pretty smart."

"You  _are_  pretty smart," he said (and I reminded myself not to be sarcastically self-aggrandizing again, because apparently Kuwabara would just take that in stride and make me own it). He puffed out his chest and clenched a fist before him, a man making a solemn vow. "I just need to keep that in mind when I meet demons and stuff. You can't really know a person until you get to know them. I shouldn't have assumed all demons look like monsters or that shinigami would wear black robes and have skulls for faces." And then his look turned adorably anxious. "Do you know what Botan likes? I want her to feel welcome staying in Human World and stuff, y'now? Especially after everything that's happened to her? And I don't want to make any assumptions that we should decorate her room with corpses or whatever."

I let out a bark of laughter at the thought of bubbly Botan collecting taxidermy. "No, no corpses, that much I can say. But…I don't really know what she likes, or if she's experienced much of Human World at all." Something told me Spirit World had never let her have much of a life here, where it didn't concern her job. "You'll have to ask her. I'm sure she'd love to tell you."

His eyes lit up. "Yeah, you're right. I just have to ask." Another resolute clench of his huge fist. "And if she doesn't know what she likes yet, we'll just have to help her figure it out!"

"Right," I said.

Botan, I decided, was in good hands, and would fit into my new-old routine with aplomb.

* * *

Botan returned to aiding Yusuke in the days and weeks that followed, because as Ayame said, that was her duty.

Following the threat of the Saint Beasts, Yusuke found himself once more tackling the small potatoes of the supernatural—namely tanuki and ghosts, low-level demons causing trouble, creatures that bumped in the night but didn't do anything more threatening than make a bit of noise. These were the thing I'd helped him with after he was resurrected, but this time, I didn't do much more than deliver his assignments to him. Actual aid in the field, this go-round, fell to Botan (and on occasion and curious Kuwabara, who felt more than a little vindictive toward the ghosts that had pestered him all his life). In one fell swoop my role in Yusuke's duties had been reduced to that of a messenger and little more.

It's not like I could run to the ass end of town and back with my leg in a cast, after all.

Ironic, really. I was learning to throw knives and fight with staves at Hideki's bidding, defending myself even while immobile, but even with a new set of skills under my  _aikido_  belt, my rank in Yusuke's Hierarchy of Helpers had definitely taken a nosedive. Crutches rendered me unable to keep up no matter my skill set. Week after week I found myself delivering dossiers from Ayame, debriefing Yusuke on his next case, and watching him run off without me—Botan and Kuwabara most often as his side. And yeah, sure, per canon that was totally cool or whatever, but still. Watching their retreating backs, knowing I was unable to follow, sent my heart sinking into my heels…or more specifically my one broken foot, dammit all to hell. With it in a cast, I had become just what my job description said on the tin: a record-keeper and nothing more.

To be honest, it felt almost painfully metaphorical, like the efforts of a first-year creative writing student trying to be clever. My cast would come off eventually. I'd eventually get to accompany Yusuke on these little cases maybe just in a matter of weeks. But watching Yusuke and Botan and Kuwabara run off together, the feeling of getting left behind again and again…it was a precursor of things to come. Talk about depressing.

Keiko got left behind so many times in the anime. My turn for the same approached at breakneck pace, heralded by the arrival of a certain video tape.

I watched for that video tape like a cat at a mouse hole. Every time I met with Ayame I eyed the bells of her kimono sleeves with breath held tight, waiting for her to produce a white-sleeved cassette and tell me Yusuke was about to head out on a rescue mission in the mountains—waiting for her to tell me I once again had to stay behind while literally every other cast member got to do something cool, and useful, and impactful. Part of me looked forward to my weekly meetings with Ayame. They were the only real connection I had to Yusuke's world, the one way I still felt like I influenced his job as Detective, but the feeling of paranoia and anticipation dried up any joy I could squeeze from it.

That and the whole don't-talk-about-Botan thing. That really put a damper on my meetings with Ayame.

Not that Ayame had ever been particularly chatty with me before Botan's transformation, of course. "Terse" was Ayame's middle name. Now, though, she was downright cold to me, delivering folders of documents to give to Yusuke with only the barest of verbal acknowledgements. She accepted my written accounts of the previous week with similar detachment, affecting a bored demeanor as though she would like to be anywhere but in the alley beside the restaurant (we couldn't meet in the forest given the constraints of my injuries). As a rule we never, ever talked about Botan—though once a month or so, Ayame would finally break down and ask for a report, but only in the most coded and vague of terms.

"Keiko," she'd say, but always just after she said goodbye, just before she would inevitably vanish into the shadows and disappear. "How is…?"

"Adjusting," I'd say, or something to that effect.

"Any progress?"

"No. The, ahem,  _tutor_  is less than enthusiastic."

And at the non-mention of Hiei she'd always heave a sigh, delicate as a spring breeze. "I trust you have provided proper incentive?"

"And then some." A smile meant to comfort, at that point, though I doubted it did much to soothe Ayame. "He'll come around."

Her eyes would always close, as though she had felt a pain. "I look forward to the day he does," she'd say, and she'd bow, because she was Ayame. "Thank you."

"Of course," I'd tell her. "See you next week."

Ayame, it turns out, favors an Irish goodbye, because she only rarely ever bid me goodbye in return—though perhaps she simply didn't feel she could manage to keep up her calm charade any longer.

* * *

Hiei, naturally, decided he wanted to be a taciturn little shithead when it came to training Botan.

After discussion, Botan and I (with input from Kurama, of course) decided it would be best to let Hiei set the pace of her training, not force him or pester him about said training when at all possible. One doesn't make friends with stray cats by being pushy. Instead I invited Botan to my weekly parole meetings with the reluctant fire demon, instructing her to bring out the food each week and present it to Hiei. A Pavlovian response, is what I was hoping for. See Botan, think of food, think happy thoughts—or whatever kind of thoughts serve as happy ones for Hiei. I dunno, he's got an unconventional sense of the word "happy" and I'm not about to try and get inside his head just yet; so sue me.

Unfortunately for my grand attempt at a psychology experiment, Hiei remained nigh impervious to (my very well-meant!) conditioning attempts. Sure, he accepted the food she offered, but he ignored her when she chattered, directing any questions (or any kind of talk at all) at me instead of her. He never brought up training at all, and when Botan pushed to include him in conversation, he'd more or less ignore her—or at the very least make his disinterest in whatever she had to say abundantly clear. Hiei, as it stands, is very good at cutting remarks, and more than once Botan ran out of the alley almost in tears.

"Hiei,  _behave_ ," I'd tell him in those moments, and of course I'd sternly (read: screechily) threaten to revoke his ramen privileges, but he typically only glared and retaliated by stealing yet another of my bowls, that  _bastard_.

Weeks passed like this: Botan trying her hardest, Hiei avoiding her, the two of them dancing around the subject of training like a pair of rival ballet dancers trapped in an awkward  _pas de deux_. Though I agreed with Kurama that waiting for Hiei to broach the subject of training had a certain wisdom, after a few weeks I felt my inner coil of tension tighten near to its breaking point—and it turns out I'm a helluva lot less patient than Kurama, and maybe even Botan.

When I finally snapped and blurted my feelings (in the form of an oh-so-subtle "So have ya given any thought to training Botan yet, Hiei?"), Hiei paused. He had been in the middle of slurping noodles, a fringe of buckwheat strings hanging like jellyfish fronds from the thin line of his unamused mouth. With malevolent eyes he stared at me, slurping up the last inches of those noodles with painful, deliberate sluggishness. When they vanished, he swung his face toward Botan.

"What can you do?" he said.

Botan's lips pursed. "Eh?"

"What can you do?" Hiei repeated. When Botan didn't answer, he bared his teeth. "What powers do you have?"

"Well, I don't know!" Botan said with a laugh, like she thought Hiei might be joking (which he very definitely was not). "That's what I was hoping  _you'd_  tell me, Hiei."

That was, apparently, the wrong damn thing to say. Hiei's teeth gleamed in the dark of the alley like needles of ivory. "Feh. You don't get it," he said, and he scarfed down the last of his meal and vanished in a flicker of black.

Botan and I sat there in silence, staring at the spot where he'd been. Eventually we looked at one another and shrugged in unison.

Despite the foolhardiness of my blurted question, which killed the idea of letting Hiei bring up training himself, my intervention did bring about a chance in the otherwise monotonous meetings we'd been having with the fire demon. Now Botan felt free to bring up training herself when she saw Hiei, as did I—but that resulted in a different kind of monotony. Hiei met our queries with that same query of his own, asking time and again what powers Botan possessed, and she'd always reply she didn't know. Every time she said that he'd scoff and vanish, sometimes taking my bowls of ramen with him, sometimes bolting down his food before making his exit (I switched back to paper bowls for a while there just to keep my parents' stockpile of kitchenware from depleting entirely). He seemed utterly dissatisfied by Botan's answers to his question, though neither of us really knew why. Her answers were honest enough, after all.

"I fear he'll never train me at this point," Botan confided in me one night. Tears made her eyes swim, magenta color even more brilliant than normal. "He seems to find me repulsive."

"He'll come around, Botan. You'll see," I said, though she didn't look too comforted. "It took me ages to win him over."

She sniffled. "Really?"

"Really-really," I assured her. "Just give it time."

Time, it turns out, is the one thing I'm very bad at respecting, because a few weeks later I found myself once more breaking my own damn advice to be patient.

"Hiei, can you at least  _try_  to train Botan?!" I snapped one night.

Hiei sneered at me, even though he had a bit of spinach on his chin and looked ridiculous. "Why should I?"

"Aside from the promise of Spirit World's favor?" I reminded him (though at that he looked less than impressed). "You could at least give her a hint about how to control her powers. Just a  _hint_!"

But Hiei was not so easily persuaded. "It's a waste of time," he said, and he turned up his nose like he'd smelled something foul.

Seems Botan's patience had worn thin, too. "A waste of time?" she repeated, irate. "How can helping someone in need be a waste of time, Hiei?"

A low growl rumbled in his chest. "It's a waste of time giving you hints when you won't even try to discover your powers yourself!" he said, eyes flashing like an animals in the darkness.

Botan and I both fell quiet. Hiei stood, the crate serving as his chair scraping against the pavement.

"Every week you ask me to train you. Every week I ask you what abilities you have. And every week you tell me you don't know." Hiei glared first at me, and then more fiercely at the dumbstruck Botan. "How can I train you in an ability if you don't even know what that ability is? How can I know what your abilities are if you don't? And how could you  _ever_  hope to control something you don't know is even there?"

Because he'd talked more in the last thirty seconds than he had in the past half hour, I found myself rendered quite mute by his tirade. So did Botan. We both stared at him while he glared at us, unable to reply—because he was right, to be honest. We didn't know anything about what Botan was capable of. How could we expect Hiei to be a decent tutor when Botan didn't even know what triggered her weird berserker side?

"If you're too scared to experiment on your own," Hiei continued with the most derisive sneer imaginable, "I can't help you. I won't waste my time babying you." He grabbed his bowl of ramen with a huff. "Ask me for help once you know what it is, exactly, that I'm supposed to be helping you with."

And with that, we lost him, his form blurring from sight and evaporating with a puff of displaced air. Another bowl lost, another week gone by with no results—but much though I wanted to lob insults at the sky, I was not the one who needed comforting.

"Botan," I said, turning to her. "Are you OK?"

She stared at Hiei's abandoned crate with eyes unseeing, flinching at the sound of her name. "I'm…I'm fine," she said—but she looked quickly away from me, because her eyes had started to well up. Botan stood and said, "I'm going to go home."

My hands went for my crutches on reflex. "Do you need—?"

"No." Her rejection came firm, but not sharp, and I saw that though tears still swam in her eyes, her jaw had tightened into a hard line of unmistakable determination. "Thank you, Keiko, but no." She took a deep breath, glancing upward at the dark sky. "The walk back to Yusuke's will do me good. I have a lot to think about on my own, you see."

I didn't argue with that.

I let Botan go, and I hoped that whatever reflection she underwent, it provided the answers she sought.

* * *

It felt like minutes, and it felt like months, but soon autumn arrived in all its fallen-leafed splendor. And with that changing of the season came the whirring of a buzz saw.

It was an aggressive sound I welcomed, because it came from the inside of a doctor's office as she sawed away the plaster of my cast—and with the sound of its strident grinding came my freedom. Sure, I'd have to do physical therapy for a while, and the limb wasn't totally perfect even after months spent in a cast, and it would probably hurt when the weather changed the way my bad arm had hurt in my old life—but the cast was gone, and I was free once more.

Mom had to pull me out of class to get the cast removed. After the appointment ended we went straight home so I could take a bath. Limbs stink to high heaven fresh-out-the-cast, and my leg reeked something fierce. First thing I wanted to do was track down Yusuke and shove my toes in his face, gloat that I was free as he gagged at my horrible stench, but the nicer part of me won out and said he should probably not die again, and that necessitated ridding my foot of its pungent post-cast aroma. Bathing my limb felt ambrosial as hell, even though I lamented that one calf now look smaller than the other from loss of musculature. That was nothing Hideki-sensei couldn't fix, though, so I put it out of my mind and got dressed, chomping at the bit for school to end so I could find Yusuke and shove my emancipated toes at him. When the time came I took the stairs cautiously, of course, because I needed to take it easy so as to not reinjure myself, but when I reached the bottom I hopped in place and pumped a fist into the air.

It was the first time in months I hadn't had to labor down the stairs in crutches, and that in and of itself was a victory worth celebrating.

Too bad for me Fate had no intention of letting my good luck continue unchecked.

She moved the minute I exited the back door and stepped into the alley. Her kimono blended with the shadows by the dumpster, and when she stepped into the light her expensive garment and coifed hair looked comically proper next to the battered and dirty trashcan at her side. Her grave expression didn't fit the setting, either, too serious and weighty for this most informal of settings.

I barely saw any of that, though.

I only had eyes, instead, for the video tape held tight in Ayame's pale hand—the image of it burning into my brain the way lightning sears a retina, electric and unforgettable.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big montage to denote the passage of time, ahoy. And now we have the video tape. Eager to see what happens next!
> 
> This weekend and next weekend was/will be hellaciously busy. Fun Announcement Time: I have an art studio as of this month, where I'll be displaying my work from now into the foreseeable future. It opens to the public next weekend. Tons of prep work has gone into this and I'm ferociously swamped as a result. But I do lots of writing on my lunch breaks, so that helps me with time management and I don't feel so swamped that I have to take time away from the story yet. Could happen in future, but not yet. We'll see. Wish me luck!
> 
> Many thanks to those who took the time to review last chapter. Amidst a migraine and a trying week, you brought me joy. Thank you so much.


	63. Out of My Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko gets a haircut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First section implies possible sexual assault, though it's not at all explicit in any capacity.

It was January, I was nineteen years old, and as the snow crunched under the soles of our shoes, Kristie "Tell Me Your Whole Life Story" Baker was telling us her whole life story.

Lucky for me I'd brought a flask of cheap rum along to keep me company while Kristie ranted. I snuck nips of booze as I walked ahead of my friends, nursing a healthy buzz as Kristie buzzed away. Something about the time she met one of the Real Housewives and how it related to the first pet goldfish she'd ever had, not to mention the death of her great aunt and the time she got her first period, or something—Kristie's stories never followed any internal logic, meandering from intimately personal topic to intimately personal topic like a river cut by millennia of oblivious, oversharing glaciers. My friends (well, my friend and the acquaintance she'd brought with her), listened to Kristie in polite silence and were about as animated as glaciers, themselves, but no one stopped Kristie as she drunkenly rambled on our walk to the Delta frat house. Becky checked her phone a lot (Kristie didn't notice) but Timothy nodded along and tried to look engaged.

"So that's when my parents decided to get a divorce," said Kristie "Tell Me Your Whole Life Story" Baker. "They'd been fighting for a long time, and—"

"Sorry to hear about your parents," Timothy said, making a brave show of sounding something other than totally, totally bored. "That must have been rough."

Kristie paused. Since silence from her was a rare sound indeed, I glanced at her over my shoulder to witness this most evasive of phenomena. She'd stopped walking, crunching boots gone silent, fluffy pink parka unzipped down to her navel. She looked Timothy up, then down. It didn't take very long. He was 5'1, at least six inches shorter than Kristie even when she wasn't wearing her heeled and fur-lined fashion boots, and a full nine inches shorter than me. She blinked her mascara-covered lashes at him and smiled. Timothy smiled back, uncertain.

"You know," Kristie declared. "Timothy, you're nice and all, but I'd never,  _ever_  date you—because you're  _so fucking short_!"

Perhaps if I hadn't been drinking that night, I would have reacted differently. Perhaps I would have thought first, defended Timothy later, because I barely knew him and my only interaction with him before that night had been during freshman orientation, where he'd proven to be an annoying asshole I didn't much care for—but because I was drinking, and because my rum stash was mostly depleted at that point, blood roared in my ears like an angry manticore and I found myself wheeling on Kristie with a sigh of disgust.

"You know," I said, words as distant as if I heard myself speaking from the other end of a bad phone connection, "you limit yourself like that, reject people for shallow-ass reasons like their height, you might be missin' out on the best sex of your life."

Timothy gaped at me. Alex gaped at me. Becky looked up from her phone like a startled baby deer.

"So fuckin'  _what_  if he's short?" I said. "For all you know, this guy right here—" (at that I pointed at Timothy, who still gaped at me like a beached sturgeon) "—he could be your goddamn soulmate for all you know, and you're rejectin' him because he's short? He didn't even say he was interested, and you're rejectin' him because he's short?" My head shook, hood flopping off, scalp at once suffused with cold. "I feel sorry for ya, Kristie. You're gonna have a hard time findin' anyone with a sorry attitude like that."

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my flask, rattling open the top and tipping it back to get the final drops of rum. Everybody stared; I wiped my mouth on my wrist and shook my flask.

"I'm goin' back," I said. "Gonna get a top-off. Y'all want anything?"

"Where are you  _from_?" Kristie asked. She looked me up and down, which took longer than it had taken with Timothy since I was ten inches taller than him even in just my snowboots. "What's that accent?"

I cursed; my Southern must have slipped. It did that when I got angry. I pushed past her and shrugged, content to let her revel in the mysteries of my origin.

"Wait!" said Timothy, and he trotted after me.

Later on, after I doubled back for more rum and then went to the party at Delta house with Timothy in tow, Becky pulled me aside. "Careful," she warned me. "Timothy's going to take that the wrong way."

I'd had even more rum at that point; my words came slow and slurred. "Take  _what_  the wrong way?"

"You defending his height to Kristie. He'll think you're interested."

"Pffft!" The booze-soaked laugh echoed in the frat's tiny kitchen, beer bottles shining like stars on the countertop. "Kristie was being a dick!"

"That's not the point."

"I was telling  _her_  off, not defending  _him_!" I said, because that was the truth. "I was being nice, not hitting on him. I mean, he had to know that, right?"

She stared at me—and then her eyes shifted over my shoulder. I turned to look, brows raised.

Across the room, Timothy's wide blue eyes trained unmoving upon me. He smiled when he saw me looking and raised a glass in my direction.

I waved back, but I didn't smile.

"Just be careful," Becky murmured.

I promised her I would. I rejoined the party, was as nice to Timothy as I was to everyone else in the house, and when he asked me for my phone number, I gave it to him—stressing the word friend at every opportunity. Because surely that would be enough.

I was nineteen years old. I thought stressing friendship would be enough to let Timothy down easy. I thought stressing I liked girls (because at that point I didn't want much to do with men) would be enough to put him off of me. I thought those things would be enough to keep him at bay, to telegraph my disinterest, to make him forget the night I'd defended him, because what Kristie had said to him was awful, and defending him had been the right thing to do.

Two months later I woke up naked on the floor of a dorm room, unable to recall the night before. My mouth tasted like cotton and vodka. Bruises spotted my hips like the marks of a leopard. Timothy sat next to me, naked.

"You're my girlfriend now," he informed me as he handed me my clothes—clothes I had no memory of taking off.

I told him I wasn't interested, and that our encounter—whatever it had entailed, because I had no memory if it—had been a mistake.

Timothy didn't like that.

Timothy stalked me for months, but because he was so fucking short, both my friends and the police laughed in my face when I said I feared for my safety—until the day he cornered me at a party and tried to give me a black eye. He missed, because I stepped back and out of the reach of his stubby arm.

Thank god he was so fucking short, I guess.

* * *

Just as I predicted, the video showed nothing more interesting than static and fuzz as it played on my TV screen—and yet Amagi watched with rapt attention from her seat on my bedrooms floor. I watched her in turn, studying her reactions to images I could not see. She paled a little after a few minutes, and then she thumbed the pause button on the VCR. Fuzz fixed in place like a snowstorm frozen solid.

"There's a corrupt billionaire with the face of a malformed baboon in the mountains north of here. He's holding an ice apparition named Yukina hostage," she said. Her voice adopted the faintest of tremors. "When she cries, her tears turn to priceless gems. He—he  _tortures her_  to get them."

She put a hand to her mouth, so I put a hand on her shoulder. I'd gone straight to Amagi with the video tape once Ayame left me alone. Part of me wondered if that had been the right decision, but on short notice I wasn't sure who else I could go to. Time was of the essence. Every minute Yukina spent with the monster Tarukane was another minute of hell.

"I'm sorry, Amagi," I said, and I meant every word. "I'm so sorry you had to hear that. The tape—it wasn't graphic, was it?"

She shook her head. "No. Not at all."

"Then why…?"

"Just—the look on her face. That look of pain and sadness." Her eyes fixed on the TV. "She's too lovely to look so sad."

I looked to the TV, too, but once more I saw nothing. My eyes played tricks on me, for a moment suggesting the outline of a head, the curve of a jaw, the round of a shoulder—but I blinked and it vanished. Wishful thinking, probably. If only I was psychic…

Amagi said nothing for a minute or so, just staring at the screen. I put a hand over hers; she jumped.

"I'm so sorry to make you do this," I said.

Again, she shook her head. "Don't be. You warned me there would be no going back if I learned the truth."

"That I did."

"And I asked to learn it, anyway." She pulled a knee to her chest, wrapping her arms around it for comfort. "I've got no one to blame by myself."

But was that really true? She'd come to me weeks prior, firm in her desire to know the truth even after all my warnings, and I'd told her the basics as best I could. Spirit World, Demon World, demons, ghosts…and Amagi had just nodded along, undisturbed.

"That explains things," she'd confessed when I told her what I could. "I've seen women on oars near hospitals and at the scenes of accidents. I've seen little horned men with blue skin climb into people's mouths and then watched their behavior change. I've seen more ghosts than I can count, more tanukis vanishing from sight than I care to mention." And she'd shrugged when I'd asked if she was OK, like my revelations hadn't been a big deal at all. "All you've done is given me more context. I can't regret that."

I certainly hoped she'd never come to regret it. But time would tell, as time is wont to do.

Amagi uncurled her leg and pressed "play" once more. Her lips moved, eyes roving across the screen as the static began its soothing, fuzzy dance. Every now and then she'd speak, pausing between thoughts as the video showed her more and more: details about Yukina's imprisonment; more information about her background in the world of ice; shots of Tarukane's ugly face, which she described with utter revulsion.

"There are directions to the compound where she's being held," she said. "And that's it, I think—wait. No. One final thing." Amagi's eyes narrowed and she leaned close to the screen. "Yukina is the sister of someone named Hiei. And this Koenma person seems disturbed by that. He says under no circumstances can Hiei watch this tape—but he wants Hiei to deliver it to Yusuke?" At that she heaved an indelicate snort. "That's a horrible idea. Koenma thinks it will throw Hiei off the scent, but  _I_  think it's stupid." She sighed, watched a bit more of the fuzz, then pushed the "eject" button. "Nothing else of note, although Koenma should be wary of copyright infringement. He ripped off the MGM logo in the credits." But she shook her head and turned to me with a frown. "Who is Hiei?"

I grimaced, wondering how much I should say. Eventually I settled on: "A very, very grumpy friend of mine."

"A demon?"

"…yeah."

Amagi's lips twisted. "No need to hide it. Of course he's a demon, if he has a demon for a sister." Once more she glanced at the TV, even though the screen had gone dark. "Yukina looked human enough. When you first told me about demons, I thought of  _oni_. Ogres from fairy tale. And the little imps I've seen around town, too."

"Some do look like that," I said. "They come in hundreds of varieties, and some are more human than others. Yukina is definitely on the human side."

Her pale brow furrowed. "You say that like you've seen her face before."

Amagi was too smart for her own good. I covered my unease with a shrug and a hasty lie. "I assumed she'd look human since her brother looks human. But anyway." Time for a swift subject change, methinks. "Thanks for watching that for me. I hate not being psychic."

Amagi nodded, and for some reason she looked at me with concern—as though she feared for me, and perhaps she did. "It would be helpful for you to be psychic, all things considered."

"Totally," I agreed.

Too bad for me no amount of psychic power would help me figure out what to do next, nor how to handle the situation that had been dumped by right into my unwilling lap.

* * *

Of course, I'd wondered about this story arc before, back when I first entered the world of Yu Yu Hakusho and created my multitude of canon journals. The thing was, I'd assumed the video tape would be given to Hiei himself, not to me—because I most certainly hadn't anticipated becoming Yusuke's Record Keeper and all-around helper. Now I had to decide if I should tell Hiei what was on the tape, and if I should give it to him in the first place…because canon hadn't revealed how Hiei found out about the tape's contents. Did he watch it himself, read Yusuke's mind, spy on Yusuke while he watched the tape? I wasn't sure, and those uncertainties complicated an already complex situation.

In the end, though, I decided to Occam's Razor the shit out of the situation and just make it simple. And I did so by waiting for Hiei to show up to our weekly meeting (a meeting Botan hadn't attended ever since Hiei's rebuke) and handed the tape to him without a word.

Well, I tried to hand it to him. Hiei acted like Hiei and didn't accept my offerings. Instead he eyed the cassette in its white sleeve like it might grow a mouth and bite him, saying "What in the world is that?" with all the disgust of an emperor presented with non-name-brand clothes.

I sighed and set the tape atop the crate where Hiei would sit to eat. "Spirit World told me to give it to you." I didn't look at him while I spoke, concentrating on setting up our evening meal of ramen and our dinette set of empty produce crates. Hiei had graduated back to actual bowls instead of plastic; he'd been stealing them less now that Botan wasn't around to annoy him and make him bolt. Arranging chopsticks on the crates I said, "They said you should deliver it to Yusuke."

"To the Detective?"

"Yes."

His growl sounded like annoyance personified. "But  _you_  see him all the time. Why can't  _you_  take it?"

I couldn't keep my eyes away. Shooting him the most what-do-you-want-from-me look I could muster, I said, "This is what Spirit World has asked me to do, Hiei. It's not my idea."

He appeared most thoroughly unconvinced. "But  _why_  would they want me to deliver it?"

At that I could only shrug and tuck into my dinner, just so I wouldn't have to look at him anymore—because if I kept looking, I was sure I'd give myself away.

"Spirit World likes to play games," I said.

I spoke with care, of course. I tried not to lie, but I tried not to give anything away, and speaking in a near-nonsense riddle felt like appropriate middle ground. But when Hiei didn't reply, didn't berate me for not speaking sense, I felt an itch on the back of my neck. Swatting at it didn't make it go away—and with the ponderous weight of dread draped across my shoulders, I lifted my eyes to Hiei's.

His stare had teeth—teeth and the kind of heat you found at the heart of a furnace, searing and solid and deep. Hiei wasn't stupid. He wasn't a particularly introspective person, sure, but he wasn't stupid by any means. His eyes flickered to my throat when I swallowed, and in response his lips curled at the corners.

He knew.

As soon as I saw the curve of his mouth, that knowing sneer that said the game was over, I knew that he knew. He knew I had to be up to something, or at least that there was something I wasn't saying, and on purpose.

The itch on my nape, right at the base of my skull, intensified.

Hiei said nothing, however. He sat atop his crate (after nudging the tape aside with his foot) and ate his meal in silence, staring at me with unblinking eyes as I tried desperately not to think about the damn video tape. Of course, that became all that I could think about, and as soon as Hiei finished his foot he swiped the tape off the ground and stowed it in the depths of his billowing cloak.

"Be seeing you," he said, curt and rough and biting—and then he vanished, the breeze of his passing ruffling my hair with a breath of hot air.

I barely slept that night.

This situation was as out of my hands as that damn video tape.

* * *

Based on the timeline established by the anime, Hiei would contact Yusuke and hand over the tape sometime in the morning, before Yusuke went to school. I distinctly remembered Yusuke bringing the tape to school, where Kuwabara would ask if it was a porno (ew) and Keiko would remark that they couldn't bring video tapes to school…only in this reality, Keiko didn't go to Yusuke's school, unable to drag him to class or ensure his attendance.

Well.  _Almost_  unable.

He answered the phone just before the answering machine could kick in, and he sounded sleepy as hell. "Jeez, Keiko," he said through a muffled yawn. "It's barely after dawn!"

"…Yusuke, it's almost 8."

"Yeah! Dawn!" Another yawn; I could picture his bed-head, for once free of gel and soft. "What do you even want this early?"

"Just an assurance you're going to go to school today. Atsuko said your attendance has been terrible ever since you got back from Genkai's."

I could feel his disdain radiating through the phone. "School I stupid and I hate it."

"I know," I said, scolding and soothing all at once. "But at least graduate middle school, all right? It's one thing to not attend high school in this country, but middle school…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, I get it." His voice pitched up in nasal mimicry of mine. "No one takes a middle school dropout seriously, blah blah blah!"

"Well, at least you've been listening to me some of the time," I grumbled. "But you'll be late if you don't leave soon."

"Kind of hard to leave when I've got a naggy grandma keeping me on the phone."

"So hang up and hustle, dipshit!"

"Fine, I will!" he said, and he slammed the phone into the cradle.

It wasn't the most encouraging of calls, but Yusuke feared my wrath and would probably (hopefully) go to school today—and since I could do basically nothing else to ensure his attendance, I hung up the phone and headed off for Meiou.

Out of my hands. This whole damn thing was out of my hands, and all I could do was wait.

Kurama noticed, of course, that I wasn't my usual chipper self. My thoughts lived with Yusuke and Hiei, their whereabouts and Hiei's curiosity chief among my many concerns. Barely had the energy to listen to Kaito talk about his latest paper over lunch, even though I made an effort to follow along. When lunch ended Kurama fell into step beside me, eyeing me askance as we wound our way through the crowds of students coming back from lunch.

"How's your ankle?" he said.

"Hmm? Oh. It's fine." I glanced down at my foot, clad in a shoe instead of a cast. "Why?"

"You seemed distracted," he said. "I thought, perhaps, you might be in pain."

I wasn't, or at least I wasn't in any pain worth mentioning. My ankle felt stiff, unaccustomed to walking without crutches, and too much activity made it sore, but beyond that I'd mended fairly well. I shrugged and said, "Sorry, Minamino. I've got a lot on my mind."

"Care to share?"

"Not really." I tucked a bit of hair behind my ear, then realized what I was doing and grabbed my bangs, holding them in front of my nose to stare at them cross-eyed. "Yeesh. My hair's getting long. I need a cut."

He stared at the length of hair between my fingers, too, and smiled. "Perhaps a trim, if you're so inclined. I'd wondered if you were growing it out, actually."

Over the past two months I hadn't kept up with seeing Shizuru for style updates, mainly because getting to her house or her salon took too long on crutches. I blew air out of my mouth to clear the bangs from my face and hopped from foot to foot.

"What do you think?" I asked. "Hoof it to get a cut, or let it do its thing? Long hair or short?"

"I admit I'm biased." He looked at the red-black hair lying in silken coils on his shoulder; I suppressed a giggle. "The short hair suits you, however. But your hair looked lovely longer, too."

"Fat load of help you are."

He chuckled at my deadpan expression before adopting a look of suspicious innocence. "Apologies. But can you really be angry with me?"

"Hmm?"

More innocence, slathered on too think to be genuine, all mournful eyes and slumped shoulders belied by the wicked gleam in his green eye. "All I've done is say you look lovely no matter how you wear your hair," Kurama said, tone gleefully morose. "You can't fault me for that, can you?"

He was every inch a fox in that moment, not the teenage boy he pretended to be with such damning expertise. I'm certain I went crimson as I socked his shoulder and called him a cad, but Kurama only laughed before slipping away and vanishing amidst the rest of the student body.

Distracting Kurama from my state of distraction had come partially at my expense, but at the same time, I was glad to put him off the scent. It wasn't like I could let him tag along with me after school, after all—certainly not with what I had planned looming on the horizon.

Straight after school I booked it to the Kuwabara residence, and as was her custom, Shizuru answered the door mere seconds after I knocked. Pretty sure she could predict people coming even before her training with Kuroko, so now I really wouldn't put it past her. She took one look at my hair and let her eyebrow fly high.

"You here for a haircut or my brother?" she asked. "Because I hope to god it's for the hair."

Because Shizuru held the wellbeing of my hair in her hands, I thought carefully before speaking. "Can it be both?" I ventured.

"I guess." She stepped aside and gestured for me to follow her indoors. "But I'm afraid you just missed my baby bro."

With her back to me as I trailed in her wake, I didn't have to hide my stricken expression. I only had to conceal the sudden nerves in my voice when I voiced a casual, "Oh?"

"Yeah," Shizuru said. We entered the kitchen and she pulled out a chair, upon which I sat while she fetched her collection of clippers and a smock. "He and Yusuke came over to use our VCR. Watched some video tape with Botan." She walked in front of me, combing my bangs with her fingers—but she wasn't looking at my hair. "Said they got it from a guy named Hiei, who said he got it from you."

I should've known better than to play dumb. Trying to keep calm under the weight of Shizuru's glower wasn't easy. "Right. They did," I said. "Any idea what the tape was about?"

For a minute she looked confused, but then her expression cleared. "Oh. I get it. The little baby on the screen said those without spiritual sensitivity couldn't watch it, didn't he?" She combed my hair some more, tutting. "No wonder you're confused."

I was rare that I ever got to hide things from Shizuru, so I bit my tongue and hoped to hell she believed the excuse she'd cooked up for me. She wandered behind my chair and played with my hair a little longer, than grabbed a spray bottle of water and misted the strands.

"There was a girl." She put the bottle aside and hefted scissors and a comb, clipping at my hair while she talked. "Name was…Yukina, I think. Being held in the mountains by a guy who looks like a horse's ass made out of wax that melted a bit, only uglier."

My lips curled. "Colorful description."

"One he deserves." More snipping, and then Shizuru plugged in an electric razor to trim the back of my neck. "The mission was to save the girl. Pretty standard rescue operation, it sounded like. I actually thought Spirit World's bullshit would be more…what's the word? Exotic?"

"Nah. They're pretty derivative."

"I'll say. The baby guy ripped off the MGM roaring lion intro." She tutted again, somehow managing to sound disdainful over the hum of the clippers. "Still can't believe Spirit World is ruled by a toddler."

"He's about 700 years old, or so I'm told."

"Hmmph. Slow bloomer, I guess."

She set aside the razor and concentrated on the longer bits of hair atop my skull, eyes narrowed in concentration while she worked. I left her alone for a minute, even though beneath my black smock my ankles twisted together like agitated snakes. There was something I needed to know, something Shizuru could tell me about, but asking would be awkward as hell. Was there any way to pull the information out of her?

Only one way to find out.

"Right," I said when I couldn't bear the uncertainty any longer. "So…anything else?"

Her brow quirked. "What else would there be?"

"I dunno, just…" I spread my hands, fingers peeking from under the black fabric draped atop me. "Any other details I should know?"

Shizuru's lips pursed at the sound of my leading question. "You're fishing for something."

"Me?" I did my best to look confused, though inside I'd started to shake. "What would I—?"

"Don't play dumb, Keiko. You're looking for me to confirm what you already know." Damn Shizuru and her perceptiveness! So much for fooling her. Arms crossed over her vest-clad chest, unimpressed and totally not buying my ignorant act. "And the only thing I haven't mentioned yet is..."

A game of chicken started, basically. Breath bated, I sat there fidgeting under her intense gaze, waiting for her to clue me in to what she knew while she waited for me to break and confess everything. It's a good thing I'm stubborn, because eventually Shizuru sighed and hung her head, fishing in her back pocket for a cigarette. Probably just impatient and of the opinion this was a stupid contest, probably, not even worth the effort of winning.

"Fine. Be that way," she said, blowing a cloud of grey smoke toward the ceiling. "This Yukina girl knows someone we know." She studied my reaction, mouth thin. "I'm not gonna reveal how, let alone who, if you haven't guessed. Not my place."

A knot of tension unspooled in my shoulders. So she'd seen the end of the video, then, and had assumed that's the secret I already knew. "It's Hiei," I said. "And I know they're siblings."

"Smart girl." She took another drag. "That what you wanted to know?"

"Sure," I said, relieved—but the lie felt wrong, because what I actually wanted to know had nothing to do with Hiei and it had everything to do, instead, with Shizuru's brother. But was it worth shattering this successful obfuscation just to get a bit of extra intel?

…dammit all to hell, but I felt like it might be worth it.

I sighed, and I tried not to move when Shizuru came at my bangs with her scissors again. "Actually, no. It's not what I wanted to know." I took a breath to steel my nerves. "Can I be blunt?"

She didn't even pause in her work, scissors snipping in a steady rhythm. "I'd prefer that over delicate. More my style."

"Good to know." One more deep breath before I bit the bullet. "So. Your brother. How did he react to being sent on this mission?"

"What, you worried about him?" Shizuru said. "He's been on missions with Yusuke before…but I get the sense that's not why you're worried." She scanned my face, scissors at last going still, but then she shrugged and seemed to decide what she saw in my features didn't matter. "He seemed fine to go on this mission. Felt really sorry for Yukina, same as Yusuke. They left as soon as they finished watching the tape." Another sharp exhale through the nose, humored and wry. "The outro credits were as cheesy as the intro."

"I see," I said—and air caught in my lungs like the hem of a skirt on cactus. Kuwabara had felt sorry for Yukina? That was a weird way to put it. Even weirder was the notion he'd left alongside Yusuke after they finished the tape, not bounding ahead as soon as he saw her face—

Wait.

_Wait just one fucking goddamn minute._

"They finished the tape?" I blurted.

Shizuru stood back when I moved in my spot, hands on her hips. "Well, yeah."

"All three of them?!" I yelped. "Botan, Yusuke, and Kuwabara?"

"What, were they  _not_  supposed to watch the full debriefing before being sent into a demonic lion's den?" Shizuru said, like the answer was obvious and I was stupid for even asking, but _holy fucking shitballs there were implications here that she had no idea about and holy shit, holy shit_ —

"I—I just—I don't—I have to go!" I said, and I bolted from my chair and headed at a run for the front door.

I caught a glimpse of Shizuru's face, blanched and nonplussed, as I streaked past her. "Keiko, wait—my smock!" she said, and I doubled back to strip the garment over the top of my head. I all but threw it at her in my haste, dipping the faintest of bows as I backpedaled out of the kitchen,

"Thanks, Shizuru, bye!" I said, and I left her standing there in the middle of the hair-covered kitchen floor, mouth agape as I beat my swift retreat.

In Shizuru's details lay two horrifying realizations. The first, of course, was that Kuwabara hadn't bolted from the house the moment he saw Yukina. That reaction boded, and it boded nothing good—but even more distressingly was the revelation that he'd watched the video tape to the very end.

The video tape that revealed the relationship between a certain fire demon and the ice demon Kuwabara was on his way to save.

Which meant that Kuwabara—kind, helpful, blabber-mouthed Kuwabara—knew that Yukina was Hiei's long lost sister.

* * *

Kagome whistled, long and long and breathy through the phone connection. She said, "Holy shit, girlfriend."

I grimaced against my palm, elbow propped on my desk, chin pillowed on hand. "I know."

"No. I mean,  _holy shit_. Kuwabara didn't fall in love at first sight and he knows about Hiei and Yukina—that's  _nuts!_ "

"What do I do?" I said. I'd said that a hundred times in this phone call with Kagome, made the minute I finished sprinting home from Kuwabara's house. I could think of no one else to call, and she'd listened to my babbled reveal in horrified silence—but neither of us knew quite what to say. "What do I even do?"

"Well, first thing's first: You gotta hope Kuwabara isn't so far in love with you that this can't be fixed."

My chest spasmed, refusing to take in air. " _In love_  with me?"

"Well, yeah," Kagome said. "That's what happened, right?"

Truth be told, I wasn't sure, and I hated admitting as much. I'd seen a few signs here and there that Kuwabara  _like_ -liked me, if you'll pardon the immature phrasing. All the blushing, the attention he paid me, his protectiveness, it was hard to miss—but that was just a crush, not actual love. Yeah, that's right. It was just a crush, the kind any 14 year old boy would have on a pretty girl who paid him even the littlest bit of attention. Love was deeper than attraction. Love was  _different_. There was no way Kuwabara loved me. And even if he did…

"I thought that the minute he saw her, any crush he'd have on me would disappear," I said. "He crushed on Keiko and Botan in the anime, but the second Yukina entered the picture, those feelings evaporated. So I guess…"

"You couldn't have known," Kagome said, trying to comfort me. "I mean, what were you supposed to do? Be  _rude_  to him? Be  _mean_  to get him to not like you?"

"Actually—actually  _yeah_. Maybe?" I sighed and pressed my fingers against my eyelids until I saw sparks. "I've seen it before. Sometimes dudes don't take hints. Sometimes they just latch on and no amount of 'We're just friends' will dissuade them. Sometimes you have to just break a heart and walk away." Kuwabara was no Timothy, but even so, memories of the asshole who wouldn't take no for an answer wouldn't vacate my head. I threw up my hands, blinking in the sunlight streaming through my window. "Maybe I could've been aloof? Distant? But Kuwabara is just—he's my favorite character. I couldn't  _not_  be nice and supportive and whatnot. Being a dick to him would break my heart!"

Kagome tittered. "I hate to say it, but hindsight's 20/20. Maybe you should've been an ass to him instead of his friend. Sucks to say it, but…"

It did indeed suck. It sucked  _hard_. Being rude to someone without cause was not a part of who I am, and the idea of being needlessly nasty to Kuwabara to drive him away put a foul taste in my mouth…but was that what I'd have to do when he returned from recusing Yukina? I supposed it all depended on how he reacted to her in person…

"He's a teenage boy, you're a pretty girl, and you like all the same things he does," Kagome continued. "How was he  _not_  supposed to imprint like a sweet little baby duckling onto you?"

"But that's just it," I said. "He crushed on Keiko and Botan both in the anime. Those crushes dissolved  _the minute_  he saw Yukina. He imprinted on Yukina, instead." I swallowed a lump of nerves before admitting, "And yeah, he and I are closer now than he and Keiko were in the anime, but still. If it's just a crush…"

"But he  _didn't_  imprint on Yukina," Kagome said. "If his crush on you stayed put when he saw her, maybe it's not just a crush after all."

My eyes squeezed shut. "No."

"Maybe he's straight up in love with you, no crush about it."

" _No_ , Tigger."

"Denial is a pretty color on you, Eeyore."

"I'm not—ugh!" My free hand, once more, shot skyward in agitation. "This can't be happening. Not again!"

"Again?" Kagome asked.

The urge to brush aside the question was hard to deny. I opted for the middle ground of explanation. "I'm nice to people, OK?" I said. "I'm just…I'm  _nice_ , most of the time. And I try to be good to people and Kuwabara wouldn't be the first guy to think me treating him with basic decency means I'm interested in him romantically."

Kagome didn't say anything, merely inhaled a long, slow breath that sounded like she thought I'd made a point. And perhaps I had. Most of my girlfriends in my past life had their own version of a Timothy Story, after all. I knotted my hands in my still-damp hair with a sigh, head hanging on the end of my limp neck.

"Maybe Shizuru was wrong," I said, studying the grain of my wooden desk. "Maybe he did fall for Yukina. This isn't the anime. People don't sweat-drop and grow hearts for eyes in real life. This is a real version of Yu Yu Hakusho. Maybe his reaction was subtler, and he was embarrassed in front of Yusuke, and contained himself."

That was wishful thinking. I knew it and Kagome knew it, but Kagome was a good enough friend to let me have this last shred of hope. She was kind enough to let me think, if just for a little while, that my selfish desire to become friends with my favorite anime character hadn't ruined everything about my Yu Yu Hakusho OTP.

"Maybe," was all she said, gentle and comforting. "I think you're only going to be able to tell if you ask him, or see him and Yukina together."

I harrumphed. "Too bad there's no way I can follow them on this mission. I'll have to wait until Yukina shows up at the Dark Tournament to get that chance."

Kagome giggled. "And patience is not your strong suit."

"No. No it is not." I sighed, slumping until my forehead touched my desk. "Though in the end I should probably be even more concerned that Kuwabara knows the truth about Hiei, and not about who like-likes whom."

"Ouch. You got that right. If Kuwabara lets it slip—"

"Hiei will  _murder him_."

Kagome then hummed a funeral march with way too much gusto to suit the situation. It made me laugh, the weight on my chest the littlest bit lighter for her efforts. I stood and stretched, walking as far away from my desk as the phone's cord would allow. Johnny Cash flipped me the bird from the back of my closet; I needed to channel his moxie, that was for sure.

"Poor Kuwabara." I sighed. "I should call Kurama, probably."

She stopped humming. "Why's that?"

"He's supposed to make a five-second appearance in this arc, way at the end. No idea how he finds out that the arc is taking place, of course, so maybe that duty falls to me."

"Maybe so." She gasped, delighted. "Or  _maybe_  Hiei borrowed Kurama's VCR to watch that tape!"

And that got me to laugh again, because it made sense, and the mental image was worth a giggle. "I should call and find out. Even if that's not what happened, maybe Kurama'll know what to do about keeping Kuwabara's mouth shut."

"Here's hoping. Need me to let you go?"

"Probably." I grimaced—and as the words came out, something behind me rattled. "Before Hiei murders you-know-who."

"Before I'll murder who, now?"

I froze at the sound of his voice, and somehow I felt Kagome do the same on the other end of the phone. Silence held like spun sugar until a horrendous shriek buzzed through the telephone line—Kagome screaming, long and high and filled with both horror and excitement. She stifled the sound at once, though, with a noise like a choking hamster.

"Oh my god!" she whispered-yelled. "Is that  _him_?"

"… _I have to go_."

"Keiko, is that—?"

I hung up on her.

Slowly, inch by laborious inch, I turned.

Hiei knelt atop my desk, halfway through the window, black cloak spilling over my textbooks and pens like solid shadow. He didn't speak, staring at me with all the intent of a raptor on the hunt. I swallowed, heart pumping like an engine in my aching chest.

"Hiei," I said. "Hi."

He wasted no time on pleasantries. "You were right, Meigo," he said.

I tried to tuck hair behind my ear, but I failed. It was too short for that kind of comfort now. "What about?" I asked.

"Stick with the Detective, and I find  _her_."

He spoke simply, words as unambiguous as a boulder, but it wasn't triumph coloring his voice—not exactly, anyway. More like anticipatory satisfaction, the way you feel at the end of a long day knowing you can crawl into bed soon. Not right  _now_ , but soon. He hopped off my desk and slouched, staring at my from under the fringe of his bangs with eyes the color of smoldering coals.

"So." I glanced at his forehead, a pointed look at the concealed Jagan. "You…?"

"Yes. I saw." His chin tucked, mouth hidden by the folds of his ratty white scarf. "They're on their way to her now."

"I'm happy for you, Hiei.

The words slipped out unbidden and unrehearsed. Hiei looked as surprised by them as I felt. His eyes screwed up, mouth lifting from its nest of scarf to scowl.

"Happy for me?" he said.

I nodded, smiling in spite of myself—because Hiei had been searching for Yukina for so long. It's why he'd come to Human World in the first place. At last he could find her, ensure her safety, satisfy that unspoken desire of his to find his family.

Even if this situation had swung out of my hands and out of my control, this part I could celebrate with impunity.

But Hiei had no use for pretty words and assurances. I just smiled instead, wide and genuine and warm. "You found her," I said, and I waved my hands at the window to shoo him away. "Now go get her. Go get your sister."

His scowl deepened; he did not move. "She's warded heavily. I can't pinpoint her location, not exactly. I will have to follow the Detective until I'm closer."

He said that like an excuse, almost, for why he wasn't climbing out my window in a blur of speedy black. I didn't let my smile falter. "So go," I said, shooing him again. "Go follow them!"

But Hiei did not move. He just stood there, mouth hiding in his scarf again, staring at me with those unreadable scarlet eyes. My shooing motions ceased, then resumed with renewed enthusiasm.

"C'mon," I urged him, hands flapping. "Hop to it. Flicker out the window, quick like a bunny."

Hiei's chin ducked lower. He mumbled something, words too low to catch. I leaned close with a frown.

"What was that?" I said.

Hiei cursed, low growl rippling through the air. "Don't make me  _ask_ , Meigo."

"Ask  _what_?"

His growl intensified both in volume and ferocity, but it cut short when he drew in a deep breath. I recognized that breath. It was the breath I so often took, the one I drew before doing something I felt unsure of—or something that scared me. But what reason did Hiei—irascible, irritable, hot-tempered Hiei—have to be afraid of?

"Fine," he said, biting out the word. "Fine, then. I  _won't_  ask." He drew himself up to his full height, somehow managing to glare down the length of his nose despite his unimpressive height.

"Meigo—get ready," he said. "You're coming with me."

And just like that, my hands were back on the situation once again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chunk is super duper personal and I honestly hesitated to include it, but the whole "NQK is oblivious to Kuwabara's feelings" thing is, sadly, realistic considering my history, and I think it's important we share stories like that so we feel less alone.
> 
> This week and weekend were hellish and I am both emotionally and physically exhausted. Going to go collapse now. Thank you.
> 
> Many thanks to those who brightened my less than stellar week with their comments. I love you all


	64. The Great Hiei-Keiko Road Trip of 1990, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the show gets on the road.

One beat passed, and then another. Hiei watched me with eyes narrowed, gauging my reaction like a tiger assessing the awareness of its prey. Before I could reply—before I could even wrap my brain around what he'd said and implied, let alone ponder the reasons why he wanted me to come with him—he cursed under his breath.

"Don't overthink it," Hiei snapped. "I can see you overthinking it, but it's really very simple." He drew himself up to his full height and leveled one finger at my confused nose. "You're coming with me because I think you'll be useful to me, and that's all."

"…really?" I said.

His nose turned up. "Yes."

"Useful _how_?"

Hiei looked at me like asking that question had proved, once and for all, just how big of an idiot I was. "You know the future, Meigo, or at least you're privy to it," he said. "I know better than to use you to look too far ahead, but for my sister, I will make an exception."

Handy explanation, sure, but something about it didn't sit right. I shook my head. "Much though I'd love to take a road trip with you, Hiei, from my perspective it seems I could only slow you down."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Hiei said, dismissing me with only a few words. He took a step in my direction, efficient and quick. "But you're coming with me anyway."

I eyed him up and down. "And I assume I have no choice in the matter."

"None whatsoever."

"Well." I shifted from foot to foot, unnerved by the intensity of his scarlet gaze. "Um."

Bringing me along was a terrible idea, of course. Terrible. Horrible. Totally illogical. Maybe illegal, even, depending on Japan's kidnapping laws. Denial and refusal built on my tongue, bubbling like foam on a stormy sea—but then Hiei's fists clenched at his sides, muscles twitching in his tight jaw. His eyes combed my face, searching for answers to questions I hadn't yet been asked, urgency evident in his set shoulders and tense stance.

The protests fizzled on my tongue.

Hiei was obviously not telling me the real reason he wanted me along. He wasn't the type to bring along a liability without good reason, and the reason he'd given was too flimsy to hold up under scrutiny. The tension in him, too, alluded to troubles unspoken. Maybe he was nervous about meeting Yukina? But Hiei wasn't the type to bring emotional support with him, either, unless he'd finally come to trust me in ways even he couldn't articulate (and if that was the case: d'aaaw! How cute!).

Or did Hiei's reasons for bringing me along even matter, in the end?

I'd lamented not getting to go on this mission. Hadn't I just been telling Kagome that I wanted to see Yukina and Kuwabara interact? Wasn't Hiei's demand, in that case, exactly what I'd been asking for? If I didn't take this chance I'd have to wait for the Dark Tournament to see Yukina and Kuwabara together—and sure, I'd be a fool to send myself into the demonic lion's den (to borrow Shizuru's phrasing) and insert myself into the Rescue Yukina arc, but…wouldn't I be just as big of a fool for saying yes as I'd be for saying no?

Well. If I was going to be a fool either way, I might as well be a fool with more information under her belt. And I could only get that information if I went with Hiei, so…

"Aw, to hell with it," I grumbled. "May the Great Hiei-Keiko Road Trip of 1990 commence."

Hiei's wide eyes went wider still. "You mean—?"

"I mean I'm in. You don't have to force me." Before Hiei could recover enough to gloat, I stepped around him and headed for my desk. "Let me just call Kurama and—"

One burning-hot hand closed around my wrist when I reached for the phone. "No," Hiei said, vehement—but he didn't say anything more. He just stared, grabbing me, as if trying to knock the idea of making a phone call from my head with the force of his eyes alone.

I looked at his hand on my wrist, then at his face, and then at his hand again. "Ex _cuse_ you?"

"Leave the fox out of this." His sharp teeth bared themselves. "He'd only get in my way."

I debated arguing but decided to fight the call-Kurama-fight later. Hiei would have to let me out of sight eventually, and when he did I'd find a phone and make the call regardless. With a shrug I told him, "Fine. Then let me go so I can back a bag."

One thin brow arched. "A bag?"

"Yeah. You know. Clothes, toiletries, supplies…" When Hiei did not release me, I added, "And food?"

Food was the magic word. He let go of my wrist and turned on his heel, arms crossing over his chest. I rubbed my wrist (damn, his skin burned) and headed for my bedroom door.

"Fine," Hiei said, nose aloft. "Pack this _bag_ of yours."

"I will." I stopped with my hand on the doorknob. "Oh, by the way—how long will we be gone?"

Hiei's nose wrinkled; behind the fringe of his bangs and the white of his bandana, I spotted the faintest of purple glows. For a second he just stood there, staring into space, but then he shook himself and looked back at me.

"It will take a night to get to her," he said. "We will reach her by morning and be back tomorrow night."

"OK, good. I won't miss school." It was Saturday afternoon, early since we only had a half day on Saturday. My Sunday schedule lay wide open, ripe for an adventure with Hiei in the mountains. "Be right back."

I found my mother downstairs attending to the afternoon rush, barking orders at the kitchen staff as they cooked and arranged food on plates. "Hey Mom?" I said as I edged my way toward her through the chaos.

She ducked under one of the chef's arms, carrying a tray of chopped vegetables. "Yeah, honey?"

A nook between an oven and a prep area gave me a spot to stand out of harm's way. "Can I go camping with Kuwabara and Yusuke tonight?" I said as Mom scraped her veggies into a pot of boiling soup stock. "Shizuru is chaperoning. We'll be back tomorrow night."

Mom barely paid me any heed, too busy to realize I told her lies. "That sounds nice, sweetie," she said, cleaver flying. "So long as Shizuru goes with you, I think it's a great—" She did a double-take to her left and yelled, "Masaru, look alive! Those onions aren't going to fry themselves!" A final glance at me, accompanied by a rather hurried smile. "Sorry, honey, but I have to run!"

It was probably a good thing she was distracted, because it prevented her from asking more questions, which allowed me to tell no more lies. Sighing with relief, I waited for a chef carrying half a roasted chicken to pass before ducking out of the kitchen and heading back upstairs.

Two years prior, my parents had taken Yusuke and me on a camping trip just outside the city. Dad had gone a little nuts purchasing tents, sleeping bags, firestarters, survival gear—but the restaurants had been doing great, and for the first time in a while my mother hadn't balked at the idea of spending money on a vacation. While it was too bad we hadn't had the time to repeat our camping trip in the years since, I took comfort in the fact that the camping gear in our hall closet was practically brand new as I stuffed a hiking backpack full of supplies. A trip back downstairs to the pantry and I'd acquired all the food Hiei and I would need to survive the weekend…plus a little something extra, a treat for Hiei if he didn't make too much of an ass of himself on our trip. But only time would tell me if he deserved it or not.

Hiei scowled when I came back into the bedroom; he hadn't moved, standing exactly where I'd left him. "About time."

"You can't rush perfection." Walking to my closet, I shoved clothing into the bag's remaining space and pulled my hiking boots from a top shelf. Hefting my backpack for emphasis, I said, "And one doesn't just leave town without supplies."

He eyed the bag with undisguised distaste. "Do you really need _all_ of that?"

"You want to eat, don't you?" He looked cowed; I laughed. "Thought so. Now what comes next?"

His brow burrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the place they're holding your sister is in the next prefecture, I hear." I put a hand on my hip and cocked my head, teasing. "You planning on walking, or what?"

It had been a joke, but Hiei didn't take it that way. He just smirked and tossed his head. "I'll run," he said.

I rolled my eyes, I-told-you-so in action. "This is the part where I point out that I will most _definitely_ slow you down."

His smug sneer vanished. "Fine," Hiei spat. "Then what do _you_ suggest we do?"

"Let me call the train station. I'm sure they have something." Once again I headed for my desk and the phone upon it. "Or a bus, maybe. But you'll have to track and see where Yusuke and Kuwabara went, and then I'll have to see what bus routes will take us—"

Hiei flickered, appearing between me and the phone in a whoosh of displaced air. I stumbled back with an 'eep' of surprise as he said, " _No._ No train, no bus. I'd rather carve out an eye than ride in a rattling human deathtrap."

I stowed that nugget of information ("Hiei is scared of human transportation") away for later use. "Well, if you won't take a train or a bus, and if I can't run with you, then what're we gonna do?" I said. Frustration bred sarcasm. "You volunteering to _carry me_ , Hiei? Huh?"

But to my horror, Hiei didn't scoff and dismiss the notion outright. Instead he stood there for a minute, staring at me—and then his eyes firmed, resolution gelling like set concrete, and he started forward with hands outstretched.

I backpedaled and shook my head like a wet dog. "Wait, _wait_ , it was a joke!"

But Hiei kept coming. "Just hold still and I'll—"

He reached for my legs with one hand for my shoulders with another; like a waking nightmare, the image of Hiei carrying me in dreaded "bridal style" flashed through my horrified head.

"Hiei, no!" I shrieked, clutching at my shoulders like he'd walked in on me in the shower. "You are _not_ going to carry me all bridey-like _like some goddamn Mary Sue!_ "

Hiei froze, hands still outstretched. "Some goddamn _what?_ " he repeated.

"Never mind. But you are _not_ carrying me like that. _Nor_ will I allow myself to be thrown over a goddamn shoulder like, like—like a sack of potatoes!" And then it was my turn to walk at him with arms reaching, and it was his turn to backpedal in outright alarm. "Here's an idea! I'll ride piggyback!"

Hiei's eyes bugged out of his face. "Like _hell_ you will!"

"Oh c'mon, Hiei." I grinned and quoted him, marching ever forward. "Just hold still and I'll—"

"No. _No_ , Meigo." Hiei shook _his_ head like a wet dog, our roles totally reversed as he scrambled away from me, darting around the room in flashes of black while I pursued. "It will look _ridiculous_. I'm not doing that!"

"Oh, so _now_ you care about dignity!" I said. Hiei took up residence in a top corner of my room, perched there with hands and feet braced on the wall like Spiderman. Glaring, I put hands on hips and said, "Tell you what. I'll let you steal _ten bowls_ without nagging you _even once_ if you let me ride piggy back."

Hiei growled at me. "Not for all the bowls in the world, Meigo."

I put a hand to my chin. Thrust a finger in the air. "Twenty bowls!"

"No!" Hiei snarled.

"Thirty bowls!"

"No fucking bowls at all, Meigo!"

"Forty—"

" _Do not make me set you on fire!"_

"Fine, fine jeez, no piggyback rides," I said, grumbling, and Hiei let himself fall to the floor (though he did that superhero-landing bit, panther-like in his grace, just to add insult to injury). I paced in a few quick circles and threaded my hands in my hair. "OK. So we're at an impasse. You won't carry me, I can't run, whatever. How do you propose we solve this?" I shot a glance at my phone, wistful. "Kurama might have an idea. If you just let me call him—"

Hiei flashed out of sight and reappeared next to my desk, phone's connection cable pinched between forefinger and thumb. I blinked, not sure what he was doing—and then black smoke drifted from between his fingers as a sizzling noise filled the air.

"You are entirely too talkative," he said, and the cord melted in his molten grip.

I gaped, unable top form words. The scent of melted plastic and charred metal filled the air as I lifted my finger and pointed at him.

"Hiei— _did you just cut my phone line?!_ " I squawked.

Hiei's nose thrust upward. "I regret nothing."

I gaped. My backpack slid from my shoulder and hit the floor with a thud. I sputtered, tried to talk, stalled, and fell silent. Hiei stared back at me with more of his smug superiority, and when he stepped toward me yet again with arms outstretched, I released a yodel of impotent rage.

"Oh, that is _it_ , Hiei!" I screeched, hands flapping. "You _can't_ carry me like a romance novel heroine, you _won't_ let me ride piggyback, you _won't_ take a train or a bus, so—" I waved my hands harder, faster, another wordless cry of frustration as I thought of the most ridiculous option imaginable. "So what do you wanna do, Hiei? Gag me and shove me in a sack?!"

This was just more desperate sarcasm falling out of my mouth, of course, but rather than piss Hiei off as I thought it might, his eyes merely narrowed. "You keep making jokes."

Through clenched teeth I replied, "Humor is how I keep from screaming."

"You keep making jokes," he continued, " _that_ _are actually good ideas_."

I froze solid.

Hiei stepped toward me.

"Hiei—Hiei, no!" I stumbled backward over my own feet until I collided with my bedroom door, one hand raised to ward him off. "Hiei. No. _No_ ," I said, heart hammering at the sight of his determined expression and the steady pace with which he approached, methodical and measured like a stalking beast. "It was a joke, not a suggestion! And you've got that look in your eye—"

He tugged off his bandana. The Jagan cracked open with a spark of purple. I gulped.

"—you've got that look in _all three_ of your eyes and I don't think I like it very much, and—"

He blurred from view. Reappeared in front of me, but I could only make out the flare of his violet Jagan through the spread of his fingers, his hand closing over my face with a burst of heat and the scent of metal and char. The purple of the Jagan flared outward, coating the world, drowning out all other color before fading into the deep black of unconsciousness—and with that, I slept.

Hiei had been right.

When it came to going with him to rescue Yukina, I truly had no choice…and that _bastard_ had made sure of it.

* * *

I came to lying on something soft, but with hard bits beneath it poking into my back and arms like fingers of accusatory skeletons. Light streamed onto my face; I blinked and sat up, shielding my eyes with my arm. The air tasted funny in my mouth, cooler and cleaner, almost, not nearly as humid as it had tasted in the heart of the city.

"About time you woke up."

I cracked and eye. Hiei stood over me with hands in pockets, chin tucked into the scarf wound around his neck. Behind him lay a backdrop of…trees? Tall trees, greenery swaying as a chilly wind breezed brushed my cheeks. I blinked, eyes adjusting, and lowered my hands to the ground.

My fingers brushed soft cotton.

"What—?" I looked down and beheld a field of periwinkle dotted with yellow flowers. My eyes popped wide, sting of the sunlight forgotten. "Oh my god, is this my _comforter_?"

Hiei shrugged, because it was indeed my comforter beneath me, a pale purple puddle of soft bedding spread across the soft earth below, and those had to be sticks and twigs poking into my ass, right? Birds chirped in the trees, song merry and totally oblivious to the indignation rising hot and hard inside my chest.

"You did it," I said. "You really did it." Once again I pointed right at Hiei's face. "J'accuse! _You psychically gagged me and shoved me in a sack!"_

"It got you to shut up, didn't it?" Hiei observed. "We're here, and you weren't even awake for the journey. You have no room to complain."

It was all I could do to sputter at him like an engine with too little fuel. "Don't I, though?" A glance at myself, at my socked feet, athletic shorts, and soft sweater—totally inappropriate for a hike through the mountains. "You didn't even give me time to change clothes!"

Hiei took a single smart step to the right, revealing my backpack sitting on the forest floor alongside my hiking boots. Well, he earned some points by bringing all of that along, but it remained to be seen if he'd earn the treat I'd packed for him (and this little incident definitely counted against his deserving quota, that's for sure). Glaring, I scrambled across my comforter (feeling dampness against my knees as the fabric pressed into the muddy ground, and oh my god my mother would freak out if this thing stained!) to grab my bag and boots. Hiei watched as I pulled out some of the clothes I packed, and when I slipped on my boots and rose to my feet, his eyes straight-up narrowed.

"What are you doing?" he said.

I made a shooing motion at him. "Turn around and don't turn back around until I say so. I need to put on pants."

Hiei huffed, but he turned his back; I tiptoed away from him in my unlaced, half-on boots behind the nearest tree for added privacy. I exchanged my sweater for a plaid button-up and my athletic shorts for a pair of thick leggings, over which I wore denim shorts that just barely covered a certain accessory I strapped to my thigh (I wondered, vaguely, if Hiei would notice, and resolved to watch his reaction when I saw him after changing clothes). Very "Lumberjack Chic." I shivered when I stripped off my top and felt the chill air of the mountains on my skin. That's where we had to be, right? The mountains, near Tarukane's mansion? Coniferous trees stood tall in all directions, the ground rising in a gentle slope to…to the north, judging by the position of the sun, which lay more than a few ticks westward of its high noon position (though it was admittedly hard to tell through the canopy of leaves above). So it was late afternoon, then. Probably just an hour or two before nightfall, if I had to guess. Good thing I'd brought a heavy jacket. It would doubtless get cold after dark.

Another wind blew through the trees. The birds quieted for the briefest of moments before resuming their song. Aside from their cries, the forest was quiet.

We were very, very far from home, weren't we?

Nerves kicked up a flurry of butterflies in my gut, but I told myself it was no use worrying about distance just then. I was here, and there was no going back. After I laced up my boots and put away my shed clothes, I rounded the tree and headed for Hiei, buckling the straps of my backpack across my chest after I stuffed my comforter inside it. "How far are we from Yusuke?" I asked.

"Not far." Hiei turned and looked me up and down, surveying my new clothes (and if he spotted my little accessory, he didn't mention it). "But they won't be able to sense us."

"Or hear us?"

"Depends on how loudly you complain." His head cocked before I could retort, a dog lifting an ear at a sudden noise. "They're on the move. Follow me."

And so we walked.

Well, we hiked—or even more specifically, I hiked, and Hiei scared the ever-loving crap out of me. We walked for about half an hour, Hiei nimbly leaping from boulder to tree branch while I toiled along on the ground, making good headway but doubtless not keeping up the pace Hiei would maintain if he travelled on his own. More than once he looked over his shoulder and growled at me to hurry up; I merely returned the demand with a glare, or a muttered insult, until finally Hiei growled under his breath and flitted out of sight in a flash of black.

I stopped short, breath snagging in my throat like a hem on a thorn. The quiet forest seemed all at once too loud. Every rustle of leaf, every chirp of bird, it echoed like gunshots in my ears as I strained my hearing for the sound of footsteps.

But I heard nothing—and then anxiety started talking.

Had…had Hiei _left me?_

No. No way. No way would he leave me. He hadn't liked my speed, sure, but he wouldn't have abandoned me just because he was frustrated…right?

The memory of his scarlet eyes telling me to hurry up, though, wouldn't leave my head. Hiei was ruthless. Leaving me behind was totally within his power, wasn't it? But he'd _wanted_ me to come along. He'd been the one to force the issue. It didn't make sense for him to just leave me behind without provocation.

Unless I was wrong.

Unless I was wildly miscalculating.

Unless Hiei really had abandoned me and I was all alone in these mountains _and oh god oh god oh god where the hell was I, even, and how would I get home, and—_

"Hiei?" I ventured, hardly daring to speak his name. "Hiei, are you…are you there?"

He appeared at once before me. I flinched. Hiei scoffed.

"I'm scouting ahead," he said. "Just keep walking."

"But Hiei—"

And he was gone again.

Well, at least I'd determined he hadn't actually abandoned me to the wolves. That was something. Maybe Hiei cared about me, after all.

We kept walking, and the next time Hiei pulled his little disappearing act I didn't panic. I just walked, concentrating on not tumbling over the mossy rocks and fallen branches strewn across the forest floor. Eventually he came back and pointed off into the trees, guiding me in a new direction until his next reappearance. We leap-frogged around like that for quite a while. Sometimes I'd find him waiting for me a little farther ahead, standing under a tree or crouched on a branch in wait. As soon as he'd see me he'd point, command me to walk, and then disappear again. This continued for at least an hour, routine only changing when I found him stand in the center of a small clearing.

He didn't flit away when I found him in the meadow. He stood in its center, staring off into the distance between the trees without moving. The hem of his dark cloak caught the wind and swirled, revealing a pop of its bright red lining. It looked like blood against the pale green grass and the white flowers dotting it. Somehow Hiei hadn't disturbed the grass around him; I carved a trail through it when I walked to meet him, leaving crushed flowers and broken grass in my wake.

"What's up?" I said.

His eyes flicked toward me, locking on my face—and then he looked away again. "Stay here," he said, and he bent his knees and was gone. Leapt straight up and out of the meadow, if I had to guess.

"Showoff," I muttered.

Hiei didn't reappear to lob a retaliatory insult. I sighed and unbuckled my backpack, letting it drop to the ground with a bump. I sat next to it and rummaged inside until I found a candy bar, upon which I munched as I let my weary feet rest. Keiko was fit, possessing a natural (not to mention conditioned) athleticism my previous body had lacked, but even her runner's legs weren't used to carrying the weight of heavy hiking boots. I lay on my back in the meadow and propped my feet up on my backpack, gazing at the cloud strewn sky and savoring the taste of chocolate-coated wafer. I tried to pick out the identities of specific nearby birds by their songs alone, but it had been a long time since my past-life father took me birding…not that he'd taught me the calls of _Japanese_ birds. Even so, the calls of starlings and sparrows weren't too different. Perhaps that was a warbler I heard somewhere to the south, trilling up and down the musical scale as it tried to summon a mate—

A branch crunched somewhere to the east, and a footstep dragged through the meadow grass.

"About time you came back." I sat up and crushed the candy bar wrapped into a ball, shoving it into my back pocket as I twisted around. "I keep thinking you're going to just leave, and—oh."

I froze solid.

"Oh," I said. "You're not Hiei."

"No," the stranger agreed. "I'm not."

Taller than Hiei by a mile, the well-built man with broad shoulders and thighs like tree trunks wore a neat black suit and a black tie, brown hair combed back and away over his head like Yusuke's—only he had waves in his light brown hair, skin pale and white, blue eyes peeking over the top of his dark sunglasses. This _gaijin_ in a suit in the middle of a forest seemed human enough at first glance, if not totally out of place.

I wasn't fooled for a second.

The anime had made it clear that Tarukane's goons would look human at the outset.

The strange man and I stared at each other, neither speaking. I rose slowly to my feet, fearing any sharp move might set him off, but he didn't come near me. He stood at the edge of the meadow with hands in his pockets, looking me over like he didn't quite know what to make of the girl that had appeared in his forest. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he just looked curious. Not at all threatening. I didn't trust him in the slightest.

"Are you lost?" he asked, voice pleasant and concerned.

"Uh…no." I pointed at my boots, pasting on a chipper grin while I wondered where the hell Hiei had gone. "Just doing some hiking."

At that he gave me a chiding smile. "This is private property, you know."

If I was good at anything, it was pretending to be a sweet, innocent schoolgirl. My hands flew to my lips, which I'd arranged into an astonished O shape. "Oh, gosh, it _is?"_ I said, feigning total surprise. "Mister, I'm so sorry! My map didn't say I wasn't allowed here!" Rapping my knuckles against my forehead, I tried to look sheepish, a kid caught sneaking an extra cookie from the jar. "I can be so silly sometimes. My mom's always telling me I need to be more careful."

"Is she, now?" the man said, and he laughed, too—but those blue eyes of his didn't crinkle at the corners, unblinking above the tint of his glasses.

"Yup!" I chirped. I reached for my backpack. "So sorry, again, and next time I promise to be more careful. I'll just head back the way I came and leave, so—"

The man stepped forward. He didn't move fast, nor did he move sharply, but even so the motion froze my reaching hand in place. "Where are you going so fast, young lady?" he said. His smile widened, showing teeth. "It's not often we get a pretty thing like you in these woods."

I couldn't move. His smile showed teeth— _a whole lot of teeth_. Perhaps more teeth than I'd ever seen crammed into a single smile before, curved and white and crowded.

"In fact…we rarely _ever_ get visitors all the way out here." Yup, I was no dentist, but there were definitely too many teeth in his mouth—and did mine eyes deceive me, or was that a flicker of livid neon green in his blue eye? He took another step toward me and said, "But today's proven to be the exception to the norm. You're not the only one trespassing, but I get the feeling you know that already, don't you?"

My foot slid back, reflexively. He stepped forward, pursuing.

"Trespassers?" I stammered, taking another step. "Sorry, but I don't know anything about—"

His lips stretched further, smile inhuman and deranged. More teeth, more teeth, _how the hell did he have even_ _more fucking teeth?_ —and then the skin at the corners of his mouth tore backward, crevices opening up from lip to ear.

"Don't lie to me, girl," he said—and his head exploded.

Well, "erupted" might be the better word. From his ruined skin burst a new face, climbing up and out of the mouth of the strange man like an alien crawling from the belly of its screaming host. Whatever lay inside his fake human skin expanded outward, shredding his carapace into meaty ribbons that pattered onto the meadow grass in a dark red rain. In pure defiance of conventional physics the gargantuan demon blossomed from the remains of its human disguise, enormous and purple and hulking and horrible, seven feet tall and covered in gleaming scales. He had two arms and two legs, just like a human (except the arms not scraped the ground with their crooked claws) but that's where the similarities to humanity both ended and began. His oblong head nearly split in half when he talked, mouth bisecting his skull nearly into halves above the elongated barrel of his chest. Four lime green eyes blinked at me from just above the creature's top lip; above them flared three nostrils, arrange in a triangle around the spiral of a golden horn.

I'd met demons before—but they were demons like Hiei and Kurama, limbs and eyes and features arranged properly and in conventional amounts (aside from Hiei's third eye, of course). Despite the animes I'd watched and the fantasy novels I'd read, all the weird mangas and sci-fi movies, nothing had prepared me to see a sight like this one.

This—this was a _demon_.

But while I was most assuredly impressed by his countenance, my knees did not shake. My hands did not quiver. Instead a calm came over me, chill budding behind my breastbone as my senses sharpened, narrowed, and focused.

Hideki had trained me well in the way of the warrior, and this demon—terrifying though he was—was no match for my _sensei's_ tutelage.

"Yes," the demon said, mistaking my stillness for something else entirely—which suited me just fine. "That's it. Freeze with fear, little human wench." His voice had deepened like a pit opening beneath my feet, words resonating like a hive of angry bees. "I think you're well aware you shouldn't be here." He dropped onto all fours, weight shifting onto his back legs. "And that means I can't let you leave!"

My body, trained by Hideki- _sensei_ to read opponents and react before my mind could make decisions, recognized the shift in the demon's weight for what it was: preparation for a lunge in my direction. My body also recognized that I couldn't outrun this thing given the length of its limbs and the huge muscles rippling over hard bone—and to my satisfaction, my body processed this information and reacted almost of its own accord. Before the creature even finished speaking I reached down, tugged up the hem of my shorts, and grabbed the weapon strapped to my thigh. The demon, strong though it most definitely was, wasn't expecting a supposedly-terrified little human to fight back, and I counted on that as I took aim and threw.

The thing didn't even have time to dodge. The throwing knife sliced through the air and embedded itself into the thing's chest—but I didn't stay to watch it bleed.

Instead, I turned tail and ran.

* * *

Two weeks before I fought the demon in the forest near Tarukane's mansion, Hideki called for the end of the day's lesson. Ezakiya and Kagome (plus a few more students we'd recently collected) rolled off the sparring mat and traded bows. I watched from my corner, kneeling atop a rolling chair with a collection of knives at my side on a small table. A wooden practice dummy across the warehouse bristled with a dozen shards of metal, a veritable pincushion after what I'd done to it that evening.

"Yukimura," Hideki said.

I pushed with my good foot, spinning atop my chair to face him. Hideki stood behind me, the others over his shoulder cleaning up to go home. I caught Kagome's eye and mouthed at her to wait for me; she nodded, mopping sweat from her brow with her sleeve. Hideki cleared his throat. I looked back at him with a sheepish grin, but he didn't smile back. In fact, he remained utterly impassive, ponytail of grey hair snaking in a river over his shoulder.

"I have something for you," he said.

"Oh, a present?" I made grabby-hands. "Gimme."

Hideki- _sensei_ snorted, but he didn't call me a child like I expected. From under his arm he pulled a bit of rolled-up cloth, which I eagerly unfurled atop the knife table. My eyes bugged from their sockets as I surveyed a set of polished silver knives, handles wrapped with tape, blades honed to a wicked edge. They were beautiful and deadly, but they didn't catch my attention nearly as much as the vehicle in which they'd been delivered.

"Is this a thigh holster?" I said, lifting it up for inspection. The knives sat in little sleeves of fabric secured at the top by elastic straps; the contraption could cling to the thigh thanks to a set of adjustable nylon belts and plastic buckles, durable and quiet. "This is so cool!"

I started to try it on, of course, but Hideki held up a hand. "Don't wear it in public. Knives like these aren't legal, strictly speaking."

"Aw, you mean I can't wear this under my school uniform? Because it would _totally_ match my shoes."

Hideki managed to smile at the joke, but the humor faded fast. "I talked to Shogo," he said.

My brow lifted. "Oh?"

"He says you're regularly associating with demons. That you've befriended more than one of them."

Judging by his sour expression, Hideki did not approve. I steeled myself for a lecture when I admitted, "Yeah. He's right."

But a lecture didn't come. "Are you sure that's wise?" Hideki merely asked.

"These demons are on a bit of a leash, if it helps," I offered, but he did not appear placated. I held up the holster and knives with a smile. "You'd feel better knowing I've got these on me when I see the demons, huh?"

He considered me a moment before relenting, "Maybe you _should_ wear them with your school uniform."

"See?" I beamed. "Told you it was a great idea."

Hideki, ever vigilant, remained unconvinced. "Just be careful."

"I will."

"And practice your throwing techniques at home, too."

"Yes, sensei."

"Don't get into any fights you can't win. There is no shame in running if you are outclassed.

"Yes, sensei."

"And make sure the demons know what you're capable of."

"Yes, sensei."

"But don't let them know too much, either," he said. "Let them underestimate you."

My forehead furrowed in confusion. "Wait. So do I show them what I can do, or keep it a secret?"

Hideki paused, considering…and then he gave a resolute nod.

"Both," he said. "Do both."

I sensed he was joking, even if his face remained utterly devoid of humor. The barest glimmer of mischief was the only thing that gave him away. Sighing, I said, "Remind me to get you a copy of the _Art of War_. You've got the whole 'confound your enemies' thing down to a science."

"Yes, I do," he said—but he sobered when he looked at the weapons in my hands. "Be careful, Yukimura. I get the feeling you're going to need these, and sooner than you might think."

"Maybe I will," I said—and then I remembered something. Before he could finish turning away, I said, "Oh, Hideki- _sensei_?"

My teacher looked at me over his shoulder with a frown. "Yes?"

"You, uh…you wouldn't mind me bringing one of these demon friends of mine to a lesson sometime, would you?"

Hideki's eyes narrowed—but the heated conversation that followed is a topic for another day.

* * *

Hideki was fond of telling his students not to be heroes. If you don't feel you can handle a situation, and if you don't think you have at least a 75% chance of winning a fight, it's not a fight you should even enter. He told us that as often as we could stand hearing it, and while I'd rolled my eyes at him more than once for impersonating a broken record, I felt nothing but gratitude for his repetition as I pelted pell-mell away from the roaring demon and into the surrounding trees.

That was a fight I could not win no matter how many knives I threw.

My knife would only slow him down a moment, I knew, which meant time was of the essence. Luckily the forest, densely packed and thick, wouldn't allow the bulky demon to follow easily. Trees whipped by, branches catching my face and scarping my skin raw, roots threatening to trip me at every step. Soon I heard the pound of the demon's feet against the earth, felt the rumble of its gait through the soles of my feet, but I didn't let myself panic. I _couldn't_ let myself panic. "You panic, you die," as Hideki-sensei so often said. I zigzagged through the forest as quickly as I could, trying to ignore the sounds of wood cracking and splintering at my back, a tree falling somewhere behind me with a crash. This thing would tear the entire forest apart in search of me, and I knew I couldn't run forever. Hell, I couldn't even run for a little while. The longer I ran, the more time I gave it to catch up. The longer I ran, the more tired I'd be come, and the less I'd be able to fight back. Adrenaline only lasted so long.

Running was not the answer. It was a stopgap measure at best. So what else could I do?

If you can't fight, and you can't run, the last thing you can do is hide—or pull a dirty trick.

Putting on a burst of speed, I zagged around a pile of boulders and saw exactly what I needed: a tree with low-hanging branches, thick and dense and perfect. I didn't run right at it, though. Instead I ran past it by about a hundred feet, then doubled back and retraced my steps to my hiding place. Throw the asshole off the scent, provided scent was something he could track. I clambered up the pile of rocks and used them to lever myself into the tree with a quick pull-up into the lowest branches, maybe eight or ten feet off the ground. Then I climbed higher and higher, wedging myself against the trunk of the fir as needles tangled in my hair and scored my exposed hands, regulating my breathing the way Hideki had shown me until my panting evened out into long, slow breaths. I could barely see the ground from my spot in the tree, but not too far off I heard the demon crashing and thrashing through the brush. Not too far off now, getting closer, getting closer—

_Hiei—where the fucking hell are you?!_

I couldn't scream that thought aloud, of course, but in those few moments of stillness in the tree I definitely took the time to mentally shout at the absent fire demon. Shout at and _berate_. Castigate. Verbally tear-a-new-one. Glaring up at the sky, trying my best to keep panic at bay and maintain my quiet breathing, I called Hiei every insult under the sun and then some, Japanese and English and even my limited Spanish coming into play as I cursed him out.

The fun ended when the crashing drew so close I could feel it in the body of the tree, and then a flash of purple scale appeared below be through the trees. My hand crept over my mouth to stifle a cry of fear, but the creature paused for only a moment before growling and lumbering away, feet pounding like a drum on the forest floor. My plan, it seemed, had worked, and with the smallest of sighs I let myself relax.

I should've known better than to celebrate so soon.

No sooner had the demon passed me by did it double back, the thud of its feet pausing and then thundering once again in my direction. I clapped my hand back over my mouth and curled up tight, trying to remain small and hidden on my perch. Scales flashed below amidst the trees, the demon pacing back and forth below like a crocodile waiting to be fed.

"Little human thinks she can hide, eh?" he rumbled. "Too bad I can smell her fear!"

I don't know if he punched the tree or what, but I couldn't suppress the screech that rocketed from my mouth when the tree shook, bucking under my legs like a bronco trying to unseat a novice rider. It shook again, and then again, the demon howling with laughter as he attacked the tree, and then the entire thing listed to the side with a sickening crunch and horrifying jerk. I scrambled for the end of my bough with another screech as the whole tree began to topple like a ship caught in a gale, spying another nearby fir and leaping for it just as my tree fell out from underneath me. I barely managed to catch to those branches, barely managed to close my eyes in time to keep from being blinded by needles, but with squirrely determination I scrambled into that neighboring tree and clung to its trunk with both arms and both legs.

This tree, unfortunately, didn't have nearly the same density as my former hiding spot. The demon stood below me, leering upward with a wide, frenzied grin. A magenta tongue lolled from his mouth and dripped saliva onto the forest floor.

I reached into my holster and threw another knife.

This time he was ready for me. Clawed hands flew up, batting the knife away with a single swipe of enormous paw. I followed that knife with another, though, too fast for him to track; it hit his chest but glanced off, tweaking the end of the first knife I'd thrown, still sat buried to the hilt in his pectoral muscle. The demon grunted as the knife moved in his skin, leer turning into a glare.

"I will catch you if I have to raze this entire forest, bitch!" he snarled.

I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off—but there, behind him, came a flicker of deepest black.

"Heh." I shut my eyes, not at all interested in witnessing the upcoming carnage. "Keep dreaming, pal."

I don't know what Hiei did to that demon to make it scream so loudly. I didn't dare open my eyes to find out. I simply clung to the trunk, face pressed tight to fragrant bark, and breathed shallow sips of air through my nose as the demon gibbered and screamed and moaned, meaty tearing and thudding noises accompanying the screams like percussion. The stench of filth and copper drifted up to me at one point, followed by the smell of burning meat. I switched to breathing through my mouth and tried my best not to throw up on myself.

"The girl," Hiei said during a lull in the demon's screams. "The one Tarukane tortures. Is she still at the mansion in the woods?"

Voice labored, the demon replied, "So _that's_ why you're here."

"Answer the question. Or do you want more?"

The demon screamed again, that burning meat smell growing even stronger. "Just kill me," the demon gurgled through what I suspected was a mouthful of blood. "Just kill me, and—"

"As you wish," said Hiei.

I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have have peeked between my fingers at the bloodbath below, at the demon's scattered organs and smoldering body…but peek I did, because I'm the worst. I saw just enough of the demon's soon-to-be-corpse (it's a wonder it was still talking, really) and the violet flare of Hiei's Jagan before slamming my eyes shut again. The demon's four eyes had rolled backward in its head, body convulsing as Hiei used his Jagan to…I don't even know what.

All I knew was that the demon was done for.

The demon stopped gibbering soon enough, death rattling in its throat before silence reigned. Some of the burning smell faded, too. "It's over, Meigo," Hiei said. A patting noise (perhaps hands dusting themselves on the front of a black cloak) cut the dreadful silence. "You can come down now."

"I—I don't think I can," I said—both because I didn't want to open my eyes and because this tree didn't have a lot of branches below the one I occupied. At least, I didn't think it did, and one surreptitious peek through squinted lids revealed my hunch to be correct. No footholds. Yeesh.

I heard Hiei sigh even from a distance. A moment later the branch beneath me dipped, and then one hot hand landed on my shoulder and _yanked_. My hands tore free of the tree trunk, wind-milling twice before I pitched backward into space. I didn't even have time to scream, let alone process the fact that Hiei had _literally pushed me out of a tree_ , before two strong arms locked around my body and halted my freefall through the empty air. I gasped and jolted, eyes popping open, to find that Hiei had caught me just before I hit the ground.

He'd caught me with one arm around my back and another beneath my knees.

Bridal style.

Just what I'd wanted to avoid.

"Gee," I said. "My hero."

The sarcasm popped out on the coattails of hysteria; I shoved at Hiei's hands and stumbled when he put me down (and none too gently at that). I took two shaking steps away from him before looking up—and oh, shit, I'd been heading right for the mangled demon. Its smoking corpse lay ahead of me, but I whirled around and put my back to it before I could internalize the gory details. For a minute all I could do was stare at Hiei, at his bored expression and the hands shoved casually into his pockets.

And then I saw the blood on his face.

It was red, but not the red of human blood. This demon had the blood of a Texas Aggie, a maroon thick and gloppy with stars knew what. This has not been a clean kill on Hiei's part. Far from it. My hand twitched toward my handkerchief, my instinct being to wipe the blood away, but I made my hand go still.

Words tumbled out of my mouth of their own accord.

"See, Hiei?" I said, tone high and reedy. "I told you I'd be a liability!"

But he only shrugged. "You served your purpose just fine."

"My purpo— _oh, hell no_." I understood the implication at once, brain firing on all panicked cylinders, filling my head with anger hot and searing. "Hiei, did you just use me as _bait?!"_

He just shrugged again. "He was suppressing his energy. I had to see what we're up against. Testing him was the best way."

I just stood there.

Hiei…he wasn't denying it.

In fact, he was admitting it—he was admitting he'd used me as bait, put my life in danger for a _test_ , risked my wellbeing just so he could get a read on our opponents. And he didn't even have the decency to pretend that wasn't what he'd been doing to someone I _thought_ he considered a friend.

He had no shame at all, did he?

I thought about calling him out on it, of course.

But I didn't.

I turned away from him (though not toward the dead demon) and walked off into the trees.

Hiei dogged my steps. "Where are you going?" he said as he trailed behind my heels.

"To get my bag."

"Wrong way." He adjusted his course. "Follow me."

He had the decency not to lead me by the dead demon's eviscerated remains, thank my lucky stars. He just took me back to the meadow, where I collected my dropped backpack and once again strapped it to my shoulders. Hiei watched in silence, brow furrowing deeper and deeper as I fussed with the straps and checked the laces of my boots. They'd come a bit loose; I tightened them and straightened up, looking at Hiei with dead eyes.

"Where to next?" I said.

"Spit it out, Meigo." He spared no time for subtlety. "No use hiding it. What's wrong?"

My voice held steady when I very evenly, very quietly replied, "I could've been killed."

He tossed his head. "But you weren't."

"But I _could have been_ ," I said, not allowing my calm to break. "You could have warned me."

"And given away the game to the demon?" he said with a sneer. "I think not. In fact—"

" _You could have warned me, Hiei."_

I didn't yell. I didn't raise my voice. I kept deadly calm, staring right at him without flinching. I don't think Hiei expected that from me. His mouth worked around empty air before he scoffed, rolling his eyes with all the derision he could muster.

"So I didn't hold your hand like a _child_. So what?" he said. "I needed to know what we're up against and I made a judgement call. If you're angry—"

"I'm not angry."

He blinked. "You're not?"

"No."

I leaned close, closer and closer until we came nose to nose. Hiei jerked back, unnerved, searching my face with confused eyes.

"I'm not angry," I told him. _"I'm disappointed in you."_

Hiei didn't move. Behind him the sun had begun to set. The golden light caught the blue in his hair and made it glow like a backlit sapphire. His jaw clenched, scarlet eyes blinking at me once, twice, three times. Our gazes held for what felt like an hour. Eventually, though, I pulled away, and I hefted my backpack just a little higher.

"Where to next, Hiei?" I murmured.

Hiei didn't move—and then, eyes downcast, he walked off without a word into the darkening forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keiko 100% just used Mom Voice on Hiei. How he'll take it remains to be seen.
> 
> I talked about it on my Tumblr, but I've decided to do Camp NaNoWriMo in April to finish an original novel. Thus, I won't be updating in April, but there are a few more weekends this month during which you'll get new chapters. HOWEVER, I'd like to finish the Rescue Yukina arc before I go on break, so I might post in April in the event that the next two chapters don't wrap things up. But we shall see how the next two chapters go.
> 
> As per usual, this went longer than I thought it would and scenes I thought would make it into this chapter will be used next week, instead. Stay tuned for more Hiei! It's all Hiei, all the time this arc.


	65. The Great Hiei-Keiko Road Trip of 1990, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK goes camping and has a strange dream.

"Yusuke. Yusuke? _Yusuke!"_

But Yusuke did not respond, neither to the teacher barking his name nor to the snickers of our classmates. I leaned out of my desk and aimed a kick at his shin. Yusuke jolted, eyes tearing from the classroom window with a blink.

"Oi," he said, glaring at me for interrupting his daydream. "What do you want?"

A pointed head-jerk toward the front of the class. "The _teacher_ is asking you a question."

Yusuke adjusted the heat of his glare to the woman in question. "OK, then what do _you_ want?"

The woman shoved her glasses up her nose, disgruntled but still willing to give Yusuke a shot at being something other than the classroom miscreant. "As I said, Yusuke: Can you tell me the difference between a meteor and an asteroid?"

"Uh…" He thought about it, nose wrinkling—and then his smile turned wicked. "A _meat_ -eor's somethin' you put on spaghetti and an _ass_ -teroid's a cream for your butt."

The rest of the class erupted into laughter while I admired Yusuke's surprising grasp of English puns. Meteor, meatball, and we'd all learned the English word for "ass" last week after Okubo came back from a vacation in America and taught us the curses he'd gleaned from his cousin abroad. Yusuke's jokes weren't sophisticated in a broad sense, but to a classroom of third graders, Yusuke was practically Saturday Night Live.

Our teacher was less impressed, of course. She gasped and pointed at the door. "Out in the hall, Yusuke. _Now._ "

Seemed like Yusuke was destined to be the school delinquent—at least for another day. He carried water buckets until class ended, arms shaking and face red by the time the lunch bell rang. We grabbed food from the cafeteria (though I had to carry his plate for him, given his noodle-arms) and headed up to the roof. It was the only place Yusuke liked eating anymore, and although we weren't technically allowed up there, the teachers were willing to look the other way just to get Yusuke away from the other kids (and to let me be his chaperone for just a little while). He'd started too many food fights, and I'd stopped too many food fights, for them to force the issue of eating with our peers.

"You really gotta stop mouthing off to teachers," I said as we settled in.

"I will when they stop asking stupid questions," he grumbled. "Asteroids and meteors—feh! That's dumb. Who needs to know that?"

"Anyone who wants to be a scientist."

"So, not me."

"You'd like astronomy if you gave it a chance. It's actually quite fascinating."

"You only think that 'cause you're a big ol' nerd."

Rather than get offended, as Yusuke probably hoped I might, I just beamed at him. "That's true. Nerds rock."

Yusuke rolled his eyes and begged me to feed him his food because his arms had turned the consistency of jello after holding water buckets for hours. I indulged him to get him to shut up, spooning rice and veggies into his mouth. This was one of the few chances I'd get to make him eat vegetables, probably, and I wasn't about to pass that up.

"Regardless, Yusuke," I said when his mouth was full and he couldn't argue. "You really have to start paying attention. They'll hold you back if you don't, and then you won't be able to cheat off my tests."

Although he looked begrudgingly cowed, with a grunt he choked down his food and said, "Astronomy is just dumb, though. And didn't we learn about it already in, like, the second grade?"

"Yeah." I gave him a deadpan, unimpressed stare. "We did learn about it _last year_."

"So it's kiddie stuff."

"And what, being in the third grade makes us adults all of a sudden?" I used my chopsticks like a conductor's baton, punctuating every word. "And all the stuff they taught us as littler kids is the foundation upon which we build—"

"—all of our developing stores of knowledge and reasoning abilities, I know, I know," Yusuke finished, voice pitched high in mockery. "You never stop saying that! And you sound like a dumb grown-up when you say it, too." He opened his mouth as wide as it could go, cavernous and hungry. "Now gimme one of those fried shrimp, would ya?"

I fed us both in silence for a bit, alternating bites between Yusuke and myself. I'd only known Yusuke for a year or two at that point, and while we were close (I was his only friend; of course we were close) I still hadn't quite learned what made him tick yet. True to the anime, the kid was hard to predict. Things that made him happy one day pissed him off the next. I dreaded the day puberty would hit and make him even more of a—

"So."

I shook myself from my reverie and found Yusuke staring off to the side, eyes downcast and hooded. They flickered to me and away again—wait, was he nervous? That wasn't like Yusuke at all. Popping a bit of rice into my mouth, I hummed an inquiry.

Yusuke fidgeted. For a minute he said nothing. He just watched me chew, looking at me and away again in turns. Like steam building in a kettle the words bubbled in his mouth, swelling his chest up and up until he couldn't keep them in even a moment longer.

"So… what _is_ the difference between a meteor and an asteroid?" he blurted.

I blinked, dumbfounded. "You mean you don't _know_?"

Yusuke hesitated. "Well—"

"You can remember that we learned about it last year, in the second grade, but you can't remember what you _actually learned?"_ My hands flew, rice flinging off a chopstick to the floor. "You even have my "foundation of knowledge" speech memorized, but you can't be bothered to remember about _meteors_? Yusuke, _c'mon_. You're smarter than that! This is easy stuff and you just—"

He stood up almost too fast for me to follow, reflexes impressive even at age eight. Hands jammed deep into the pockets of his shorts as he stalked off, head dropping on the end of his hanging neck. "You know what? Forget it," he said. "Forget I even asked."

I shot to my feet, too. "Yusuke, wait!"

"Nah, Keiko." The grin he threw over his shoulder looked as acidic as it did sad. "I'm just dumb, right? Write me off like everyone else—"

My hand closed around his wrist. Yusuke stopped walking, one hand reaching for the roof's access door. He didn't look at me, though, eyes locked forward… but his throat moved when he swallowed, and the careful way he kept from looking at me made me wonder what kind of emotion this little boy was hiding.

Because that's what Yusuke was, in the third grade. He was a little boy, still sensitive and untested, a far cry from the thick-skinned delinquent he'd one day become. Some days, like that day, I tended to forget that all-important fact.

"Yusuke." My hand tightened on his wrist. "Yusuke, I'm sorry."

 _That_ got his attention. Wet eyes set in a stunned face turned my way. "Huh?"

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "I shouldn't have talked down to you." I released him and bowed, letting formality speak for me. "It was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Yusuke stared at me in wonder when I straightened up. "You—you mean it?"

"I always mean what I say."

He hesitated—but then he dragged a finger beneath his nose with a sniff, and his welling eyes dried up.

"Yeah," he said, a smile finally breaking through. "Yeah. You always do."

That got me to smile, too. I grabbed his arm and tugged him back to our spot, pushing him to sitting with a hand on his shoulder. "Sit." And then I shoved another fried shrimp into his mouth. "Eat that and listen."

Content now that he had more food, Yusuke munched on his shrimp with a series of satisfied crunches and smacks. I got a book from my school bag and opened it across my knees, scooting to sit next to him. We were the same height at that age, heads knocking like coconuts when I leaned too close.

"Now," I said as I flipped the pages. "An asteroid and a meteor are both bodies of matter floating in space, but where they differ is in how they interact with the earth's atmosphere."

His nose wrinkled. "The earth's what?"

"Oh." I turned to a different section. "We'll start there. The atmosphere—"

That day on the roof I made a solemn promise to myself—but more importantly, I made a solemn promise to Yusuke. Never again would I shame him for not knowing something, let alone for asking questions to remedy that lack of knowledge. After all, it wasn't like _I'd_ been born knowing what asteroids and meteors—wait, never mind, bad comparison. _In my first life_ I hadn't been born knowing the difference between meteors and asteroids. Someone had had to teach me the difference just the way I had to teach Yusuke. Sometimes I forgot Yusuke was still just a kid, and like all kids, he didn't know much yet… and that was totally OK, even if Yusuke's lack of knowledge came from willfully ignoring his teachers.

Turns out, that's exactly what Yusuke needed. Over the years he'd come to me with all kinds of questions, obvious and obscure alike—and I hoped he came to me because he sensed that I'd made the promise never to talk down to him, even if I'd never said those words aloud.

* * *

Hiei and I walked until a cold mountain stream wound across our path. Easy enough to ford, shallow as it bubbled over rocks and fallen leaves, but as darkness fell around us I paused. Hiei stopped on the pebbled bank and cast one baleful scarlet eye my way. Wind rippled the trees at the edge of the stream, leaves and water moving in unexpected tandem.

"This is a good place to camp," I said. Nearby birds quieted when I spoke, silence eerie in their wake. "That OK with you?"

Hiei harrumphed, and the birds began to sing their end-of-day opera again.

Hiei didn't move while I pitched a tent, unrolled sleeping bags, and organized the food and cookware in my rucksack. He stood on the edge of the stream and stared off into the woods, instead, breeze tossing the edge of his cloak and the tips of his blue-black hair. Last shreds of sunlight streaked the darkening sky rose and peach, stars beginning to peer from between those glowing strands. I cleared a spot on the ground and ringed it with stones, calling out to him as I brushed off my dirty fingers. "Will you get some firewood?"

He eyed me askance. "Why?"

"So we can build a fire upon which I can cook us dinner," I said, enunciating every word with prim precision.

Hiei scoffed. "I can _make_ fire, you know."

"Sure, but do you really want to play the role of Keiko's Personal Easybake Oven the entire night?" I said, brow arched, and Hiei blanched. "Plus, it'll get cold later. I'll need the heat."

"… fine."

He left, soundless as the footfalls of a panther, only to reappear again laden with an armful of sticks and branches. This he set next to me before flitting away again, reappearing twice and then a third time with more fallen wood. I started to tell him that was enough, far more than we could possibly use in one night, but he shot me a glare and vanished yet again. The pile of fire wood rose to my thigh by the time he was satisfied, and without preamble he arranged the sticks into a teepee shape inside my ring of stones. He even set the teepee on fire for me, grasping one of the base logs and setting it aflame with nothing more than the contact of his bare and burning palm. Uncharacteristically helpful of him, to be honest—and that gave me a theory. A theory, and an idea.

"Hey, Hiei?" I said. I brandished the tin cookpot I'd packed. "Would you fill this with water for me?"

He scowled. "Why?"

"It's for dinner."

I held out the pot. Hiei stared at it. Then, with a dramatic sigh of annoyance, he grabbed the pot and stalked toward the nearby stream. I watched with brow knit, lips pursed in concentration. Either Hiei had been well and truly shamed by my "disappointed" comment, or he'd turned over a new and very helpful leaf sometime in the past hour. Not sure which, though. We'd certainly passed a lot of leaves on our walk here, that was for sure.

Hiei stalked back with the pot full of cold water in tow. I took it and set it next to the fire, close enough for it to heat atop one of the rocks ringing the crackling blaze.

"What are you doing?" Hiei said.

"Boiling the water."

He rolled his eyes, leaned down, and touched the outside of the pot. Within moments the metal heated to a red glow, water within bubbling and frothing in a burst of scalding steam.

Wow. So despite the eye-rolls and hemming and hawing and deep sighs, it seemed Hiei was being helpful, after all.

He still hadn't earned the right to his treat, though.

His sudden rash of helpfulness had its limits, I soon learned. He didn't help me make dinner, but then again, I'm not sure he knew quite how to help as I tore open packets of meats and vegetables and stocks to make us an easy, hearty stew. He certainly watched with intense scarlet eyes, monitoring my hands as I chopped and stirred and peeled and diced. Once he started to say something when I picked up my paring knife to julienne a carrot, but as I sliced the root vegetable with practiced eased, the words died on his tongue.

Not for the first time that day, I wondered what he might be thinking, and whether or not he'd learned _anything_ during our adventure today.

Night well and truly fell while I cooked, last shreds of sun dispersing into the veil of the velvet sky. We sat a little ways back from the stream atop the pebbled beach beneath the trees, stars shining like winking fireflies through the canopy overhead. Hiei ate his half of the stew in silence, staring into the bonfire (it was a bit too large to be just a campfire thanks to Hiei's zealousness) without blinking. I ate in equal quiet, lost to my own thoughts.

_You served your purpose well enough._

My fingers tightened around my tin spoon.

Bait. He'd brought me along to be _bait_.

A spark of hot annoyance lit in my chest, a complement to the sparks rising from the bonfire. My show of disappointment had been real enough, but I hadn't admitted to being angry even when Hiei called me out for it. Didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right. That same part of me didn't want to give him the satisfaction of my continued company, either, and debated turning around and going home. How many more times did he plan to use me for bait? How long would it take me to find civilization and somehow get home from here, anyway?

A spoon clattered against a bowl. I looked up in time to see Hiei look away, eyes pulling back to the fire and away from me.

If he'd only brought me along to act as bait, why had he been trying to help set up camp? Why had my comment about disappointment affected him, even in such a small way?

Soon we finished our meal. I hunted through the wood pile for two long, skinny sticks, still springy and not quite dry. My paring knife cut through their bark with ease, whittling down the tips to sharp, thin points.

"So. Logistics," I said, not deigning to look at Hiei. "What time do we leave in the morning?"

"We leave when they do," he said.

By 'they' he meant Yusuke and the others, I was certain. "Are we following them?" I asked. Under my breath I added, "Not sure why we're not just going to the mansion already, to be honest."

Annoyance sharpened his words. "It's warded. I can't sense her, or the mansion itself, well enough to find it on my own. And these woods are crawling with demons." At that he loosed a chuckle, low and conniving. "I'll let the Detective clear them out for me."

I chanced a look at him. He sat a few feet away by the fire with back against a particularly large rock, uncaring of the pebbles that must be digging into his thighs (I sat on a log; more comfy, for sure). Despite the smirk on his lips, his eyes refused to settle, flicking from the fire to the trees to the stream and back again. It wasn't like Hiei to hold back from a fight, nor to let another fight on his behalf. Had he had a different plan before I balked at being bait? Was this 'leave it to Yusuke' scheme a reaction to what I'd said?

I doubt he'd tell me even if I asked. So I didn't.

"I see." My knife hissed across the wood, curls of bark falling to my feet. "Wake me up in the morning, I guess, whenever it's time. But try to give me time to pack up my stuff. Oh, and time to cook breakfast, too."

He shifted, mouth and chin dipping into the fabric of his ratty scarf. "Whatever."

Hiei slouched, hands in his pockets, eyes darting to the darkness pressing against the tremulous firelight. Moths had gathered, fluttering around the flames and even into them, turning to ash in the space between breaths. Call me self-centered, but I got the sense Hiei wasn't looking at me on purpose. When my feet shifted on the pebbled ground, he shifted, too, reacting to my presence on instinct… like the way he'd reacted to my need to boil water. I hadn't even had to ask for that. He'd just done it, because it needed to be done.

My heart softened in spite of myself, and I wondered if this was how moms felt when their kids were naughty and pouted from their seat in time-out.

"Hey," I said. "You still hungry?"

Hiei allowed himself to look at me, eyes at once cast in my direction.

"I packed a treat for us," I said.

Hiei frowned, suspicion obvious. "What kind of treat?"

"A camping favorite. Here." I handed him the sticks I'd been whittling. "Hold the ends of those in the fire to sterilize them."

Hiei scoffed and pinched the tip of one stick between forefinger and thumb, dragging the pads of said fingers up the length of the twig. The wood sizzled in the wake of his hand, singeing at once under his touch. I rolled my eyes and called him a show-off, rummaging through my bag until I found the packets of goodies hidden at the bottom. Hiei eyed the material I laid out on a large, flat rock, giving special attention (special _wary_ attention, specifically) to the plastic bag I wrenched open with my hands.

"What are those?" he said.

"Marshmallows." I pulled one fluffy while candy from the bag and squished it between my fingers, grinning. "Here, hold out a stick."

Reluctantly, Hiei did. I put marshmallows on the ends of both skewers and took one from him, holding mine not too close but not too far away from the flames. Soon one side toasted, lightly browned above what was sure to be a perfectly gooey interior. I flipped the marshmallow around to the other side to give it the same treatment.

"See what I'm doing here?" I said. "Hold the marshmallow over the fire until it gets nice and toasty and melty." When he didn't partake, I smiled to encourage him. "Well, go on."

Hiei didn't move—and without warning he plunged the marshmallow right into the heart of the fire, where it ignited in a bright blue flash.

"You're not supposed to light it up!" I warbled. Hiei yanked the marshmallow from the fire and held it up, watching through narrowed eyes as it burned like a small torch. "You're supposed to make it golden toasty brown, like _this_!"

With one hand I grabbed his stick and blew out his flaming marshmallow; with the other hand I brandished my perfect marshmallow, golden and just barely bubbly at the top. Hiei looked between mine and his and scowled, tossing his hair with a sneer.

"Mine looks better," he said of his burned mess.

"How would _you_ know?" I countered. "You've never even had a toasted marshmallow before."

Before Hiei could try and poke holes in my logic (not that there were any to be had, unless he got really tricky somehow), I handed the sticks over to him and grabbed a packet of graham crackers and a chocolate bar. Taking two crackers and half a chocolate bar, I sandwiched my good marshmallow between them and pulled it off the skewer. Hiei stared at the confection with undisguised skepticism as I held it out his way, strings of melted marshmallow trailing off the crackers like spider silk.

"Here. You can eat mine." Pointing at each part of the treat, I explained. "It's a graham cracker, some chocolate, and a marshmallow, and it's called a s'more."

Hiei frowned. "A su-a-mo-ru?" he said, slippery English word proving troublesome.

"S'more," I repeated. "In English when you want more food, you want 'some more.' S'more, 'some more,' s'more. Get it?" I thrust the s'more into his hands. "Now eat that before it gets cold."

Hiei didn't immediately obey—but I didn't mind. He rarely dug right into foods when he wasn't familiar with them. He took his time sniffing the s'more, examining its components, before taking an experimental nibble first of the cookies, then of the chocolate, and lastly of the marshmallow. Just as I started to nag him to eat it before the marshmallow cooled and got gummy, he took a bite off the corner of the treat—only to pause and hold it in his mouth like a cat not sure of its new food. Soon, though, his jaw moved, chewing once, twice, three times in quick succession.

And then he took a _huge_ bite, shoving half of the thing in his mouth at once, marshmallow squishing and leaking out the sides of the mangled s'more in a volcanic burst. He crammed the remaining chunks into his mouth with a muffled grunt of annoyance, glaring at the melted chocolate, sticky marshmallow, and dusting of crumbs decorating his now-empty fingers.

"Good, huh?" I said, mouth twitching with a suppressed smile.

Hiei swallowed. He turned up his nose. "It's… edible."

How very like him, that comment felt. "From you, that's high praise indeed," I said, rolling my eyes. I picked up the remaining skewer and stripped the burned skin off Hiei's ruined marshmallow, tipping my head back so I could drop the char onto my tongue. Hiei watched with a glare.

"I thought you said they should be golden toasty," he said, accusing.

"Yeah, well, the char isn't _always_ awful." I held out the empty stick. "You want _s'more_?"

Hiei snatched the stick from me with a glare. He'd had enough explanation to recognize the pun when I said it, especially given how my eyebrows waggled with the sadism one feels when making a truly terrible pun. "Make that infernal joke again and I'll shove this stick through you eyeball, roast _it_ instead." He commandeered crackers and chocolate for himself. "I'm making my own, this time."

"Suit yourself," I said, "though you should still listen to my advice. I'll have you know I'm the best marshmallow-roaster in the—"

Hiei shot me a Look and lit his marshmallow on fire. "Don't tell me what to do, Meigo."

I held up my hands. "Fine. Burn your s'more; see if I care."

Satisfied, he bit into his s'more—only for his face to go blank, jaw working more slowly than before. He ate the damn thing, all right, making a brave face all the while, but he made his next marshmallow golden toasty instead of burnt and crusty, just like I'd instructed.

We ate the rest of the s'mores in silence, tension easing as Hiei absolutely _crushed_ the graham crackers and chocolate. Despite his lukewarm words, s'mores definitely seemed to agree with him… and maybe a little too well. When we finished eating, chocolate wrappers and crinkling plastic empty, Hiei sat back against his chosen rock and scowled, once again staring into the fire with hooded scarlet eyes. I settled in, too, content to rest after a long day and listen to the sounds of nighttime and exiting summer. A nightingale sang in a distant tree, tinny noise undercut but the hollow hooting on an owl. My eyes fluttered, heavy as the soothing sounds of the babbling stream and gentle wind lulled me into relaxation.

Hiei ruined it, standing with a clatter of pebbles and the rustle of flapping cloak. He stalked off toward the edge of the forest and stopped, pacing back toward the fire and then away once more.

I watched him pace for a while—because that's what he was doing, now that he didn't have food to occupy his hands and head. Pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage, footsteps steady but vibrating with unspent, restless energy. He didn't pay me any mind. Once he growled, wordless and agitated, but he said nothing as he patrolled the edges of the fire's glow, guarding the border where darkness met light as if to keep the night at bay.

"Say, Hiei?"

He stopped short. "What?"

"Are you nervous?"

He rounded on me, nonplussed. "Am I _what_?"

"Nervous." When he didn't react, I supplied the obvious and unspoken. "About Yukina, and meeting her."

Hiei wheeled, putting his back to me with a low 'tch' of dismissal. "Stupid," he said. "That's a stupid question."

"Not really. I'd be nervous, in your shoes." It occurred to me we hadn't talked about one thing yet, and it was a thing worth talking about indeed. "Oh. By the way: I know you're not going to tell her who you are."

And he was facing me again, every last one of his sharp teeth on full and intimidating display. "You breathe a single word, and I will—"

"I won't tell her." A shrug. "I think it's _stupid_ not to tell her, but I know you promised the demon who gave you your eye that you'd stay quiet. And I respect that."

Whatever he'd been expecting, that wasn't it. Hiei pulled back, uncertain. "You know about that?"

"I know the past as well as the future." Better keep it cryptic, even if I thought Hiei needed a little push in the right direction. "All I will say for certain is that your sister wants to find you as much as you want to find her."

But he didn't look surprised to hear this. "I know that," Hiei said. "It's why she left the ice village. To find her long lost brother." His lips curled, teeth showing once again. "I'm the reason she's trapped here with that human _pig_."

There was something in the way he said that—a viciousness, perhaps, but not aimed outward, even if he had insulted Tarukane. No, this was a simmering rage, directed inward and contained behind walls of thin restraint, magma housed in a fragile teakettle. Somehow it hadn't occurred to me to think Hiei might blame _himself_ for his sister's capture in Human World, but it certainly occurred to me as I watched Hiei resume his frenetic pacing. I'd always assumed he wouldn't tell Yukina about their kinship because he feared rejection, after being rejected by the ice maidens as a baby, and because he did not think his violent past worthy of present acceptance—but guilt at his sister's capture itself added a new wrinkle to my perception of his emotional tapestry, a wrinkle much more immediate than his infant rejection or worry about his bloody past.

Not that Hiei would ever admit to any of that aloud. Hiei was as complicated as he was private in that regard.

For a time I let him stew, wondering if I even had the right to offer commentary, let alone comfort. I busied myself with cleaning our dishes and tidying the campsite, conscious of his presence like a pulsing, aching tooth. Only once I sat back down next to the fire did I take a deep breath, center myself, and speak.

"You know… not in this life, nor in any other, have I had siblings," I said. "I'm an only child all the way down."

Hiei stopped walking, standing on the opposite side of the fire. Light licked at his hair and face, golden shadows setting hollows in his cheeks and bags beneath his curious eyes.

"I met Yusuke when I was just a kid," I continued. "At first I hung around him because I wanted to look out for him. He was always getting into things." A wry smile tugged at my mouth. "Probably would've died long before that car wreck had I not been around to keep his ass in line."

His voice crackled like a smoldering branch. "What's your point?"

"My point is that somewhere along the way, I realized something." My smile held only warmth, then. "I realized that Yusuke is my brother."

Hiei's eyes widened a fraction, or perhaps the flicker and spark of the fire merely created that illusion. Still, I pressed on.

"We're not related," I said. "We don't share blood, but he is my family. He's the closest thing I will ever have to a brother, and if he ever got hurt..."

I let my words trailing into the air like sparks into the velvet sky, ephemeral but bright. Hiei watched my face, unmoving, even as the campfire made the edges of his body flicker like a waning ghost.

"Why are you telling this?" he said.

Another deep breath, full of smoke and purpose. "You don't have to tell Yukina who you are—but that doesn't mean you can't still be her brother." I held up a hand when Hiei's eyes narrowed. "You can be there for her. You can be a person she trusts. You can be her friend—and if that friendship is deep enough, it turns into family." Another smile, freely offered, freely given. "Family isn't dependent on blood. In fact, I think our most precious family members are those whom we _choose_ to be our family."

Hiei scoffed. "Sentimental drivel."

I shrugged. "Maybe. Probably, even. But it's sentimental drivel I stand by."

"It's _preposterous_." Hiei's teeth bared, gleaming like they'd been dipped in molten metal. Every word he spoke rang with utter contempt. "Be her brother without being her brother—you're _mad_."

Another shrug. "Maybe so."

" _Definitely_ so, Meigo," he said, a predator catching the scent of blood. Through the field of the flames I saw his fists clench, saw the tension turn his shoulders to stone. "I'm _no one's_ brother. I'm a felon. I was raised by bandits, nursed on blood and murder instead of milk. I've killed more people than I've spoken to. That girl who shared a womb with me is my sister, yes, but even _she_ would balk if she knew what I'd done." His words rose from a growl to a bark, almost a yell, but not yet quite. "She would _hate me!_ " Hiei said, and his hand lashed out as if to strike an invisible foe.

I didn't budge at the aggressive display. I knew what self-loathing it had to hide. "You're really so sure no one could ever care about you?" I murmured.

Shutters closed behind Hiei's eyes. "Forget it," he said, and he put his back to me.

I sat up, ready to go after him if he pulled a disappearing act. "Hiei, wait a second—"

He shook his head. "I should have known you'd overthink it."

"Hiei, you can talk about—"

"I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT, MEIGO!"

The bellow of my name rang through the encampment, echoing off the trees like the knell of a broken bell, and somewhere in the darkness came the shriek of startled birds. Branches rustled and leaves fell as they took frightened flight, sleep disturbed beyond salvage. Hiei rounded on me once again, striding so close to the fire I feared it would set his cloak aflame.

"I'm not you, Meigo." Scarlet glared like the eyes of the animal through the fire. "I don't need to express my feelings like some pathetic, weakling human who can't even handle the stress of her own emotions—like some pathetic child who refuses to eat when she can't stand to look at herself in the mirror." He drew himself up as I gasped, pulse quickening at that pointed barb. "I am stronger than that. I am stronger than _you_ —and I am _fine_. I'm fine alone. Don't think you can change that." His head shook. "Don't think you can change _me_."

My swallowed, throat like sandpaper. "I don't think I can change you."

"Good," he spat.

"And I'd never _try_ to change you, even if I felt I could." My next words came slow and with difficulty, forced out even as my pride stung and my feelings withered. "You don't need to change, Hiei."

"Feh!" He tossed his head and glared. "You wouldn't say that if you knew."

It was almost like a challenge, the way he said that—a challenge to contradict him, so he could call me ignorant or stupid. It wasn't a challenge I wanted to take just then. Instead, I wanted to be mad. Deep down, I probably was. Deep down I felt my emotions smart, rattled after he'd called me weak and thrown my eating disorder in my face, hurt beyond measure that he'd attack me in that way.

But—such was the way of the wounded. To lash out, to attack, when one feels vulnerable. Like a wolf in a trap Hiei bit and scratched at anyone who came to close, driving them away so he could lick his wounds in private.

You couldn't be hurt by others, if you were alone.

But you couldn't be comforted by them, either, if you always pushed them away.

Hiei didn't expect me to stand up and walk around the fire, nor to walk right past him without saying a word. He watched me with wary eyes as I strode to the stream and knelt to bathe my face and hands in its cool water. I needed to compose myself. I didn't know Hiei's true age (and I reminded myself to ask Kurama about that) but something told me that in this situation, I had to be the adult. And if I had to be the adult, there was only one adult I could emulate who could possibly make this any better.

He'd certainly made my life better, at a time when (if I were a betting woman) I bet I'd felt a lot like Hiei.

"You know, Hiei." I didn't look at him, kneeling on the pebbled beach with hands atop my folded legs. "Growing up, there was this man—his name was Mister Rogers. And he ran a human TV show that I adored."

Hiei shifted, feet crunching over scattered stones. "What are you babbling about?"

"Mister Rogers was like a second father to a lot of kids, including me." I needed to get this out before I lost my nerve, paying Hiei's snark no heed. "He was a hopeful person. He never judged, and he took children seriously. He gave us permission to feel, to express—and most importantly, to love ourselves, even if we didn't like ourselves too much."

Hiei didn't speak. Still facing the stream, I stood. My voice carried into the darkness, small and soft and lost within the nighttime gloom.

"Every time his show would end," I said, "he'd look right at the camera and speak to the kids watching. It was the best part of the show. He'd look right at the camera, and he'd smile, and he'd say, 'I like you just the way you are.'"

A lump gathered in my throat, the way it always did when I thought of Mister Rogers—because cheesy as it sounded, he'd brought me immeasurable comfort as a kid. Without him I wasn't certain I would have survived. Frankly, it was a wonder _Hiei_ had survived, alone as he'd been as a child. He'd had no one to say the simple, but necessary, things Mister Rogers had said to me.

You know… Hiei and I were alike, in that way. Neither of us had had loving parents, even if mine had been present in my life. But whereas he'd been alone entirely, I'd found other adults to give me validation. Mister Rogers, my grandmothers, the friends of my parents whom I'd adopted for my own—they'd given me what the conventional adults in my life could not.

Hiei didn't have a Mister Rogers in his life. But come high water or hell, I'd try to fix that tonight if I could swing it.

Be the Mister Rogers you wish to see in the world, I suppose.

Hiei didn't move when I turned around to face him. He didn't budge when I smiled, nor when I walked in his direction with the crunch of shoe on stone. I stood only a foot away on the bank of that tiny stream and smiled, smoke curling around us like the hands of a worried mother, hoping he wouldn't run before I said what I needed to say—and what I thought he needed to hear.

"Mister Rogers made me feel like it was OK to be me, even on days when I refused to eat and couldn't bear to look at myself in the mirror." I shrugged, helpless. "And call me immature if you want, but there were days as an adult when I'd watch that TV show for children, just because it made being me a little easier."

Hiei searched my face, shutters drawn behind his eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

I shrugged again. "You want to push me away, maybe. I won't pretend to know for sure. And maybe I'm totally off base, but I think it might do you some good to hear what I heard from Mister Rogers, back when I needed it most." I caught his gaze with mine and held it, frank and unflinching. "Hiei, you should know—I like you just the way you are."

His eyes did widen, then, no trick of the firelight or illusion cast by evening's shadow. The tension in his shoulders shifted and changed, too, surprise and shock taking the place of anger and resentment. I had no way of knowing what Hiei thought of what I'd said, but he didn't run, or rebuke me, or call me stupid. He just stared. _I_ just stared. We stared at one another until my eyes dried out; my lashes fluttered, and in the tiniest of increments I lifted my hand.

To my immense surprise, Hiei did not flee into the dark when I placed it on his shoulder.

"I like you just the way you are," I repeated, "and brother or no brother, I think Yukina would, too."

The moment held, spinning into infinity like a shout flung into space. Hiei didn't drop my gaze for what felt like forever—but it was a forever that ended far too soon. He shifted, shoulder sliding out from under my fingers like water beneath a hull. I didn't fight him. I let him go, and my hand fell to my side.

"Drop it, Meigo," Hiei said—but quietly. So quietly I almost didn't hear him under the crackle of the bonfire.

"Dropping it." I stepped around him, heading for the tent. "I'm gonna go to bed, OK?"

Hiei didn't reply, and I didn't force the issue. He said nothing as I entered the tent, undressed, and slid into my sleeping bag, where I lay in the dark until sleep finally claimed me.

* * *

My watch's blue glow informed me it was just past 2 AM. Time for sleeping, said my brain, but time for a trip outside, protested my bladder. Weary and bleary and all manner of fatigued, I unrolled from my sleeping bag like tuna from loose _maki_ , grabbed a flashlight, and stumbled from the tent. Arms tight around myself (I had been right; it had gotten very, very cold once night fell over the mountains) I shoved my socked feet into my hiking boots and wondered where the best place to pee in the dark might be.

"Meigo?"

I flinched and turned in place, looking for him, but I saw no one. "Hiei?" I said, squinting into the darkness. The fire had dimmed, coals bright red and smoldering beneath ashen logs. "Where are you?"

"Up here."

I followed the sound of his voice as much I did his description, turning back toward the tent and looking skyward. There, suspended above a branch about ten feet off the ground, two eyes reflected like a coyote's in the dark, glowing as if lit from within by flame. I could make out nothing of his body in the shadows—just those eyes, fixed and intent on me.

"You're sleeping in a tree," I said. My eyes rolled. "Of course you're sleeping in a tree. Why am I even surprised?"

Hiei ignored my ramblings. "Where are you going?"

I brandished the flashlight, pointing at the roll of toilet paper sitting atop my backpack (I'd left it out as a courtesy to Hiei, though lord knows what his bathroom habits might be). "Bathroom," I said.

That was enough detail or him, thanks. He grunted, not moving from his lofty perch as I flicked on the flashlight and picked my way over fallen branches and tumbled boulders into the woods. I turned the light off and peed in the dark just in case anyone (or any _thing_ ) wanted to be a perv, and when I finished I headed back to the stream to wash my hands. The cold water numbed them to the bone and chased away the weariness pulling at my eyelids—which kind of sucked because I wanted to go back to bed, dang it. Instead I stoked the fire, added a new log, and stood there warming my hands. Cold mountain wind twined into my hair, turning my scalp to gooseflesh.

"You know," I said, shooting a look at the branch where Hiei had been (and where I hoped he still was, though I couldn't tell in the dark), "that can _not_ be good for your back."

His eyes opened, sparks of maraschino in the night. So he hadn't moved. Good.

"Don't you want my other sleeping bag?" I said.

"No," Hiei said. He scoffed. "Weakling human contraption…"

I snorted, recalling a very old fanfiction trope. "I bet you'd prefer a pile of pelts in a nice cave somewhere, then."

Somehow his eyes managed to look contemptuous, even though I couldn't see his expression. "What are you blithering about?" he said. "A tree is sufficient. It gives me the high ground."

"Sure." How very like him, to choose a sleeping spot for tactical reasons. "But when you're an old man with back problems, don't come crying to me."

He laughed, a sharp bark of acidic humor. "As if. You'll be long dead by the time I'm old."

"That just means I'll have to come back as a ghost to pester you to sleep properly and eat your veggies," I replied with a cloyingly sweet smile.

Hiei glowered. "You _would_ be that annoying."

"What can I say? Smothering you is part of my charm."

He didn't say anything, not confirming but not denying it, either. Maybe he'd brought me along to be more than just bait, after all. I hummed a tune under my breath and turned, warming my back at the fire instead of my hands. Sparks drifted up and over my shoulder; I traced their flight into the sky, watching their path to the stars peeking through the branches overhead. At that I let out a low, impressed whistle, an idea flaring like a firework in my head.

"Say, Hiei?" I said.

A grumble of annoyance. "What, Meigo?"

"What're the chances of rain tonight?"

A pause. Then, sarcasm resplendent: "Are there _clouds_?"

"Well. No?"

"Then there's your answer, dolt."

I ignored the barb, because this was Hiei, and if I got offended by every one of his insults… well, that just sounded tiring. I grabbed my sleeping bag and lugged it out of the tent, walking along the bank of the stream until I found a spot not too obscured by overhanging trees, just outside the glow of the campfire. The lumpy ground wasn't the most pleasant surface to lie upon, sure, but I dug my butt and shoulders into the pebbled shore until the earth conformed to my body—and then it wasn't so bad, after all. I cuddled into my sleeping bag with a sigh, fingers laced together under my head for a pillow.

Hiei appeared in short order, looming over me with a scowl. "What in the three worlds are you doing?" he said, face oddly comical when viewed upside down.

I patted the ground at my side. "Have a seat."

Hiei balked—but he dropped to the ground, still scowling, hands braced on his crossed legs. Stone crunched beneath him, loud in the night's stillness.

"Now lie back, like me."

More balking, more scoffing, but he did as I asked, lying next to me with more complaints and rebukes than I can conceivably recall, let along write down accurately. He didn't take his eyes off me, lying as rigid as a corpse at my side, eyes locked confused and indignant on my face.

I suppressed a giggle. "Stop looking at me." And I pointed. "Look up."

Slowly, moving in the tiniest of increments, he turned his face away. His eyes followed soon after, sliding from my features like molasses—but soon he looked at the sky, just as I wanted him to.

"You don't see stars like this in the city, that's for sure," I said.

Above us sprawled the firmament, deep and endless, studded with innumerable points of brilliant light. The ash of the Milky Way cut through the blue-black expanse in a gentle, glowing ripple—an echo, almost, of the white streaks in Hiei's midnight hair. Out here in the mountains some of the stars even gleamed with bits of color, far-flung galaxies and nebulas showing hints of pink and green and blue and gold and lavender away from the diluting lights of the city. You only saw the color of the stars in places like this—in wild places, untamed and unspoiled, nature in competition with nothing but its own glory.

A sigh slipped from my mouth. "Aren't they pretty?"

"… they're decent."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at Hiei's understatement. " _Decent_ , he says," I grumbled—but then I grabbed Hiei's arm with a gasp, pointing with my other hand. A brilliant point of light streaked across the sky, a trail of white neon marking its descent. "Oh, oh, meteor, make a wish!"

"A wish?" he said as the meteor faded from view.

"Yeah, a wish." I shut my eyes, made the unspoken wish I always made on shooting stars, and opened them again. "OK, I made mine. You make one, too."

"Human nonsense." He crossed his arms over his chest with a pointed 'harrumph.' "I will not partake."

"Oh, c'mon, Hiei." Twisting onto my side, I propped my head on my hand and frowned at him. "What's wrong with making a wish on a shooting star?"

"You already took the wish for that—for that _meteor_ , or whatever it's called," he said, as if I were stupid for not realizing it. "We can't wish on the same thing. That doesn't make sense."

My brow arched. "Such strong opinions about human nonsense. One would almost suspect you care."

His glare cut like a meteor through a dark sky. "Meigo, _I will end you_."

"No, you won't." I flopped onto my back with a smug smile, hands laced atop my belly. "You like me too much to kill me."

"Lies."

"Truths."

" _Lies_ , dammit."

I laughed because there was no fire of truth in his voice, and I grabbed his arm again when another light shot by. "Oh, there's another! Get it, get it! Make a wish, Hiei!"

Hiei muttered something under his breath, the word 'stupid' intelligible amid the garbled rest, but he shut his eyes for a moment anyway. He said nothing when he opened them again, brilliant red flickering over the stars as if searching for another meteor upon which to pin unspoken hopes. Only that's way too cheesy for Hiei, huh?

"What'd you wish for?" I asked.

Bluntly: "Not telling you."

"Good call," I said. "Wishes don't come true if you share them."

Hiei nodded—and then he did an impressive double take, rising up on an elbow to stare at me. "If that's the case, why did you even ask to know?"

"Because I'm nosey." Before he could agree, I gestured at the stars. "You know, I used to do this with my grandparents. We'd come out on clear nights and lay out a blanket and look at the stars. It was my favorite part of visiting them."

Gradually, Hiei lowered himself to the ground again.

"Grandmother would always bring a thermos of something to drink," I continued, "and when I fell asleep, Grandfather would carry me inside and put me into bed. It was like magic." A smile crested across my features, as undeniable as an ocean tide. "I'd fall asleep to fairy dust and wake up somewhere else, warm and cozy and safe."

Hiei harrumphed, but he didn't mock me for being sentimental or flowery like I expected. My smile grew, warm and content.

"Grandfather taught me the names of the constellations. Let's see." Mapping the stars, I hunted for familiar shapes, tracing them with a finger when they revealed themselves. "There's Cygnus, the swan. And the Big Dipper. Oh, and _that's_ the Little Dipper. You can see the North Star at the tip of the handle." I scooted closer to Hiei so he could look down the length of my arm, see just exactly which stars I was talking about. "See those, there? They make parts of Major and Minor Ursa, the bears." When Hiei nodded, understanding, I scooted away again. "I'm rusty, though. Those are all I can pick out."

"What are constellations?"

Hiei turned his head my way, searching my face, brow furrowed as he waited for a response. For a second I didn't reply—mostly due to shock. Hiei could work a record player, but he didn't know what a constellation was? How was that possible?

Not that it mattered. Hiei had asked a question, and I needed to answer it.

"Constellations are basically pictures you see in the stars." Sitting up, I swiped a handful of pebbles off the ground and arranged them on the foot of my sleeping bag, tracing lines between the stones with a finger. "The stars connect together to form an image, though the images are pretty abstract. Humans named the stars thousands of years ago. They made up the constellations, too."

The furrows in his brow deepened. "Why name the stars at all?"

"Good question." I thought about it for a minute. "The stars move through the sky in a fixed pattern. Depending on the time of year, other constellations become visible. Based on their movements, human astronomers could navigate, determine the time of year, the size of the earth, all sorts of things. So the constellations are basically part of humanity's pursuit of understanding how the world works." I scratched the back of my neck, eyeing the tail of the Little Dipper. "Some myths and legends tie into the constellations, too."

Hiei processed this explanation, patchwork and shallow though it was, without comment. Eventually he looked away and up to the sky again. I joined him, lying back down to watch for more shooting stars.

"We don't have stars in Demon World."

He spoke so quietly I nearly missed it, and something in his low, murmuring voice made me tense—like saying too much would send him running, break the moment into pieces like a meteor burning up in the earth's hard atmosphere.

"Oh?" I said, not risking saying more.

A pause. I feared talking had been a mistake entirely, but then Hiei took a deep breath.

"There are layers in Demon World," he murmured. "Some ceilings so high up you can't see them. There are clouds, rain, weather under the bottoms of other layers, but the sky…it is not like the sky here." One finger lifted atop his chest, the barest of indications. "No stars."

Hiei spoke with matter-of-fact precision. I, of course, was instantly fascinated. The manga had hinted at Demon World's geography existing I layers, but no sky? No stars? These were the details I'd longed for as a fan; _give them to me, Hiei, and be quick about it_. I sat up on my elbow and tried not to look too eager, though it was hard.

"Where does light come from?" I said.

He frowned. "What?"

"Where do you get light? Day and night? If you don't have access to the sky and the sun…"

"Depends on the level." He shrugged. "The top level sees the sun. The rest do not. Some places have no light at all."

My jaw dropped. "No light? Really? That's _crazy!_ " And it explained why Jin was so damn obsessed with Human World. "Where are you from, Hiei?"

"A few levels down." Another shrug. "I never spent much time on the surface. Spirit World controls the surface. Parts of it, anyway. And I wanted nothing to do with them." He looked momentarily disgruntled, probably since he was now on a Spirit World leash, but the expression passed soon enough. He eyed me askance. "And Human World…?"

I wasn't sure if he wanted to know where we got light, or if Spirit World controlled us, or what—but he hadn't known what a constellation was, and something told me that despite his familiarity with a record player, some basic knowledge of Human World might not have been available to him in days past. I sat back and put my hands behind my head, centering my thoughts.

"Human World is a globe. A sphere." My forehead wrinkled. "Well, it's actually an oblate spheroid if you want to get technical about it. Like a ball distended at the ends, but still. It's got a molten core of magma that we've never actually been to. Nobody lives under the earth's crust. And the earth itself floats in space." And I had to sit up again, once more using pebbles to demonstrate my points. "Stop me if you already know this, but the earth spins on its axis while revolving around and the sun." I held a big rock in one hand and moved a smaller rock around it in a circle, spinning it between my fingers all the while. "The sun gives us light and heat, and the spin gives us day and night. Seasons, too, based on the earth's tilt." A moment of nerves; I tucked my hair behind my ear. "Sorry. Am I making sense?"

Hiei eyed the stones. I moved them again, demonstrating spin and orbit. Eventually he nodded.

"OK, good." I flopped back to the ground. "The earth is actually really anomalous in terms of astronomy. We're just close enough to the sun to be warm, but not close enough to get cooked. It's called a Goldilocks Planet—not too cold, not too hot, just right for life to start." A smirk as I thought of the future, of the Goldilocks Planets we'd one day find, though of course they still remained out of reach. "As of 1990, we haven't found any other planets that could support life. It's just us, alone in the vastness."

Hiei didn't seem to hear me. "A globe. No levels," he murmured. "I had guessed, but…" He shook his head. "Tell me, Meigo. What is a meteor?"

I told him. I told him about meteors and asteroids, about planets and galaxies and gravity and black holes, everything I knew about the construction of the universe and the tilt of the whirling stars. He asked few questions, but he listened, eyes propped firmly open even as mine began to ease shut.

"It's a great big world out there," I said, fighting a yawn. "So much to learn. More than I'll ever get to see, and I've seen more than most people." The yawn won, stretching my jaw until it creaked. My eyes fell shut as I said, "I'd like to see Demon World someday. Learn about how it's built."

"You wouldn't like it," Hiei said.

"Oh?"

"No stars. But it's bigger than Human World." He paused, and when he spoke next I heard the barest undercurrent of… not longing, no, but something close. "Even if there's no sky, it's bigger. There's more energy." His words soured. "This place, it's cramped. Cramped and shallow."

I chuckled, eyes cracking despite the weight dragging them down. The stars burned as another meteor cut through the jewel-studded black.

"When I look into the stars like this, I feel small," I whispered. "Like the world is much too big. Like I might just fall off the world and into the sky. Just plunge into dark and stars like a stone into the sea, and…"

I fell asleep mid-sentence, I think, because in the space between words I found myself sitting in a rocking boat on the waves of an ocean—of an ocean that reflected stars and was full of them, too, meteors flying through the water beneath my hull before fading into depths unfathomable. In the sky burned colored stars, jewel toned and luminous, gems shining upon black velvet, huge enough to reach out and touch. A single sail flapped above my head; two oars sat at my sides, waiting for me to take them and sail away to somewhere new.

A dream.

This was a dream.

I gripped the oars.

The boat on the ocean of stars caught a wind in its sail, and I was flying.

I flew for time untold and across miles unnumbered, skimming the ocean of stars with my oars and the laughter of a person at peace. An image of my boat and my joyful face reflected in the water beneath me, but it was not Keiko's face I saw when I leaned over the bulwark to look closer—at least not at first. The image rippled, water undulating, and Keiko's eyes turned blue and her hair grew long and then it was my old face I saw on the ocean of stars, twenty six years old and unfamiliar and _mine_.

I leaned close, reaching out to claim the image of myself, and the boat capsized into the starry sea.

Only, I didn't drown. The world flipped with us, and the sea became the sky—the same star-studded sky I'd seen with Hiei, galaxies distant pinpricks of silver light. Below my boat lay a forest, mountains looming high in the distance, and between the branches of the trees wound a small stream. Upon its bank a fire burned, red and flickering.

I touched the oars.

I sailed away again.

My boat moved up and down at my will, obeying my commands and carrying me just above the tops of the swaying trees. Gliding over them, I leaned out of the boat and skimmed the leaves with my ghostly hand, feeling them pass over and through my dreaming flesh like whispers of silk. The boat's sail snapped in the wind with chimes like music, keeping tempo with my flight and the sound of my careless laughter—but upon the horizon a yellow light flared and sparked. The sail's song clashed, clanging instead of chiming, discord disrupting harmony at once.

It wasn't a star on that horizon. It wasn't the rising sun.

In time with the beat of my curiosity, the boat turned a course toward the light.

The light grew brighter and brighter as I sailed in its direction, source swimming into focus brick by brick, window by window. At the foot of a mountain I found a mansion, bloated with too many wings and festooned with too many fountains, opulence so overblown it looked nothing short of distasteful—the house of a man who tried too hard to be more than he was, a fair façade concealing a foul foundation. The lights in the windows burned against the night as if to deny the darkness entry—because there was no room for any more darkness inside that rotting house. It was already too full. Despite the lights, nothing but darkness lay beyond those panes of bulletproof glass, house filled to the brim with pain and death I tasted on my tongue.

But a light in one window shined brighter than the others—and it shine warm, and genuine, and soft.

I flew to that window in my boat, borne there on the wind of my whim, and stopped just outside that shimmering glass. A lamp burned on a table within the room that lay beyond. An empty bed sat in a corner, and a chair rested in the center of the room.

Upon that chair sat a figure, head bowed.

Tendrils of long, mint-green hair brushed her lap and the skin of her pale white hands.

I knew her, even though I'd never seen her before.

I reached out to touch the glass, to perhaps pass through and greet the woman in the chair, but at my touch the window crackled and spat sparks—odd, because in my dreams I was never denied entry anywhere, because the dreams were mine. Ever since I learned to control my dreams after Hiruko's invasion, nothing had been beyond my control.

Something about this dream, then, was different.

I felt no pain, because in dreams I never felt pain anymore, but still I kept back from the window. On the other side of the glass hung wires strung in a crisscross barrier, long strips of paper hanging upon their lengths. Black ink on these tags showing like blood against snow. I pressed my hand to the window again. Once more the window spat sparks, keeping me at bay.

Upon her chair, the woman sat up straight. Her eyes opened—and they were the color of rose petals, or poppies, or blood.

"Who's there?" Yukina said.

Her voice was a winter wind, airy but not weak. I floated to the glass and spread my palms over its expanse.

"A friend," I said.

Her head cocked, hair falling along the length of her pale throat. She stood with motions slow and wary, her aqua kimono rustling as she took a small step toward the window. I didn't move an inch as she neared. I noted the point to her chin, the size of her eyes, and the formation of her lovely, delicate features, instead.

She looked very much like Hiei—or perhaps I only wished she did.

This was my dream, after all.

Here, even without a star to cast a wish upon, all my wishes came true.

She scanned the window, peering beyond it until her eyes locked onto me. "What is your name?" she said.

"I don't remember." And that was the truth, as was this: "But I know yours. You're Yukina."

Her eyes widened. "How did you…?"

"My friends and I are coming to save you." I smiled, as close to the window as I dared. "You'll be free soon. I promise."

Dream or no dream, Yukina in any form deserved to know the truth. She put her hand to her mouth, eyes as round as coins.

"You mean—you're coming to—?" Her breath shuddered, eyes welling with crystalline liquid. She came to the window, too, hands outstretched but not daring to touch the wards that kept her bound and captured. With joy in her voice she said, "Oh, thank you, _thank you_ , I—"

But then she stopped.

Yukina lifted her hand to her eye, touched the tears that gathered there, and scowled.

She really did look like Hiei, after all—only she looked like him inverted, features hard with glacial chill as opposed to Hiei's roaring fire. Her warm eyes froze from inside out, transforming into chips of deep red ice, blood frozen on the white tundra of her face.

"This is a trick," she said, voice a wind winding through hard ice. "A trick by Tarukane." Her fist clenched. "It _must_ be."

I said, "It's not."

But she ignored me. "He's tried so many things. So many horrible things, and none of them work—not anymore." Her chin lifted in determination. "But there is one thing he hasn't tried."

"What is it?" I said.

"To give me hope, and then to take it away."

She spoke with the simplicity of a woman on her way to the gallows, emotionless and cold. Just facts, no feelings—as unfeeling as the glaciers she might call her home. I pulled back from the window in shock when she glared at me, all warmth in her gone. Her hand lifted, palm open, to the window.

"Yukina, no—" I said.

"I refuse to hope," said Yukina. Her palm glowed molten blue. "You are not wanted here."

In dreams, I feel no pain.

I felt pain, then.

The blast of arctic chill fired like a gun from Yukina's hand, slamming into me with the howl of a vicious blizzard. The wind caught the sail of my boat and sent it flying upward, carrying the boat and me along with it into the star-filled firmament. The boat spun and spun and spun, earth becoming sky becoming earth becoming sky in a nauseating, star-strewn swirl. I clung to the bottom of my boat, unable to right myself, too dizzy to move even when the vessel stilled and floated aimless above the forest below. Even when the dizziness faded, I remained curled in a tight ball, not daring to move for fear of sending myself spiraling once more into oblivion—for fear of falling up into the wide black ocean dotted with burning stars, endless and void and terrifying, never to return to earth.

Soon the boat began to bob, however. It bobbed with a gentle, swaying rhythm, like it wanted to rock me to sleep—and with a start I woke up.

I woke up in my sleeping bag, back in the tent along the banks of a winding stream and beside a dying campfire, as Hiei's shoes crunched quietly away over the rocky shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiei probably grabbed the extreme edge of her sleeping bag like someone handling a dirty diaper and dragged her into the tent. Sweet gesture, but performed in a very not-sweet Hiei sort of way. But at least he's learning. I think NQK's mothering of Yusuke prepared her to look after the even pricklier Hiei. I greatly enjoyed getting to work details of Demon World's construction into the convo with Hiei near the end. And the Yusuke scene was totally unplanned—I thought of it, outlined it, and wrote it in about an hour, but it's my favorite part of this chapter.
> 
> Also: My boyfriend inspired the whole s'more bit. He suggested campfire songs, too, but that's where I drew the line at Hiei's Camping Adventure.
> 
> Mister Roger's birthday was last week on March 20. Happy birthday to him! When my friends want to embarrass me at work, they send me GIFs and videos of him because they know I'll insta-cry. He was a huge part of my childhood and I'm serious when I say he helped me survive it. Sounds cheesy, I know, but he was a special person to many of us, and hopefully he can help Hiei a little bit, too.
> 
> Many thanks to those who read chapter 64. Your comments totally made my week, and I'm so happy you enjoyed all the Hiei moments. Reminder that I go on hiatus in April for Camp NaNo. Next week we wrap up most of the Rescue Yukina arc, and then we're in Dark Tournament territory at last. See you next Saturday!


	66. The Great Hiei-Keiko Road Trip of 1990, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Not-Quite-Keiko goes along for the ride. Several rides. Some of which she wishes she hadn't been on. It's complicated.

I stayed in the tent as long as I could stand it, but when pale green light turned the side of my shelter luminous white gold, I crawled from my sleeping bag and got dressed. Hiei was already on his feet by the time I unzipped the tent and stood, stretching with a satisfying crack of shoulder and neck. He watched from beside the fire pit, which had turned to pale ash in the night, in silence.

"Hey," I said, still stretching. "Morning."

He didn't bother with a greeting in return. "You're awake," he said, and in Hiei's mouth it sounded like an accusation.

I shrugged. "Yeah. And?"

"And it's not time yet."

"Then I'll make breakfast until it _is_ time."

He considered this and found the notion acceptable, nod curt and perfunctory. "Good. Be quick about it."

And with that he flitted out of sight, a blur of black in the lightening dawn.

Birds sang, casting off the fug of sleep as I unpacked my breakfast rations: bread for toast, sausage links, and eggs cracked free of their shells and poured into a thermos, all kept cold with a packet of ice. No telling where Hiei had gone. He wasn't there to heat the skillet for me; I used the fire, instead, once I added a log and coaxed into being a steady flame. Before long the sausages and scrambled eggs were sizzling. Their hearty perfume filled the crisp mountain air; my mouth watered at the scent.

"Hurry back, Hiei," I said to the cooking food. "I'm hungry."

Hiei did not appear.

The food cooked before he returned; I set it up in the skillet by the fire so it wouldn't get cold, then dismantled my tent and cleaned up the rest of the campsite. With that finished, I settled onto the log beside the fire with a sigh. Hiei's absence left a void in the campsite—and of course my anxious brain filled that void with paranoid thought.

Or was it hopeful thought, in the end?

The dream I'd had about Yukina weighed heavy on my mind, naturally. While it wasn't the first lucid dream I'd experienced, it certainly had been the most vivid of them all—and the first dream to swing so wildly out of my control. It had felt too real, too unpredictable compared to my usual lucid dreams—lucid dreams I'd experienced with some regularity ever since I chased Hiruko from my consciousness weeks prior. I'd always wanted to lucid-dream in my past life, so I'd embraced my new skill with gusto. Not that it was very _useful_ , mind you, for much more than keeping up with school. I mostly used the dreams to study (when I didn't just fuck off and fly around for fun, of course). Rebuilding my textbook from memory alone helped me recall material for class. Sleep had always seemed like a waste of time, but now I could actually make use of it. Seemed Hiruko's influence was good for a few things.

(Well. Some of the time it was good. Some nights I couldn't resist rebuilding Tom's apartment in my head: the sagging couch, the wall of video game posters, the vanilla candle he'd purchased with me at IKEA and had grown to enjoy even when I wasn't around. Dream-me sat on the couch under the blanket with the octopus photo on the front and watched Dream-Tom play games at his computer, listening with a giggle as he swore when an enemy got too close.

I never dared build an image of his face. I just stared at the nape of his neck and listened to his laugh, lest homesickness swallow me whole.)

But, anyway. Those dreams were just that: dreams, plain and simple and ordinary even if they _were_ lucid. The dream with Yukina, though? I wasn't stupid, and I was too genre-savvy to dismiss that as a mere lucid dream gone wrong. It had been different. It had been weird. It had been alarming.

It had been _thrilling_.

Because if that dream had indeed been more than just a dream…

A crunch behind me; I wheeled just in time to see Hiei walk out of the trees, hands jammed deep into his pockets. Before I could greet him (or scold him because the eggs were probably overcooked by now) one of his quick hands lashed out; something sliced through the air beside my cheek, ruffling my hair and eyelashes as that same something hit the ground behind me with a thunk and a smattering of tossed pebbles.

Three throwing knives—the ones I'd launched at the horrible demon the day before—quivered where they jutted from the rocky ground.

"You'll need those today," Hiei said.

I looked at the knives and swallowed.

We ate in silence, Hiei consuming eggs and toast and sausage after a few minutes of sniffing and his required taste-testing (and watching me eat them first to ensure they weren't poisoned, of course). I ate quickly out of nerves, setting aside my plate after I gulped down the last bites of scrambled egg. My feet pressed together at the ankle; I sat ramrod straight with hands folded primly atop my knees.

"So," I said. I swallowed again. "Uh."

Hiei—who ate with plate held directly beneath his pointed chin—glared at me over his remaining sausages. "Spit it out, Meigo."

"I had a weird dream last night about your sister."

Hiei's hand stopped moving, stopped shoveling eggs past his lips. Slowly he lowered the plate to his lap. Red eyes scraped against my skin as he looked me over, as if searching for secrets in the folds of my clothes.

"A dream?" he repeated, suspicious.

"Yeah." I didn't let my posture falter, fighting back a joke to lighten the mood and calm myself (something about a sex dream; Hiei would have killed me for that). "I flew to the mansion in a boat through the sky and I saw her, locked in a warded room."

"You have no aura. No power." Even without me saying so, he knew what I was trying to get at, coming in fast and hard with frank denial. Lifting his plate again, he grumbled, "Dreams are sometimes just that, Meigo—dreams."

I winced. "Yeah, I know, but—can you just, like, check again?"

Once more he lowered the plate. I thought he'd rebuke me, tell me to just give it up and stop my inane prattling—but instead his eyes closed, and behind his headband came the faintest violet glow. My breath snagged in my chest. I felt nothing, though, as Hiei doubtless scanned me with his Evil Eye.

The glow faded.

His red eyes opened.

"You are a human," Hiei said. " _Normal_. I sense nothing from you but humanity."

My nose wrinkled. "Damn."

"Still on that quest to be more than you are, I see."

"I'm persistent like that. All part of my charm." My spine bent when I sighed, slouching under the weight of defeat—defeat that stung. Damn. I'd really wanted this to be a sign of some burgeoning power, but if Hiei said it wasn't… I sighed again and shook my head, fingers running through my hair. "Well. Seems like I'm dealing with crushing disappointment today. And how are _you_ this morning?"

Hiei ignored my attempt at humor. He just shrugged and lifted his plate back to his face.

"Nervous?" I asked.

Once again the plate dropped. He glared, spitting a disdainful 'tch' from between his teeth—but as his fist clenched around his camping spork, I wondered if I'd hit the nail on the head. Not that I'd push about it, of course.

"Fine. No heart to heart in the light of day," I said, and I gathered up our plates and the cookware to clean in the river.

Hiei ate the rest of his meal without a word, bringing me his cutlery so I could wash it and repack my hiking bag. He watched in that same silence as I doused the fire in a way that would make Smokey the Bear proud. Once I finished, I sat back down and affixed my throwing knives to my thigh.

"How much longer, do you think?" I said as I fiddled with the straps.

Hiei eyed the sky, and the slanted shadows cast by the rising sun. "Not long. They're moving, but—"

He stopped talking. Like wind through the trees he tensed, stiffness sweeping over him from crown to feet in a wave of tightening muscle. His head whipped toward the trees; eyes pierced the depths of the forest with a stab of scarlet.

I was on my feet in a second, snatching up my backpack out of nerves. "Hiei?" I said.

My voice broke whatever spell he'd been under. He shook off the tension, shoved his hands in his pockets, and jerked his head northward.

"Follow me," he said. "Quickly."

He didn't say why. He merely turned and headed away from the camp, darting over the trees in a flash of black. I hopped from stone to stone across the brook in his wake, wondering just what he'd sensed in the woods.

A demon, if I had to guess.

I had no intention of waiting around to find out.

* * *

We travelled for hours, route circuitous through the woods as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The directions Hiei took felt random, but perhaps he was avoiding demons or trying to confuse any demons on our trail—not that he cared to tell me so. Regardless of the reasons, he ran out ahead and doubled back to give me directions as he had the day before, and after a long hike I found him standing still and waiting for me. He held up a hand, silhouetted by the break in the trees a few dozen yards ahead, dark body outlined in green and gold. I walked to his side and squinted in the sun, past it toward the open ground that lay beyond the line of the close-pressed trees.

The open ground looked like an absolute warzone.

I smelled it before I saw it: gunpowder and sulfur, ash and fire, wafting on the wind and into the woods. A hundred yards of pock-marked dirt lay between the forest and a high brick wall, smoke rising from jagged craters filled with embers and debris. Trees, stumps still smoldering, lay shattered across the great expanse like fallen artillery. A huge iron gate, standing open, cut the wall in front of us, but the metal had sagged and melted, hanging from its hinges like wax left too long in the sun.

Rising above it all behind the wall, green-tiled roof glimmering like jade in the sun, rose the mansion of Tarukane Gonzo.

"Does it look the same?" Hiei asked.

I flinched. "What?"

"Does it look the same as in your dream?" he said.

From our vantage point, obscured by distance and smoke alike, it was hard to say. The white brick and green roof certainly looked similar to what I'd dreamed, but the wall blocked too much of the house to say for certain. Even through the open gate I only saw part of the monstrous structure, and that was obscured by a bubbling fountain. I hadn't dreamed of that wall at all, nor of the ruined field between us and it—but then again, perhaps the ruined field hadn't looked like this until today. I vaguely recalled mention of land mines in the anime, which Yusuke and Kuwabara triggered and walked straight through without flinching.

The boys had indeed beaten us here, it seemed. And they weren't too far ahead, judging by the smoke.

"Parts of this seem similar," I admitted to Hiei, "but no. It's not exactly like I dreamed." A sigh passed through my lips unbidden. "Sometimes a dream is just a dream, I guess."

Hiei smirked. "Wise words."

" _Somebody's_ full of himself," I grumbled, but this indication that my dream had not, in fact, been a sign of burgeoning psychic powers was too depressing for continued attention. I shook myself and took a deep breath. "So where do we go in?" A pause. "Do you even _want_ me to go in with you?"

Scarlet eyes narrowed. "What?"

My hands came up, thumbs twiddling. "This is prime I'll-just-slow-you-down territory, is all."

Hiei's smirk returned. "Maybe I'll just use you as bait again."

"Do it and I'll never cook for you again," I deadpanned. When Hiei chuckled I said in softer tones, "Why did you bring me here, Hiei?"

The smirk vanished. He turned away, shoulders broad beneath his dark cloak.

"Bait. Like I said," said Hiei.

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care what you believe."

"Of course you don't." Even though he wasn't looking at me, I still saw fit to smile. "But whether you want me in there with you or not, just know I've got your back."

His head turned just enough for him to see me from the corner of an eye, but before I could read his expression he looked away again, hair tossing in obvious defiance. "Feh! Your help would only slow me down."

"That's what I've been _saying_ ," I whined—and when he walked along the edge of the tree line to the east, I jogged after him. "Hey, wait!"

And so I followed him—because he did not tell me not to.

We walked around the mansion's perimeter, staying in the forest and out of sight. The boys had only triggered some of the landmines surrounding the mansion, it seemed, because in other areas outside the wall lay nothing but large swathes of undisturbed and very green lawn.

"I think there might be explosives under the grass," I said. "All that smoke earlier—I think Yusuke triggered them."

One dark brow rose high. "You think the Detective got himself blown up?"

"No. He'd have shielded himself. But I just wanted to warn you just in case."

Hiei snorted, like my warning was more an inconvenience than anything (or perhaps in doubt of Yusuke's competence), but regardless he led the way across the field to the house—sticking to the charred ground where Yusuke and Kuwabara had cleared out any potential mines. He kept low and moved quickly between mounds of earth and plumes of billowing smoke, motioning me after him when he determined the coast was clear. I held my breath next to the worst of the burned patches and crouched beside Hiei in the shadows of the melted gate, trying not to get too much ash on my good hiking boots. Hiei glared past the gate and at the yard beyond with an audible grit of teeth.

"Flying deathtrap," he said.

I followed his gaze. Past the gate and in front of the sprawling mansion lay a wide lawn dotted with fountains and long stretches of paved driveway. Off to the west, toward the side of the house near the wall guarding the property perimeter, a tandem-rotor helicopter painted fatigue olive sat on a concrete helipad. It looked military, though I was no expert, and the sight of it made me want to laugh. Why the hell did Tarukane have that huge and unwieldly monster on his property? Was a regular single-rotor copter not good enough for that bastard? I couldn't image he'd need to transport a whole platoon.

Unless he _did_ need to transport a platoon, after all.

Around the helicopter milled at least a dozen men in stark black suits, like the one the demon had worn in the forest before his transformation, seemingly patrolling the grounds and standing guard. Another six or so men walked in tight formation toward the mansion, disappearing through a heavy metal door into the nearest wing of the house.

Every last one of them carried a firearm.

My mouth dried. It had been almost fifteen years since I last saw a firearm (aside from the odd pistol on the belt of a police officer, but even then they were holstered, the barest bit of their stock painted flat matte black). I'd sort of hoped I'd never see a gun again, but here I was in close proximity to at least… wow. OK. At least four AR-15s, and the rest of them openly carried pistols. Talk about overkill—overkill Hiei would hopefully be able to handle. Tarukane had employed a small army, it seemed, and in that context the helicopter had started to make sense.

One of the men nearest the helicopter paused. He pressed his index finger to his ear, turning his mouth toward the cuff of his sleeve, lips moving the barest fraction before he dropped his hand again. When he turned the sun caught the silvery spiral trailing from his ear and into his collar.

"Wanna bet they're about to move Yukina, evac Tarukane?" I muttered. "See the wires in their ears?"

Hiei's eyes narrowed. "Radios."

"Right." Somehow it didn't surprise me that Hiei knew about that bit of human tech. "Take them out before they can use those. Don't let them call for backup."

"And the flying deathtrap?"

"Cut off one of the rotary blades and it'll never get off the ground."

His smile looked as sadistic as a torturer's rack. Without preamble he flashed away from me, sprinting across the lawn toward the nearest goon so fast my eyes couldn't follow. A chorus of pained cries went up almost in unison from every single guard on the field just as a metallic groan came from both of the copter's blades. Hiei reappeared on the other side of the lawn near the door the six armed men had used, and then as one all of the guards—not to mention the copter blades—collapsed to the earth like fallen stones.

Had he just—had he taken out _all of them_ in _two seconds?_

I stood there with my mouth open, awed, until Hiei barked my name. He opened the door to the mansion before I got there, ushering me through ahead of him with a jerk of his head. "My, what a gentleman," I managed, trying to cover my shock with humor.

Hiei only smirked. He knew just how impressive he was, smug bastard.

We entered into a small, windowless room with a tile floor, lined by cases with padlocked Plexiglas doors—behind which lay an arsenal of guns. So, a storage room for Tarukane's army. He could militarize a small country with this stockpile, that's for sure. Continuing my trend of being utterly shocked by everything ever, I stared with my jaw dropped as Hiei strode across the room and opened the door on the other side. Beyond the door a long hallway stretched to our left and right, passage lined with red velvet carpet and gold crown trim—and ah, yeah, this looked like something out of the anime. I remembered the ostentatious crystal chandeliers dotting the embellished ceiling.

Hiei cared little for chandeliers, though. He looked left, then right, before zooming down the hallway to our left, chandeliers chiming in the wake of his passing. I followed at a slower pace (AKA a dead-on sprint, still pathetic compared to present company) to the end of the hall, here Hiei crouched by the wall where the hallway turned. I stood over him and peered around the corner, our heads stacked like characters from Scooby Doo spying on the monster of the week. Three men stood maybe thirty feet from us at a three-way fork in the mansion's maze of halls, guarding a door in a tight knot. Below me Hiei tensed; I placed a hand on his shoulder before he could attack.

Baleful scarlet eyes turned upward. "What?"

"Guns," I murmured.

These men, like the ones who'd come before, carried assault weapons at the ready in their hands. One gentle squeeze of the trigger and they'd send a hundred rounds rocketing down the hall in our direction. Those weapons had to be illegal since this was Japan, right? While Hiei hadn't had trouble with the guns outside, he'd be coming at these men from one direction—and for them it would be like shooting fish in a barrel, unless I truly was underestimating how quickly Hiei could get the jump on them. It was basically Yusuke killing one of the Demon Triad members with his Shotgun all over again, but Hiei was playing the role of the demon whom Yusuke skewered.

"They've got the advantage with those guns unless you take them out hella fast," I whispered. "You ever tangle with a firearm up close?"

Hiei looked away from me, lips pursing. "No."

Oblivious to our presence, one of the men lifted a hand to his ear and spoke into his sleeve. He waited a beat, spoke again, and then again. The three men conversed in low voices—probably about not getting a response from the men outside, who were just a bit too unconscious to reply. Thanks, Hiei.

"They're running scared. Won't think clearly," I said, mostly to myself. To Hiei I added, "Mind if I try something?"

Hiei balked. "You said I could take them out fast. I'm fast."

My eyes rolled; I dropped to one knee and rummaged through my backpack, "Oh, just let me be the hero for two seconds Hiei, _jeez_." He scoffed but allowed me to have my moment, eyeing the object I'd pulled from my bag with skepticism. "Be ready to run," I said.

Hiei nodded.

I threw the smoke bomb.

The red canister sailed through the air and bounced off the carpet right in the middle of the pack of goons. They flinched and danced away from it, hands waving as white smoke poured forth. The cloud rose around them, billowing to cover their faces in seconds, and one of them yelped a panicked, "Where the hell did that come from?!"

Hiei had already vanished, though, and a mere moment later I heard three grunts, followed by three thuds. The smoke was still too thick to see through, however, so on ginger feet I rose and padded toward the cloud down the hall. This wasn't the kind of bomb that caused respiratory distress, thankfully. It only obscured, and by the time I made it to three men lying sprawled across the carpet, the smoke had started to fade. I skirted around their discarded weapons with distaste.

"They're not dead, much though they deserve to be." Hiei appeared at my side, scattering plumes of smoke. "Spirit World wouldn't be happy with me if I murdered them outright."

"Good call," I said—and movement caught my eye. My hand dipped to my thigh and threw a knife, hard, into the carpet below. "Watch it, buddy!" I snarled.

A goon whom Hiei hadn't _quite_ knocked out had been stealthily reaching for his gun, fingers inching across the carpet; he shrieked, snatching his hand back and away from the knife quivering between two of his splayed fingers. Hiei growled and ripped off his headband, glaring at the goon with all three of his eyes.

Suffice it to say, the goon fainted dead away.

I recovered my blade as Hiei opened the door, revealing a set of steps leading up. A voice, laughing and guttural, echoed down the stairwell like gunshots. I didn't need to meet Tarukane's real-life counterpart to know the sound of his twisted mirth, and neither did Hiei. He growled and darted up the stairs without a word. I followed, the laughter growing louder with every step.

The stairwell let out into another hallway, but this one had been paved with tile instead of carpet, austere and clinical instead of distastefully opulent. A few doors lay along this hall, but Hiei stood at the farthest door, way down at the hall's dead end. I trotted to his side, boots clopping atop the tile, as more laughter poured through the crack below the closed door.

I heard an enraged bellow, then, Kuwabara's potent voice unmistakable—followed by a sound I'd never heard before. Bright and pinging, powerful and harsh, it could only be the sound of Yusuke's Spirit Gun, right?

The boys were fighting Toguro just past this door.

"Meigo—she's in there."

Hiei stood with hands clenched at his sides, glaring at the door as if to melt it with his gaze alone. I danced from foot to foot with impatience visible.

"Yeah, she is, so what are you waiting for?" I flung a hand in her supposed direction. "Go get her!"

But Hiei didn't move. His fists and shoulders and his _everything_ tightened like a rope on a winch. Red eyes turned my way with a scorching spark.

"What do I say?" Hiei said.

"…what?"

He bristled as if my lack of understanding had personally insulted him. "What do I say to _her_?" Hiei snarled. "What do I say to _Yukina_?"

My mouth moved, unable to form words—because holy shit I think Hiei _had_ brought me along for moral support, after all, but last night had been the time to get it, not _now!_ I shook my head and made a wordless sound of frustration, stepping behind him so I could shove him bodily at the door. He planted his feet, though, not moving an inch even when I put my weight between his shoulder blades and shoved.

"Say whatever's in your goddamn heart, Hiei!" I said through gritted teeth, struggling to move him past the door. "Feel your feelings because I know you've got 'em and just _go,_ dammit!"

Hiei hesitated a moment longer—but there came a bellow of rage from beyond the door, impotent and desperate. With a growl he threw the door open and launched himself straight through. I lost my balance and fell to the carpet when Hiei disappeared from under me, but the curse of pain died in my chest when a shriek cut the air.

Past the door lay a long, wide room, the far wall made entirely of windows above a weird control-panel-looking-thing set with buttons and knobs and flashing screens. Hiei had Tarukane shoved up against this, one hand latched onto the man's collar while he punched Tarukane again and again in the face with the other (for the record, Tarukane is even uglier in person, looking for all the world like a sagging scrotum infected with dryrot). Beyond the windows I saw white-paneled ceiling and the tops of a few screens—the weird dome-thing the boys fought Toguro in, no doubt, watched over by members of the Black Black Club, but I hardly spared the view a second look. Three other humans lay in unconscious heaps behind Hiei, and to Hiei's right stood a girl.

Yukina, obviously.

The minute I saw her, I found I couldn't look away.

I stared at her with my mouth open, rising inch by inch to my feet as the scene played out in front of me. It happened like it did in the anime, so far as I could tell, but I was too distracted by Yukina to pay close attention. Hiei beat Tarukane senseless, verbally berating him for what he'd done to Yukina, and I wondered if I should intervene before Hiei took human life—but I needn't have worried. Fate knew what to do. Yukina threw herself onto Hiei's arm, holding him back from murdering the human outright. Tears welled in her eyes, solidifying into perfectly spherical crystals that rolled down her cheeks and onto the floor, as she begged Hiei to spare the ugly human's life.

She was, without a doubt, the single most beautiful person I had ever seen in my life.

The dream hadn't done her justice. It hadn't captured the translucent glow of her pale skin, nor the richness of her crimson eyes (crimson, not livid scarlet like Hiei's—her eyes were blood and flowers and the color of passion made visible instead of the rage of hot and billowing flame). She was beautiful, yes, all pink lips and small features and delicate bones, but the thing that caught your eye and held it was her carriage. The way she moved, the resolution in her grip on Hiei's arm, the sheer determination painted across her elfin face… there was a purpose to her, a strength in the lines of her traditional kimono and porcelain jaw, a hidden power she let shine through when the chips were down and she had nothing left to lose.

"Please no more," she was saying, but there was nothing pleading about her, not really. "I can't take it!"

And then more tears fell, the clack of gem against tile more painful to my heart than any gunshot.

Luckily Hiei gave her what she wanted (if he hadn't I would've marched in there and smacked him upside the head for denying her anything). He stared at her with pure fury radiating off of him like heat from a flame—and then he ducked his chin. His grip on Tarukane slacked.

Hiei's face, when it softened, looked almost like it belonged to someone else.

"Understood. I won't make you cry," Hiei said. "He's too worthless for that."

He dropped Tarukane to the ground. Yukina's shoulders slumped.

"How can I ever thank you?" she said—and then her eyes widened, and I knew what was coming even before she said it. Eyes locked on Hiei's face she said: "You seem… familiar."

Hiei froze. It was almost chilling, witnessing a being of raging fire turned cold with fear. He stood motionless while Yukina searched his features, as if trying to read the truth in his enormous eyes and parted mouth.

"But I'm not sure why," she said. Her head tilted, one hand lifting as if to touch Hiei's face. "Who are you?"

Hiei's throat moved as he swallowed. The demon thawed, turning back to the window overlooking the fighting arena.

"No one," he said. "Just a member… of the team."

Yukina flinched as if struck, face turning toward the arena as she gasped. "Oh no! I forgot about them!" she said, and she bolted for the door.

Toward _me_ , in point of fact.

I stood just outside the door, thumbs hooked awkwardly into the straps of my backpack as Yukina skidded to a stop before me. She looked me up and down as I lifted a hand in an awkward wave. I felt remarkably bedraggled in front of her. For a prisoner she was well dressed indeed, kimono pressed and expertly wrapped, hair lustrous and shiny as her eyes swept over me. Holy _shit_ , was she pretty. My face flushed on reflex as she stared at me.

"Who are you?" she said.

"Um." I fidgeted, vaguely aware of Hiei watching us from inside the control room. "I'm, uh. Yet another member of the team?"

So much for eloquence. So much for impressing her with something witty, something comforting, something to let her know she was—once and for all—free at last. Thank my lucky stars I didn't need to be eloquent. Yukina was too smart to require eloquence. She nodded, a lightbulb flaring behind her eyes. Said eyes narrowed a moment later, however, once again scanning me from hair to hiking boots. She took a step forward atop her traditional Japanese sandals with the toe socks. The scent of winter wind and evergreen enveloped me in a cloud, and when she drew close I could see the deep violet flecks around her dark pupil.

_God_ , she was pretty.

"Do I…have we met before?" she said.

The breath hiked in my chest, but no words formed. The heat in my cheeks intensified at her proximity. Yukina's brow furrowed, tracks carved in fresh snow.

"No," Yukina murmured. "She didn't look anything like you."

And she bowed to me, and then to Hiei, before excusing herself and running down the stairs.

Hiei watched her go without moving, eyes locked on the door to the stairwell even after it swung shut behind his sister. Good thing, too, because I needed a moment to compose myself and catch my breath again. When I did, I glanced Hiei's way and caught his eye with a small, encouraging smile.

"Maybe you should follow," I suggested.

Scarlet eyes flashed. "Maybe _you_ should mind your own business."

I stared at him, nonplussed. "Hiei."

"Meigo," he countered, my name an accusation on his tongue.

A staring contest commenced, mine deadpan, his defiant—but for once this was a staring contest I could win. He looked away and out the window, into the arena where Yusuke and Kuwabara waited. Hiei met my eye for one moment more after that. His mouth opened, then closed, and then opened again.

Hiei seemed to think for a moment.

Hiei snorted.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, left the room, and walked down the stairs after his sister.

After doing a small victory fist-pump (yay, sibling bonding!) I very carefully snuck my way into the control room, keeping my head down so no one in the arena would see me. I made sure to give Tarukane a swift kick to the groin when I passed, too, but he was too unconscious to do anything but groan (also it should be noted that Hiei's pummeling had improved the look of Tarukane's features; literally any change to them was an improvement in my book, though, so perhaps I'm biased). Crouching beneath the window, I inched up until I could see over the edge of the sill and into the space below, just in time to catch glimpse of a green blur heading for a door set in the room's curved wall—Yusuke running off to see about Tarukane, probably, not knowing Tarukane had already been dealt with. I could hardly pay attention to Yusuke, however, nor even the blue-clad Kuwabara lying in the middle of the arena with Botan at his side.

I was too busy staring at Toguro, instead.

He was impressive even lying there unconscious, playing dead for the benefit of the boys who'd 'slain' him. Barrel chested and enormous, he was taller than any person I'd ever seen, dwarfing even the lanky form of Kuwabara, muscles cut with such precision he looked carved from stone. The Elder Toguro still kept the form of a meaty, twisted sword, lying unmoving and silent and _gross_ near his brother's hand (also, talk about an anime plot hole: The boys had been content with just killing one Toguro, paying no mind to the shapeshifting brother they'd failed to attack; had they never thought the Elder Toguro would reappear when they'd done nothing to stop him?). Kuwabara and Botan sat only feet away from the two terrifying demons, oblivious to the monsters sleeping at their side, the tsunami about to crest across all their lives and wash away any semblance of peace we'd once possessed.

The sight of Toguro's face—angular and long, sunglasses hiding his deceptive eyes from view—filled my stomach with dread the consistency of lead.

Movement caught my eye, a door flinging open to admit Yukina, followed closely by Yusuke and Hiei. I ducked down, barely peeking over the sill as Yukina ran to Kuwabara and knelt at his side, hands glowing an unearthly and icy blue. Kuwabara reacted to all of this with much babbling, judging by his flapping lips and waving hands, staring at Hiei like he'd grown a second head—and at something Kuwabara said, Hiei bristled. But he didn't tear Kuwabara limb from limb, and Yukina didn't look surprised or alarmed or anything, so it seemed Kuwabara hadn't blabbed about the siblings' relationship just yet. Hopefully Botan, who stood off to the side watching with a huge grin on her face just barely visible beneath the ballcap she wore, had impressed upon the boys the importance of not meddling in Hiei's personal life.

I watched Kuwabara very closely for the next minute or two, especially when Yukina lifted her hands to heal the cut leaking blood along his cheek. His cheeks visibly reddened beneath her touch, flustered at her closeness—and perhaps even as struck by her beauty as I had been. Yusuke coughed into his fist and put his back to the pair as they spoke, and beside him Hiei's expression grew more and more thunderous… and then Botan pulled both boys away, presumably to give Yukina and Kuwabara space. My heart thudded at the sight.

Maybe love at first sight had won out, after all. Kuwabara was a blushing mess down there. Perhaps seeing Yukina in person had had more of an impact than her image on the TV, and Kuwabara felt—

"Kei?"

I swore up and down and jerked away from the window, spinning in place until I saw him. He looked amused, that jerkwaffle, so I glared and slapped a hand to my chest, breath heaving in my startled lungs like a locomotive engine.

"Don't scare me like that!" I hissed between my teeth. "And where the hell did you even—?"

A pointed stare. "I've been looking for you since I realized you, and almost everyone else we know, had gone camping _without me_."

Kurama stood with arms crossed over his chest, one foot tapping the tile floor. His eyes held a sharp edge, his smile a bit too many teeth, as he raked me over and studied my boots, my backpack, the knives strapped to my thigh. I scratched the back of my neck as his brow rose higher and higher, waiting for an explanation.

"Ooh, sorry," I said with faux apology, trying to make a joke of it. "Invite-only kind of deal. Guess you didn't make the guest list."

"And you didn't think to give me a call and add me?" he asked, delicate but cutting.

"Actually, I did." A thumb over my shoulder at the observation window. "But a certain someone cut my phone line when I tried."

Kurama sighed. "Hiei, I assume. You've been travelling with him."

It didn't sound like a question, coming from him. "How'd you know?" I asked.

A smile lifted the corners of his lips. "I might not take the form of a fox anymore, but I am still adept at tracking."

"You were following us?" I said—but I shook my head with a snort, remembering Hiei's odd behavior when we left our campsite. "Right. That explains why Hiei freaked out this morning."

"He sensed me coming. Another smile, this one conspiratorial. "He's harder to fool than most."

"Yeah. He's hard to beat him when he's got his eyes peeled. Since he has so many and whatnot."

Kurama's face spasmed at my joke, like he'd bitten into a bitter lemon and wasn't sure what to make of the taste. Payback for him scaring the bejeezus out of me, in my book. I laughed and cast one final look out the observation window. Hiei, Botan, and Yusuke had rejoined Kuwabara and Yukina, the five of them standing in a loose knot as Yukina continued to heal their wounds. Hiei watched his sister closely, but without seeming to, eyes locked on her only sidelong. Kuwabara openly stared, though, face still flushed with nerves.

The sight of his blushing face filled me with satisfaction—and, for some reason, a burgeoning feeling of disquiet.

But now was not the time to wonder what that meant.

"All's well that ends well," I told myself. To Kurama I said, "So what happens now?"

He looked out the window, too, but he did not remark upon anything he observed. "Ayame, or another messenger for Spirit World, will likely be along in short order to clean up."

His ominous phrasing set an electric pulse through my blood. I walked out of the room, not chancing the others catching sight of me; Kurama followed on my heels and shut the door behind us. It locked with a click, hopefully trapping Tarukane inside.

"Clean up," I said, studying his face for any indication this was worth freaking out over. "What does that entail, exactly?"

Kurama leaned against the wall, arms crossing over his chest again, and his face betrayed nothing but calm nerves. "Altering the memories of the humans, mostly, to rid them of recollections of demons. And they will have to arrange Yukina's passage back to Demon World. A portal, if I had to guess. Spirit World can open them on a small scale, as you know."

"OK." Sounded like absolutely nothing I could help with, now that the action was over. "I guess I'll leave it to the boys, then."

Kurama looked surprised. "You don't want to stay?"

"I… I don't want them to know I was here." That wasn't a lie, though the thing I said next was only halfway true. "Spirit World might not take kindly to it."

Kurama's thoughtful expression lingered a moment. "No. I imagine they wouldn't." He gestured down the hall. "Time is of the essence, in that case. Would you like an escort to the train station?"

"I _need_ one, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." A shrug. "I don't know where it is on account of being unconscious on the trip over."

Kurama stiffened, rocking off the wall and onto his feet. "You weren't _conscious_?" he said, aghast and appalled and dangerously displeased all at once.

I pointed automatically at the door to the observation deck. "Hiei did it."

Kurama's eyes narrowed at my placement of blame, and while he didn't bolt downstairs and interrogate Hiei about my accusation right away, I got the sense he had every intention of wringing the details out of me—and I got the further sense that our trip home would be a long one, indeed, and the perfect cap to the wild ride that had been the Great Hiei-Keiko Road Trip of 1990.

* * *

The train rocked around us like the arms of a mother, lulling and constant and steady. Sagging against the window, I watched the lights in distant houses streak past amidst the dark, fireflies caught in night's deep gloom. My throat burned, raw from hours of talking.

"Sleepy?" Kurama asked when I yawned.

"Getting there," I said, sinking into my plush seat. "It's been a long day."

Before Spirit World arrived, Kurama led me off of Tarukane's property and down the mountain, to a road and the small township of Bone Ulcer Village at the mountain's foot. We took a bus to another city, larger this time, and there boarded a train back to Sarayashiki. I'd told him my half of the weekend's festivities as we trekked, finishing my tale just as the snack cart rolled by with refreshments. Kurama passed me a can of juice, smiling at my bleary eyes and slow blinks. The sugar woke me up a little; I stretched until my neck gave a satisfying pop.

"OK. I think that's all I can say," I said through yet another yawn. Nursing my juice, I drew my knees to my chest and curled up, back to the window so I could watch Kurama. "Your turn. Take it away. How'd you find me, fox boy?"

He folded his hands atop his knee, words simple and precise. "I called. Your line was dead. So I called Yusuke, and he was gone. Kuwabara was not at home, either." He paused, considering. "Shizuru is a frank person, isn't she?"

"That's one way of putting it," I said, laughing at how their introduction must have gone. "So she told you what's up?"

"Only that you were on a mission from Spirit World. The tape told me the rest."

I blinked, a little more alert now. "You watched it?"

Kurama nodded.

"So you know about Hiei, and…?"

"I know Yukina is his sister," Kurama said, neatly guessing what I didn't want to say aloud.

But I wasn't comforted just yet. "Did you know that before or after seeing the tape?"

"Before." My disquiet melted at the word. "I met Hiei years ago. He was looking for his sister even then. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together." Kurama's green eyes grew distant; the red hair falling along his cheek looked darker than normal in the dim train lighting, inky like the night outside. "The moment the tape mentioned an ice apparition, I knew."

Slowly, inch my inch, my neck collapsed until my forehead hit my knees. I breathed deeply in, then out, to calm my beating heart. Kurama shifted at my side, one hand gently alighting on my ankle.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm relieved." I looked up, peering at him over the tops of my knees. "I didn't want to be the one to tell you. It's his secret, and not mine to share. The fact that you already knew is a good thing, for sure." A wry chuckle. "Saves me from evisceration."

Kurama shook his head. "I doubt he'd do that to you."

"Oh, no?"

"He saw fit to bring you along on this mission, Kei. He would not have done that if he did not value you in some capacity."

"Value me?" I shook my head and grumbled. "For _food_ , maybe. Or for bait."

"It's more than that, I assure you."

Kurama regarded me without flinching, staring frankly into my eyes as if to impress just how serious he felt about his assertions upon me. I uncurled in increments until my feet hit the floor again, body still angled in his direction. He shook his head and sighed, exhale nearly inaudible over the hushed roar of the moving train.

"Hiei is a complex demon, with a convoluted code of honor and complicated set of values," Kurama said. "Long though I've known him, at times even I can't tell what he's thinking, or how he might behave. He is not the sort to open himself emotionally, as you know, but even Hiei is not immune to self-doubt." He looked behind me, out the window at the looming dark, expression empathetic. "Meeting his sister for the first time… I can't imagine how he must have felt."

"I think he blames himself for her capture." At Kurama's surprised glance, I said, "It was something he said, actually. That if she hadn't gone looking, it never would have happened."

Kurama nodded. "No doubt your presence brought him comfort amidst those feelings."

My brow knit. "Comfort?"

"Yes. You've become close to him in recent months."

"Have I? It's not like he opens up to me, like… ever."

"Not verbally, no. But he trusts you." When I didn't agree, Kurama leaned a fraction of an inch toward me. "He would not have brought you with him if he didn't trust you, Kei."

That made sense, much as it could. "I get that," I said, hands spread in helpless defeat "I guess it's hard to see Hiei as ever trusting anyone. And I don't know what I did to deserve that trust."

Kurama looked, in equal measure, both flummoxed and not surprised. "Somehow, it doesn't surprise me that you don't see it."

My head cocked to one side. "That I don't see what?"

"That you've been kind to him with no expectation of reciprocity." A small smile lit his eyes, warm and intense. "You're like that with most people."

I rolled my eyes and looked out the window. "Stop. You're making me blush," I said—because it was true. Heat crept into my cheeks and sat there, smoldering.

"I'm almost finished, so abide the torture a moment longer," Kurama said, even tone carrying the faintest hint of tease. "Hiei is unaccustomed to kindness, but I think in you he has found some semblance of it. Acceptance, perhaps, as well. Given his history, I don't believe he's ever had that before. It's new territory for him." He shrugged, elegant and understated. "As I said, I can't predict him. But his actions say, to me, that you are part of his inner circle."

I started to deny it, the way I denied most compliments or praise—but I stopped. I thought about it. Hiei had denied needing advice or support when I offered it, but just before we met Yukina, he'd turned to me for help. "What do I say?" he'd asked me, like I would know exactly the right thing to tell his sister upon meeting. "What do I say to her?" he'd said. I replayed those words, replayed the lost and desperate look in his eye, as I stared out the window and the landscape rushing past.

"You really think he brought me along for support?" I murmured.

Kurama's reflection in the window nodded, expression as resolute as his voice when he said, "I do." He hesitated a moment, teeth scraping over his lip. "May I ask?"

I faced him with a frown. "Hmm?"

"What possessed you to go with Hiei on this little venture?" Kurama asked.

A smile threatened the corner of my mouth at Kurama's serious expression. "I mean. Like I said, it was Hiei's idea. Asshole literally shoved me in a sack and carried me here." I laughed and shook my head, pressing my hand to my brow. "I mean, I agreed to come along, but the method was less than dignified."

"I understand that." Kurama's voice held steady, though insistent. "But that wasn't what I was asking."

I frowned. "Mmm?"

"It was Hiei's idea, but method of transportation notwithstanding, you agreed to go with him." He searched my face for answers. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Why not?"

"You put yourself in grave danger today, Kei," Kurama said. "You are not the type of person who does so without reason."

Another shrug. "Maybe I am."

Kurama's eyes narrowed. Like a winter wind, biting and cold, shutters closed behind his eyes.

"Then I've misjudged you," he said.

He angled his body away from me, toward the aisle of the train, one knee crossing smartly over the other. Disapproval radiated off of him in palpable waves—and oh hell, was _this_ how Hiei had felt when I said I was disappointed in him? My, how the tables had turned. I sighed in spite of myself, feeling my resolve waver and crumble under the weight of Kurama's pointed silence. I lifted a hand and touched Kurama's knee, drawing his attention back to me. Still, his eyes remained cool.

"The real Keiko wasn't supposed to go with Hiei," I said, keeping my voice low. "So to be honest, you guessed right. I did indeed have a reason of my own for saying yes." I shrugged. "Most of the time, I need to have a reason to justify breaking the rules."

Now _that_ gained his interest. He re-crossed his legs, angling toward me once again, eyes interested and intent on my face. But this time it was my turn to scowl.

"I'll admit, this bit of rule breaking was all your fault," I told him.

Kurama blinked, taken aback. "My fault?"

"Your fault." I tapped my temple with a finger. "You got in my head."

"How so?" he said, not in the slightest bit convinced.

"Just something you said." I took a deep breath, wondering just how much I could get away with telling him. "You know that I'm living a story. Well, I went with Hiei to ensure a bit of plot happened that needed to happen. And I think it might have."

His interest intensified, if that's even possible, eyes sharping with laser focus. "You _think_ it might have?" he repeated.

"Yeah." My nose wrinkled of its own accord. "I don't know for sure. It should have been obvious. It's _alarming_ that it wasn't obvious. But…"

I trailed off, the image of Kuwabara's blushing face lodged in my mind's eye. He hadn't been screaming and declaring love, no, but that blush… did it mean what I thought it meant? It was there, yes, but it wasn't exactly what I'd been looking for. Or was Kuwabara in this version of reality simply more understated than his anime counterpart?

But Yukina had been so damn _gorgeous_. And sweet. And poised amid the chaos.

If he had fallen for her, how could he _not_ have shouted it from the rooftops?

Kurama leaned toward me, silken hair brushing the back of my arm. "May I ask what was supposed to happen?" he murmured.

God, it was tempting to tell him. It was tempting to just let it spill, let loose the arrows of a good old-fashioned ranting session—but Kurama wasn't the person I needed to be talking to about Kuwabara's love life, nor the whim of fate pertaining to it, nor the way Yukina's hair had fallen over her slender neck and caressed the line of her jaw when she turned her head.

Nope.

I most definitely could _not_ talk to Kurama about those things.

I just patted Kurama's arm, instead. He covered his hand with mine, frowning as he searched my expression.

"I think, for the time being, it's best I keep it to myself," I said. I offered him a conciliatory smile as his thumb traced the rise and fall of my knuckles. "It doesn't affect you, if that helps."

"It helps less than you might suspect." His lips barely moved, words a murmur in my ears. "I worry more about you."

I squeezed his wrist, hoping to reassure him. "That's sweet of you to say. I promise I'm fine." I couldn't help but laugh, though little humor lay within the sound. "Honestly, it's you you need to worry about."

Green eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Forget I said it." I lifted my hand from his arm, sliding out from under his touch, and shook my head. "I'm tired and not talking straight."

Kurama said nothing for a moment. He just watched as I settled into my chair, trying to get comfortable as the train rocked and swayed around us. I'd meant it when I said I was tired. My lids felt like they were made of gold, heavy and soft and full of the sparkles you see when you're well and truly fatigued.

"If you say so," Kurama said—and that's the last thing I remember before I fell asleep.

I woke some time later to a hand on mine, squeezing my fingers with gentle touch. "We're here," Kurama said in my ear. His breath misted over my forehead, tickling my brow. "Wake up, Kei."

I grumbled, wordless and grumpy, cuddling sideways into something warm and solid—and then my eyes popped wide open and I sat up like I'd been electrocuted. Kurama watched, amused, as I looked him up and down, noting how close we'd been sitting—and realizing with another jolt that I must have fallen asleep on his shoulder.

"Oh my god." My hands clapped to my cheeks in horror. "Oh my god, _did I drool on you?"_

He inspected his shoulder. "We appear to have avoided that horrible fate, in fact," he said.

Relief pooled in my belly like rain; I buried my face in my hands with a moan of, "Oh, thank _god_."

The rule is this: The prettier the person is, the less I want to make a fool of myself around them. Given Kurama is only just a little bit less gorgeous than Yukina, drooling on someone like him would have been a fate worse than death. He's too attractive for those shenanigans, so it's no wonder it took a bit for me to recover from the embarrassment of falling asleep on Kurama like a goddamn child. Once I did, after a thousand apologues and supernova blushes, he walked me home from the station—well, he walked me to the subway station and rode the subway with me to my stop, and _then_ he walked me home. We made this trip mostly in silence, and mostly because I was still sleepy as hell, and also because I could hardly bear to look him in the eye without going atomic. We'd gotten back late, close to 11 PM, and I absolutely dreaded having to get up the next day to go to school. Kurama laughed when I said as such aloud, but after a moment he sobered.

"Kei," he said, but gently. "What happens next?"

I glanced at him. We were walking down the street toward my house, its face dark since it had closed for the evening. "What?" I said, confused.

"You said I should be more worried for myself." Still, his voice stayed gentle. "What happens next?"

"Next—?" I said, and I stopped.

Perhaps it was the late hour, or the fatigue in my sore muscles, or perhaps I was just tired of keeping secrets. But the image of Toguro lying on the floor swam into my head, and the words popped out of my mouth of their own volition.

"Next—next we go to war," I said.

Kurama's feet stilled on the pavement. A night breeze, cool and clean and mild, caught the ends of his hair and sent them tossing. He stood very still as he looked at me. The streetlamp burning above our head caught the color of his gaze, but barely, onyx tinted with the barest hint of forest.

"You won't give me any hints as to what's coming?" he said, voice as quiet as the wind in his hair.

And this is where I found the line I would not cross. "No. I won't." My lips twisted. "I fear already I've said too much."

He studied me. "Are you afraid?"

"Yes. No. I'm _terrified_." My garbled reply made me sigh, and the alarm in Kurama's eye had me scrambling to comfort him. "But—I have faith. In you, and in the others."

"And in yourself, I hope," came his delicately piercing reply.

I'm ashamed to admit his vote of confidence caught me off guard, and that my tendency to shrug off compliments with denial rose to fill the silence. "Oh, I don't know about that," I said with a dismissive laugh—but Kurama caught my arm, coming into my personal space in one swift step.

"Don't underestimate yourself, Kei," he said with all the gravitas of an incoming missile—but his features softened when I gasped. "If you insist on doing so, however, allow me to have faith in you in the meantime."

I swallowed. "Thank you, Kurama."

His laugh tasted like spring. "You're welcome," he said, and he let me go. He turned back the way we'd coming. "Sleep well, Kei."

"You, too," I said.

Kurama vanished into the night, then, leaving me alone on the stoop of my parents' restaurant.

* * *

The next day after school, I went straight to Yusuke's house. Was too chicken-shit cowardly to call Kuwabara and ask what he'd thought of the uncommonly pretty ice apparition in the mountains—not so soon, anyway. I hoped Yusuke would let slip some hints so I wouldn't have to baldly ask, like, ever? Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door to his apartment and told myself to calm down. The truth about Yukina would out itself in due time, and I just needed to be patient.

Botan answered the door, not that that surprised me. She stayed with Yusuke and Kuwabara in turns these days, depending on her whim. No Evil Eye showed today, telltale golden stars winking in her earlobes as the afternoon sun hit her brilliant hair.

It lit up something other things, too, that caught my eye at once.

"Oh, Keiko!" she said. "Perfect timing—"

"The hell happened to _you_?" I interjected.

Botan put a hand to the small split in her lower lip and to the dark bruise beneath her right eye. She hadn't had those bruises before she left, and these looked halfway through the healing process—so what the hell had happened.

"Oh," she said, fidgeting under my gaze. "Well. I trust you noticed that Yusuke, Kuwabara, Hiei and I were all missing this weekend?"

"Um. Yeah?"

She gestured at her battered face. "This has something to do with it. Like I said, you have perfect timing. Yusuke just got here, too, and we'll have to tell you everything." She grabbed my hand with a sunny grin, pulling me over the threshold indoors. "Oh, Keiko, the boys have been _ever so helpful_ these past few weeks."

I blinked at her as the door swung shut behind us. "They have?"

"Yes! You remember the last conversation we had with Hiei, don't you?" Her grin widened, eyes mere crescents of pleasure in her face. "I went straight to Yusuke after that, and he and Kuwabara have been giving me tips on learning to use my powers."

My jaw dropped. "They _have_?!"

"Mm-hmm! Tips straight from the mouth of the legendary Genkai, no less, so it's no wonder I've been improving!" She nodded so vigorously I feared her head might fall off. "It's just what Hiei said: I hadn't been exploring my powers on my own, but with proper practice and meditation advice, I've been making good headway on harnessing my spiritual energy."

Happy though I was to hear Botan had been training, this did not compute. It did not compute at all. "Wait, wait, I'm sorry—and _Yusuke_ has been helping you do this?" I asked, flabbergasted.

" _And_ Kuwabara, too." More beaming, more grinning, Botan totally on board with the thought of the boys as teachers despite their combined academic records. "They were both trained by Genkai, so they know what they're talking about!"

"Yeah, but…" I faltered. "Yeah, but _Yusuke?_ "

"What about me, Grandma?"

I flinched as Yusuke called to us from the kitchen, appearing in the living room doorway with a bag of chips under his arm. He crunched noisily on a handful and swallowed, leaning against the doorframe with all the laziness I'd come to expect from him. Yusuke, a _teacher_? Heaven for-fucking-bid.

"Botan was just telling me you've been helping her train, of all things," I said.

Yusuke scoffed. "If you can call it that. Mostly just been chucking rocks at her and making her dodge."

My eyes whipped to Botan for confirmation. She laughed, nervous. "He's only _slightly_ exaggerating." She leaned toward me with a hand cupped around her mouth to whisper. "They're only pebbles, really; hardly rocks at all!"

" _What?!"_

Yusuke yelped when my murderous gaze swung in his direction, scrambling for his bedroom to escape. Botan sputtered and shrieked as I vaulted right over his couch and pelting down the hall after him. He didn't manage to get the door shut in time and buried himself in his blankets like a shield, but I dug through their bulk and gave him the worst noogie ever witnessed by mankind, which he bore with much screaming and screeching and flails at kicks. Once satisfied that he'd been sufficiently punished for literally throwing rocks at Botan as a training exercise (I told you he'd make a terrible teacher!) I plopped into the chair at his desk and sighed. Yusuke whined and ran his hands through his mangled hair gel, shooting me dirty looks all the while.

"So where the hell did everyone go gallivanting off to this weekend?" I asked, ignoring him.

Yusuke's glare dissolved. Botan sat on the foot of his bed with careful precision; they shared a Look I wasn't sure I liked, and then as one they turned to me.

"Another Spirit World case," Yusuke said.

"Yes, just another standard case!" Botan was quick to confirm.

"A rescue mission," Yusuke said.

"Very normal," Botan assured me.

"Standard as hell, actually," Yusuke said.

"Even boring, really!" said Botan.

Their back-and-forth looked about as rehearsed as a third grade play, but I just lifted a brow and said, "Uh huh. _Sure_." A wave of my hands. "Well. Get going. Tell me all about it this very normal, very standard rescue mission from Spirit World."

The pair of them dove in like they'd rehearsed the story, too, and perhaps they had. They told me about the video tape, Yukina, Tarukane, Bone Ulcer Village, all that jazz. The only thing they didn't tell me was Yukina's relationship with Hiei, and while that irked me a little, I respected them for keeping his secret. That was good of them, really, even if I resented being left out of the loop (so far as they knew, at least). I noted that I should play dumb where Hiei and Yukina's relationship was concerned, further noting that neither Botan nor Yusuke remarked that I'd been at Tarukane's when everything went down. Seems they really didn't realize I'd been there, after all.

The other thing they didn't mention stood out even more than the bit about Hiei, though.

Neither of them—including Yusuke, Chief Kuwabara Taunter Supreme—mentioned Kuwabara fawning over Yukina.

That fact grew more and more apparent the more they talked. Video tape, the trek into the mountains, the trip through the woods, finding the mansion, braving the land mines, taking out guards—all of that went by without a single mention of Kuwabara getting mushy, and alarm built in my gut like steam building in a heated kettle.

Yukina was _phenomenal_.

So why the hell hadn't Kuwabara reacted with more gusto?

"So we get into the house, right?" Yusuke was saying. "And there's this demon lady named Miyuki—"

All at once my worry over Kuwabara vanished because I was too busy bracing myself for an account of Yusuke being an absolutely asshole. He surprised me, however, when he didn't mention anything about her gender, let alone an account of him groping Miyuki to verify said gender.

"—and by then Botan had gotten tired of being on our second string, so she stepped up to the plate." He shot the reaper a look of outright pride, grinning like a loon. "Totally kicked that demon lady's ass!"

"Wait." It took effort to keep my jaw from dropping. " _You_ fought Miyuki, Botan?"

"I did!" Her chest puffed as she pointed at the remnants of her black eye and busted lip. "She gave me these. My first battle scars! They were more impressive yesterday, before Yukina sped up the healing process, but I did it. Battle scars! Aren't they impressive?"

Yusuke rolled his eyes. "They were until you _freaked the hell out_."

I sat up straighter; I didn't like the sound of that at all. Botan caught my reaction and hung her head, rubbing awkwardly at the back of her neck.

"We've figured out my trigger, Keiko," she said. "It's blood—specifically my blood. If I see myself bleed, I… well." She hesitated. "You saw it that night at the school."

"Miyuki split her lip and Botan went a little whacko," Yusuke cut in, swirling his finger around his temple. "Botan's a badass when she gets fired up. But don't worry—we stepped in before it could get too bad, Grandma." He sniggered at Botan, who glared. "She passed out after, too. Had to carry her around like a piece of luggage for a while."

"Hey!" Botan protested. "At least I'm very _cute_ luggage!"

"That you are, Botan," I agreed.

Yusuke, meanwhile, blushed the color of a tomato. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. So anyway—"

I couldn't help but note the way he changed the subject away from Botan's appearance, but he talked too fast for me to work in any teasing. Together he and Botan outlined the rest of the Demon Triad fights, then the spar with the Toguro brothers. They talked about that fight in breezy tones, not at all aware of Toguro's true strength… or his acting abilities. I somehow kept my face composed using my own acting abilities, not letting on that they'd stood next to an agent of death completely unaware, and that the fight with Toguro had been nothing but a farce. Watching Yusuke's proud recollection of the bout, I thought it would be a shame to burst his bubble, anyway. Let him live with this victory for a while yet. The time would come for the hard truth—but not today.

I was more interested in the rest of it, to be honest: Ayame showing up, a journey up into the mountains above the mansion, and the portal that had taken Yukina home to Demon World. She had been returned to where she belonged, Yusuke said, and that was that. They'd won, rescue mission complete.

The Rescue Yukina Arc—not to mention the Great Hiei-Keiko Road Trip of 1990—had come to an end.

Not that I'd gotten the answers I'd wanted by the time Yusuke's story (not to mention my road trip) ended. I'd wanted to ask about Kuwabara's feelings for Yukina, but an organic moment to slip in a nonchalant question hadn't arrived by the time the story ended. In fact, by the time Botan and Yusuke had finished an exhaustive description of sending Yukina back to Demon World, the alarm on my watch had beeped. It was time for me to get home and do homework, much to my chagrin. My parents would be wondering where I'd gone for so long.

Setting myself on high alert for any opportunities to ask my questions and get my answers, I asked Botan and Yusuke to walk me home. They agreed, asking if they could get dinner at my parents' restaurant afterward—and yeah, cool, that just gave me more time to make inquiries. Sweet. I'd learn what I wanted to learn come high water or hell, just watch me.

Too bad fate didn't care about my plans.

"You should've seen him, Keiko!" Botan said as we walked to my house. She skipped out ahead, walking backwards so she could stare with wide eyes, impressing upon us just how serious she was being. "That horrible man who had Yukina hostage looked like a toad!"

"Nah. He looked like an ass," said Yusuke. He walked with hands behind his head, blasé until his lips curled in a wicked grin. "A horse's ass!"

Botan gave him a Look. "Don't be vulgar, Yusuke."

He did a double-take. "Hey, you can't seriously be defending that creep! He literally made a girl cry to earn money!"

Botan started to speak and stopped. She put a finger to her chin in thought before snapping her fingers and giving Yusuke a cheery nod.

"On second thought," she declared, "he _did_ look like a horses' ass!"

"He sounds creepy," I remarked.

"He was totally creepy," Yusuke agreed. He grimaced. "But Elder Toguro was worse, twisting up into a sword the way he did."

But Botan shook her head. "No way, Yusuke. Tarukane takes the prize. He was pure evil!"

"I mean, I guess?" he said—and then something dawned on him. "Actually, you know who was creepy? Sakyo!"

Botan tapped the bottom of one fist into her opposite palm. "Oh, that's right! He was handsome, admittedly, but he was definitely a shady character if you ask me."

"Yeah, for sure," Yusuke concurred with a dramatic shiver. "Especially with that weird guy standing behind him on that video feed."

Something in the way he said it caught my ear—that and the fact that no one had stood beside Sakyo in the anime. "Weird guy?" I said.

Botan had trouble remembering him, too, it seemed. She asked, "Which one, Yusuke?"

"Oh, you know." He paused in order to hock a loogie and spit. Botan and I said 'ew' in unison, to which Yusuke only rolled his eyes. "Oh, bite me. But you remember, right, Botan? It was that dude with the pink hair who kept giggling?"

My breathing stuttered.

… _pink?_

"Pink hair?" I asked, but the words came out in a whisper.

"Oh, right, _him_!" Botan said, memory apparently restored. "I'd forgotten."

"Wait, wait, wait," I said. I stopped walking, holding up a hand to call for silence. Botan and Yusuke barely noticed me, though, staring mostly at each other as they racked their respective brains. "What was that about pink hair?"

"Yes, he had pink hair!" Botan put a hand to her chin and looked skyward, lips pursed into a pink bud. "Now let me see. What did Sakyo call him?"

"How the heck should I know?" Yusuke griped. "I was trying really hard to not die when he said it, not playing Name That Scumbag Billionaire!" He paused, though, blinking down at the pavement. "Wait. Was it Haru-something? Ho-ta—?"

The second he started saying a name that started with H, I knew. I knew deep in my gut what was about to happen, truth rocketing right into my face from out of nowhere like a precision-guided missile, totally unexpected and yet— _and yet totally predictable_ , too, the second Yusuke began puzzling out names that started with H.

Pink hair and a goddamn H name.

You have three guesses as to what's coming, and the first two don't count.

" _Guys_." I barked the word, stopping Yusuke and Botan in their tracks. My glare could surely melt steel when I demanded, "What the hell was this guy's name?"

Yusuke scoffed, taken aback by my snap. "Jeez, Keiko! What's eating you?"

But Botan wasn't fazed. She gasped, one finger thrusting up into the air as a lightbulb went off inside her head.

"Oh, that's it! I remember now!" Shen turned to me with an eager smile, happy to be of help. "I forgot for just a moment, but Yusuke jogged my memory. The man with the pink hair stood behind Sakyo on that video call, but while he didn't talk much, that hair of his stood out—that and the smile." Her own smile faded, trouble brewing in her magenta eyes. "He _never_ stopped smiling. Not even when Yusuke and Kuwabara killed Toguro."

Yusuke's eyes widened in recognition. "That's right. He didn't even flinch when we killed Toguro. He just grinned, didn't he? And he said…"

Botan's voice came in a whispered hush. "He said he enjoyed the show we'd put on and that he looked forward to more someday."

"See?" Yusuke pointed at her, gleeful with triumph. "Creepy as hell! Creepiest of them all! And I sure as shit never want to see him again, that's for sure!"

"His name, you two," I said, foot tapping tetchily against the ground. "His name. _What was it?_ "

Botan shot me a mollifying look. "Now Keiko, be patient. I'm getting to that!"

"Yeah, calm down, Grandma!" Yusuke concurred.

But I was not to be calmed. I was not to be patient. This was big, bigger than rescuing Yukina, and as out of left field as a foul ball. My teeth gnashed and my fists clenched, the sound of their names like crashing boulders in my throat. "Botan! Yusuke! Tell me his name, _now!_ " I snarled, and both Yusuke and Botan flinched.

"All right, all right!" Botan threw up her hands, unnerved. "Now, Sakyo only said it once, so there's a chance I'm wrong about this—but if my memory serves me right, I believe the smiling man's name was Hiruko."

And there it was.

As expected.

A fate-guided missile striking right on target—putting a bombshell bow on what I'd planned, at the outset, to be nothing more noteworthy than an unexpected road trip with a persnickety fire demon.

It's like I said, I guess.

Fate doesn't care about your plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus my April hiatus begins.
> 
> Longest chapter yet, I do believe.
> 
> The goons with guns, the hallways, the door they went through by the helipad—I have screencaps of each from the anime (episode 25). It was fun pulling so much setting from the episodes and having an excuse to rewatch this arc. I also don't use dialogue directly from the show much at all, so it was neat to use a snippet of it in this chapter during the Hiei-meets-Yukina scene.
> 
> So the anime and manga portray the whole Rescue Yukina arc VERY DIFFERENTLY. Kurama and Botan aren't in the manga arc AT ALL, but the anime shoehorned them in for no reason (and depicted Kurama working on cahoots with Koenma to trick Hiei?). I tried to justify their presences in this arc in different ways: Botan went along for training purposes and Kurama went along because he was worried when LITERALLY ALL OF HIS FRIENDS vanished to go camping. Yay, reasons!
> 
> Also, the anime has a weird scene of Yusuke, Hiei, and Kuwabara standing with Yukina in a snowy landscape as she bids them goodbye and then, like, wanders off into a blizzard? That's not in the manga. And where did that take place, anyway? Demon World, Human World, what? In the manga the chapter just ends with Yukina and Kuwabara talking, and in the next chapter Yusuke remarks that Yukina went back to Demon World. So, I had Kurama in this talk about Spirit World making a portal for Yukina, just to explain that away. Neither media ever really covers how Yukina got home with any detail so I wanted to address that here.
> 
> And…yeah. I'll see you again on May 5th with chapter 67! My hiatus begins today. Wish me luck as I finish a novel for CampNaNo!
> 
> MANY THANKS to everyone who came out last week and left a review. Your comments cheered me greatly in a rather rough week (my beloved boss quit last week, as did the coworker closest to me) and I can't thank you enough for your words of support and encouragement: Just 2 Dream of You, the shadowless nuance, atsuyuri-sama, TwilightSin, MageKing17, J.lol, Not Quite A Morning Person, Eternalevecho, Trippy Nymph, Unctuous, and Masked Trickster!


	67. WWKD?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK asks the important questions.

At first I thought it was the magnifying glass making the kanji swim and dance and overlap on the page of my open book, but nope—as I pulled back from the microscopic words, muscles behind my eyes pulled and strained until I found myself quite cross-eyed. Text dancing, words distorted into so much ash on white paper, I rubbed my forehead and heaved a weary sigh.

Around me, the library thrummed with hush.

The quiet didn't last. As night pressed against the windows arching high above, there came a tap-tap-tap from behind me in the midst of the library stacks. A librarian (one I'd come to know rather well in the past month) regarded me with a smile from behind her glasses.

"We're closing in five," she said with a polite bow. Dark eyes scanned the dozen or so tomes lying atop the long table I'd commandeered when I arrived earlier that afternoon. "Did you find everything you need?"

I glanced at the books, too. My eyes crossed again as if to protest any more reading that night. Words once more turned to nothing, to indecipherable chickenscratch under my strained vision, blurry and bleeding.

Only one word—the sharp and striking kanji for "Ebisu"—swam out at me as legible.

"I wish," I told the librarian.

I gave her back the magnifying glass and helped her collect the antique books she'd pulled for me from the history stacks. I wasn't allowed to check them out, these books. Too old, too important, in-library-only copies of rare manuscripts from the Feudal Era, much too precious for an average schoolgirl like me to take home. Not that I minded, really. I'd already gotten lucky when Kagome got wind of their existence through her grandfather. I'd gotten even luckier when he pulled strings that allowed me to see them. He wrote Kagome and me a letter. We were on official temple business for a historical preservation effort, he'd said. No idea how Kagome got her grandfather to tell that lie, but still. I was grateful for his efforts.

Grateful even though the books yielded absolutely nothing of value regarding Hiruko. But beggars cannot be choosers, as the saying goes—even if I'd been begging for a solid month without success.

Another night, gone. Another library, searched. And another day of fruitless research had come to a disappointing close.

Not that I was even surprised at this point.

Fall down enough times, you get used to failure.

The walk home passed quickly, and Mom called out to me from the living room just as I put my hand on the door to my bedroom, my name sleepy but insistent in her mouth. She sat under the kotatsu, a small pile of clementine peels next to a bowl of ripe orange fruit. Her smile lingered on my uniform. I hadn't had time to take it off after school. Had booked it straight from class to the library when the end-of-day bell rang, same as I'd done almost every day this month.

Suffice it to say, I was running out of local libraries. At this rate I'd have to hit up libraries in Tokyo.

Mom took a fruit from the bowl and held it out to me. "Another late night, I see."

"Yeah." I took the fruit and sat with her, draping the kotatsu's quilt across my lap. The tail end of autumn wasn't necessarily cold enough to justify the kotatsu, but Mom loved it, so out the kotatsu came. "More homework, y'know?" I slid my nail into the clementine's peel, paused, and removed it. "Oh. I took a look at the call-in numbers."

"You did?"

"Yeah." From my school bag I pulled out a packet of papers, mostly spreadsheets, with a write-up on my observations and suggestions on where to advertise next. Mom took the papers and scanned the data, brow rising when I said, "I think the billboard on E Block has run its course, but you and Dad should look over the spreadsheet and see what you think."

"Honey." She put the papers down. "You should be focused on schoolwork, not the family business."

I shrugged, pulling peel off of clementine with my thumb. "Eh. I can handle both."

"Of course you can—but that doesn't leave much room for your friends, does it?" She leaned toward me, worried. "The boys were here looking for you."

My hands stilled around the clementine. "Oh?"

"Sweet Kazuma and Yusuke both. They seemed worried about you. And I am too, for the record." Tapping the spreadsheets with her finger, she said, "You've really been hitting those books. And keeping up with the business on top of that? You deserve a little break now and then."

"I know." A segment of fruit popped free; I put it in my mouth, sweetness flooding across my tongue. "Maybe next weekend."

But Mom wasn't satisfied. "You haven't been avoiding them, have you?" she asked. "Your friends?"

It hurt to look at her, so I didn't. I put another bit of fruit in my mouth and chewed, waiting until after I swallowed to speak.

"I just want to keep up my grades, that's all," I said.

Her voice softened. "Such a hard worker." A hand rested warm and comforting on my shoulder. "Just be sure you don't burn out. Go to the arcade sometime. _Relax._ "

I smiled, unable to help it. Some of my school friends got two hours of sleep a night, naps stolen between classes and during meals. That was how it was in high school in Japan, it seemed. Kids propelled to academic heights, neglecting self-care to appease both their parents and societal expectation. I'd gotten lucky. My mom was so chill, my mom _wanted_ me to chill, and for that I was grateful… even if her concern wasn't always convenient for me.

I'd probably have to lie to her, I realized. I hated doing it, but if it would ease her worries, that's what I'd do. I'd tell her I went to the arcade even though I'd really been to the library again. Maybe win her a stuffed toy to sell the story.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, I finished my clementine. I swept the peels into my shirt, held in front of my like an apron, and placed a kiss atop my mother's head. She squeezed my fingers with a happy sigh.

"Will do, Mom," I lied.

"And give those sweet boys a call, would you?" she murmured.

"Will do," I repeated—but that was a lie, too.

… since when had lying come to me so easily?

Best not to think about it too hard.

I locked my bedroom door and slid down that expanse of wood until my knees hit my chest. A light blinked on my desk in the dark, red blip signaling a voice message left on the machine. I watched it wink on and off in silence for a minute or so, and when I rose to change my clothes, I didn't check the message. I knew who it would be from.

It wasn't that I was avoiding the boys, per se. It's just that not owning a cell phone was extremely helpful when it came to staying purposefully out of touch. Gave me all the privacy I could ask for, really, as I scoured every library within train distance for information on Hiruko. On Ebisu.

On the pink-haired man Yusuke had seen standing behind Sakyo, smile as unflinching as the sun.

No. It was better to maintain a little bit of distance from the boys during my research period. No sense getting them involved. And hey, my single-minded focus on research left little time to dwell on the mystery that was Kuwabara's love life, so that was nice.

Not that that conundrum didn't still weigh heavy on my heart, of course. It's just that the Hiruko thing had pushed it to the side, out of focus, so I could devote myself to what mattered more. And I'm sorry to say that while the Kuwabara/Yukina debacle was a Big Deal, it wasn't nearly as big a deal as what Hiruko was planning.

… supposedly, anyway.

I still had no fucking clue what his intentions were, and that uncertainty scared me more than any breach in canon to date.

Shirt halfway over my head, I flinched when someone rapped at my door. "Oh, and Keiko?" came Mom's muffled voice.

"Yeah?"

"The school called. They said you have a sheet to pick up from the office. Class choices for next semester, I think."

Ugh. That again. My stupid guidance counselor just wouldn't give up, would he?

"Will go get that tomorrow," I said, pulling my shirt down around my shoulders. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Night, honey. I love you."

"Love you, too."

The mattress creaked under my weight when I flung myself face down across it. From under the bed I fished one notebook, then another, piling them on the pillow next to my head in a tilted stack of dog-eared paper and smudged ink. A flick of the finger lifted one notebook's cover. Scans of drawings, hand-copied text, photocopied text, graphs and charts and timelines… a mélange of meticulous research that revealed nothing. Just tables of Shinto and Buddhist pantheons, lines tracing their lineage to broader mythologies like Hinduism and other Chinese religions. Hundreds of tiny details all working together to forge a roadmap—to nowhere.

These were the important things, inscrutable as they were. Even if I hadn't uncovered a damn thing about Hiruko or his motives, this was what I should focus on.

Sitting up, I paged through the notebooks and made a few notes in the margins, recalling what scant little I'd gleaned from the day's work. Most of it wasn't new. Most of it repeated information I'd already found. But all leads were good leads, so I wrote it all down anyway.

That's what Keiko would do, after all.

As soon as Yusuke told me about the smiling man with pink hair, I'd asked myself that question: "What would Keiko do?" I wrote the acronym on my wrist in big block letters during class, staring at that bold "WWKD?" until the characters ran together the way the kanji had bled into one black mass at the library. The answer had come as clearly as the letters appeared against my skin: Keiko would hit the books. Keiko would study. Keiko would plan a logical attack on this mystery and turn page after page until she found her answers.

And that's what I'd decided to do. With a little help, of course.

I set my notebooks on my desk and sat heavily in my chair, one hand going for the phone by the window. Someone picked up on the first ring, and I could tell who it was by just her short "hello." She knew who I was by the same, asking a short, "Any luck?"

"None."

"Shit." Kagome's breath hissed against the receiver. "I'm still on it."

Even with Kagome's connections thanks to her grandfather, we'd both come up short in the last month. I flipped through my notes and sighed, despondent. We'd found many records of Hiruko, or Ebisu's origins, but nothing about the man he might be today—and that "man" was an important distinction. Yusuke said the man standing behind Sakyo wasn't a little kid. He'd been a handsome man, early twenties or late teens, with a braid of long sakura-petal hair snaking over the shoulder of his rich red kimono. Yusuke and Botan hadn't been able to recall the color of his eyes, but even if they hadn't noticed his eyes the color of oceans under bright sun, there was no way a pink haired, ever-smiling man wasn't Hiruko.

But what did Hiruko want? Why was he with Sakyo? And why (not to mention 'how') the hell did he look all grown up?

My finger traced over a photocopy of an old woodcut drawing. A fisherman with a thick black beard cast a line into painted water, cheeks split in an enormous grin.

Ebisu.

This version of the deity looked nothing like my Hiruko, nor like the man Yusuke had seen on that video feed.

"Here's the ticking clock," I murmured.

"The what?" Kagome said.

"In fiction, a story's sense of urgency is called the ticking clock. 'Where's the ticking clock?' editors like to ask." I followed Ebisu's fishing line down the length of the page with the edge of my nail, keratin hissing against paper. "I think this is my ticking clock. But the problem is that I don't know when Hiruko will actually be relevant next." I closed my fist, blocking out the sight of Ebisu's face. "I don't known when the ticking clock turns into a blaring alarm."

Kagome tittered. "Spring break seems most likely."

My fist clenched tighter.

"Yeah," I said. "It does."

I'd recounted the Yu Yu Hakusho timeline enough times in front of Kagome for her to know all the gory details. The manga said the Dark Tournament happens over spring break, per my best recollection, and it was only barely winter now. We had time before we went to Hanging Neck, but even so, days and weeks had passed in the blink of an eye since Toguro's supposed death. The tournament was closing in fast. Sakyo would be there, and maybe Hiruko would be, too. But that was just conjecture based on a video I hadn't seen firsthand.

As always, I had more questions than answers, even after my copious studying.

"We keep looking." The words slipped from my mouth like a mantra, and lord knew I'd said them enough times over the last month for them to be called as such. "We look until we figure it out."

"Roger that," Kagome said. "Call me tomorrow?"

"Of course."

Her voice whipped over the line before I could put the phone in the cradle. "And hey—take a break every now and again, would ya?" she said. "I can hear the stress. Breathe. Go goof off at the arcade or something."

I pulled the phone away from me ear. Stared at it. Put it to my ear again. "Have you been talking to my mother?" I asked.

"… what?" said Kagome.

"Never mind. But sure." I smiled, but the expression felt hollow. "Will do, Kagome."

Another lie, this time to a friend instead of family—but even if I did indeed look and sound stressed, I had no intention of slowing down my research. These were the Important Things, and in my quest to do what Keiko would do, I couldn't allow my concentration to slip.

When the line died I cleaned up my notebooks and put them away, safely out of sight underneath my bed. When I flipped off the light and darkness bathed the room, I pressed my face against my pillow and sighed. I'd lucid-dreamed many times since my trip with Hiei into the mountains, but no matter how many times I called desperately into the dark of my dreamscape, I received no answer. Not from Hiruko, certainly, and not from Cleo, either.

Dread filled my heart the way darkness filled the bedroom.

If only I could talk to Cleo again. If only I could call her on the phone instead of Kagome after a day of fruitless research. Clotho, spinner of the thread of life, would surely have the answers Keiko needed—but unlike Kagome, Fate didn't have a phone line.

And it fucking sucked.

* * *

The Meiou guidance counselor one, Nakamura Futoshi, glanced up from his paperwork when my shadow fell across his hands. His mask of polite inquiry faded when he saw me, morphing into a look of barely restrained annoyance. I pasted on my own mask in return, channeling "What Would Keiko Do?" as best as I was able—and Keiko would sooner chew off her own arm than disrespect a teacher.

Not that this particular teacher was all that respectable, granted, but I had a role to play.

"About time you came in," Nakamura said, not bothering to hide the ire in his voice. He reached into his desk and pulled forth a folder, which he thrust in my direction with a flick of agitated wrist. "This is late as it is. Do _not_ have it back to me any later than Saturday."

I took the folder with both hands, bowing. "Yes, _sensei_. I will complete it immediately."

He nodded, curt and sharp. "Good."

The polite mask I wore cracked as I turned away, but the crack had to mend when Nakamura repeated my name. I looked over my shoulder with the most civil smile I could muster. He just stared, brow knit behind the ridges of his enormous glasses. Around us in the faculty room puttered a few other teachers and students; none of them paid us any mind.

"Yukimura," he repeated. A short, precise clearing of his throat. "After the incident with Hamaguchi, we've been giving you space. We know your trust in teachers must not have recovered just yet." His dark eyes softened the slightest degree. "That must have been a stressful night."

I hesitated, then admitted: "It was."

Truth be told, I didn't think about the Saint Beast incident all that much, and I talked about it even less. I'd discuss it openly if anyone asked what had happened (leaving out the supernatural bits, of course) but when I was by myself, I did my extreme best not to think of that violent night at all. It only crossed my mind in snippets, the most dangerous moments flashing uncontrollably through my head when something reminded me of falling from a roof, or the glimmer of a knife arching toward my face, or blood dripping down the length of Botan's porcelain jaw—

No.

Stop thinking about it.

My fists clenched around the folder in my hands, creasing it with a rustle and crackle of bent fiber. Nakamura eyed the paper with one brow raised.

"Stress or no stress," he said, "you still have to turn your paperwork in on time. You can't check out and slack off after one bad experience."

"Wow. Way to brush off a kid's trauma, why dontcha"—that's what I wanted to say, at least, but I didn't. Keiko might stick out her tongue when his back was turned, but she wouldn't mouth off to a teacher even if he deserved it.

"We accepted you into this school under odd circumstances," Nakamura continued, "but so far you have been a credit to our institution. And after the incident, of course we're willing to extend some grace… but be careful, Yukimura." He almost glared at me, then. "Don't fall down on the job."

It was all I could do to bow and smile. "Yes, sir."

My deference pleased him, I think. He picked up a pen and went back to what he'd been doing before I showed up, grading tests with flicks of red ink. "Have it back to me with your class choices by the end of the week," he said. "We expect great things."

As soon as I got away, I shoved the folder he'd given me into my bag and out of sight.

Not that I was procrastinating, exactly. It's that there was too much going on in my personal life for me to give much of a crap about school. Sure, I paid enough attention in class that day to not totally tank my grades, but wanting to make my parents proud only took me so far. My mind wandered during my biology and history lectures, drifting to Hiruko and Cleo and dwelling on the library network in my city. What hadn't I read yet? Which libraries should I visit next? It was tough not to dwell on my research project, and that alone, even despite my desire to Do What Keiko Would Do, and as soon as the bell rang for lunch I found myself walking on auto-pilot toward the library.

Using the main staircase.

Not the side staircase where I used to eat lunch with Kurama and Kaito.

It sucked, but I'd been a little too busy this month to goof off during lunch, making a variety of excuses to those boys regarding my whereabouts. Not sure what they believed, but I didn't have time to dwell. I walked to the library and reached for the big double doors guarding the rows of books, mentally calculating my plan of attack of the day—

"And just where do you think you're going?"

My fingers slipped; the door fell shut with a clatter. Another student walking just behind me glared and grabbed the handle, moving past with a mutter and a scowl. I hardly noticed, though, shooting a smile toward the two people standing just at the top of the stairs.

"Kaito. Minamino," I said. What's up?"

Kaito looked thoroughly unimpressed by my casual tone of voice, shoving his glasses up his nose with a finger. "Much though I would normally approve of one locking oneself in a library in pursuit of academic betterment at the expense of petty social interaction, we insist you take a break."

"Your mental health is as important as your schoolwork," Kurama chimed in.

Although some small part of me was touched they'd noticed what I'd been up to as of late, I still scoffed, unable to help myself. "Is literally _everyone_ on my case about this?" came my weary grumble.

"Yes," Kurama said, helpfully.

"And don't waste our time trying to argue." Kaito's smirk could cut glass. "With our combined IQ, you don't stand a chance of changing our minds."

"I'd be insulted if I didn't know how damn smart you both are. Fine." Hand waving in helpless circles, because I got the feeling they weren't going to take "no" for an answer and because I was too tired to argue, I motioned for them to lead the way.

At that, Kurama and Kaito exchange a glance I can only describe as "gloating." Those _jerks_.

As I followed them around the corner and to the library's side stairwell, I stared at the backs of their heads and tried not to smile. It was odd, seeing them present a united front like this—but it was kind of cool at the same time. They had been at such odds in the anime, but now I had to wonder what trouble they could get up to when they really put their heads together. The world wouldn't know what hit it if the pair of them really got going.

And call me a prophet, but I wouldn't know what had hit me, either, once they really got going.

No sooner had the three of us gotten settled in out customary seats (gosh, this felt nostalgic after a month of skipped lunches) than did Kaito start his interrogation. Stabbing his chopsticks into his bento, he oh-so-pointedly turned to me and asked, "So. Indulge my curiosity. What, exactly, have you been doing squirreled away in the library day after day? You're a dab hand at studying, but this is excessive even for you."

Kurama perked up, setting aside his own bento with careful precision. Although he didn't ask a question outright, the razor's edge of keen intent in his eye said a lot. He was holding back an interrogation of his own, I could feel it—but something told me he'd let Kaito take the lead, here.

I'd been skipping our weekly meetings all month, after all.

Kurama doubtless had questions he could not voice in front of our unknowing classmate.

In the end, I decided to meet Kaito's question with a half-truth. "College stuff," I said, taking a small nibble of my lunchtime onigiri. "I skipped a grade, remember? There's some stuff I missed. Gotta catch up before any pertinent exams."

Kaito stared as if to read the truth in my expression, but soon he picked up his bento again and took a bite. Kurama looked comparatively less accepting, however, regarding me askance a few moments longer before returning attention to his food—but I mean, I hadn't _exactly_ lied, had I? The forms in my bag certainly backed up my story.

"To that end…" I pulled out said forms and tossed them onto the ground between the three of us. "That's due at the end of the week. No idea what to pick."

Kurama grabbed the file and opened it, and whatever he saw there didn't seem to surprise him. Kaito, meanwhile, leaned over his shoulder and perused the document with a flick of bespectacled eyes. His brows shot up.

"This says you've tested out of English language?" Kaito said.

"Yeah. And I'm ahead in math and science. By the time I hit our final year, I'll mostly be taking electives." Chin on palm, I rested my elbow on my knee and glared at the forms. "And I have no idea what to choose."

"Isn't it obvious?" Kaito said with a snort. "Play to your strengths."

And at the exact same time, Kurama offered: "Take something useful, to cover places where you're academically weak."

Kaito and Kurama paused, blinking at each other like startled deer while I giggle-snorted behind a hand. Soon Kaito scowled, but Kurama met the look with a charmingly jovial smile. They'd really summed up their academic personalities in a nutshell, Kaito high specialized while Kurama was better-rounded, and their advice reflected as such. Seemed Kaito didn't like being contradicted, however, because he turned from Kurama's winning grin with a huff. Hadn't taken long for their united front to dissolve, now had it?

I giggled again. "Well, thanks for trying, guys." I plucked the folder from Kurama's hands, staring at the pages within for a moment. Records of what I'd taken, what I'd tested out of, which classes were available for me next—they didn't hold my interest in the slightest. I shut the folder. "It's not like it's important anyway."

Kaito cocked his head at the sound of my muttered words. "What did you say?"

"Nothing." I slapped my hands onto my knees and grinned. "So, catch me up. What've I missed, cooped up in the library like I've been?"

Kaito launched into an explanation of a paper he was in the middle of writing, letting me off the hook with his single-minded enthusiasm. It was fun, listening to him, even if Kurama's sharp eyes didn't once waver from my face while Kaito spoke. I tried not to think about why, which Kaito's chattiness made easy. He talked until the bell rang and even until we parted at a fork in the hallway to get back to class—but before I could beat my retreat, a hand closed around my elbow. I took a deep breath as Kurama gently drew me into the shadow of a supply cabinet, out of the river of students streaming past us down the corridor. "Are you all right?" he asked, eyes searching my face.

I just smiled. "I'm fine."

He didn't believe me, if his grimace was any indication. "You've been distant since we came back from Tarukane's estate." Green eyes darkened near to black. "You've even skipped our weekly meetings."

"It's nothing, really," I said, but his hand did not loosen around my elbow.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I can't imagine Spirit World approves."

"It's fine. They'll get over it." I swallowed down a lump of nerves, Hiruko's smiling face leaping to the forefront of my mind. "I just have to figure some things out."

We were already standing close together, but he closed the distance even more. "What things?" Kurama murmured.

"Just… I'm trying to be helpful." It hurt to think of the 'why' behind that statement, so I kept my explanation brief—for his sake as much as mine. "I can't do much. But I can do this."

And then his eyes were all black, dark and hooded and unhappy. "I don't understand."

"I know." I pulled my arm free. "I'm sorry. Gotta go."

I left him in the hallway looking as grave as a cemetery, staring after me with those concern-dark eyes. He watched me go with vision unwavering, and when I lifted a hand in parting at the end of the hallway, he did not lift one back—so I rolled my eyes and stuck out my tongue.

For a moment, he did not react.

Then his lips shifted at the corners, the barest of smiles restoring the green in his eyes.

Satisfied, I turned the corner and went to class.

I didn't like keeping Kurama in the dark, looking so grave—so worried. But until I had my answers, there was no point in subjecting Kurama to my wild conjectures. He would only try to puzzle them out with me, and he had bigger things to worry about. Toguro would return soon. And then Kurama would need to focus on training, on surviving.

If he slacked off on training while trying to help me, and got hurt because of it… I couldn't bear to think about that.

"So what would Keiko do?" I asked myself. The answer was obvious, at least it was to me. She'd try not to worry anyone and would do what she could to help the team—alone.

Or maybe that's only what I would do, and deluding myself into thinking she'd agree was more convenient than facing the harder truth.

But I tried very hard not to think about that.

* * *

Too bad for me, asking "What Would Keiko Do?" is easy—it's putting it into practice that proves difficult. I had taken all of three steps out of the school gate, bee-lining for the nearest train station and a new library of untapped resources, when the sound of my name cracked through the chilled autumn air. My feet stilled and I spun, ends of my scarf flapping on the breeze.

"Yo, Keiko!" Yusuke repeated. "What's up?"

He and Kuwabara stood not a dozen feet away, leaning against the school's wall wearing identical, conspiring grins. Said grins only widened when I stopped and stared, for a moment unable to believe what I was seeing—because school had only just let out. Had they skipped their last class to get here so early after dismissal? The _nerve_ of them!

"Yusuke? Kuwabara?" I said, blinking at them with owlish confusion. "What the hell are you two doing here?"

"Oh, y'know." Yusuke shrugged, shoving away from the wall with a lithe bounce of his knees. "Just busting you out of jail, is all."

"Jail?"

"He _means_ the library." Kuwabara trotted over and peered down at me, concern etching lines between his eyes. "We talked to your mom, Keiko, and I know you're smart and you want to do well in school, but this much studying will make your hair fall out!" He clasped his hands, eyes as wide as they could go. "You gotta come hang out with us today, please?"

Yusuke joined him, slinging an arm around the big guy's shoulders. "Stop pretending she's got a choice in this, Kuwabara. We're dragging her to have some fun whether she likes it or not."

Kuwabara glared, about to say something in my defense, but I just laughed and rolled my eyes. "Between the two of you, how could I possibly say no?"

Kuwabara launched a fist into the air while Yusuke cackled. "All right! We got her!"

I leveled a finger at them. "But only if _Yusuke_ pays."

The aforementioned's jaw dropped. "Hey!" And he advanced toward me, expression maniacal. "Why I oughtta—!"

"Hello, everyone. You're all looking well, I see."

Kurama's smooth voice cut through the moment like a blade, saving me from Yusuke's retaliation (like a noogie, knowing him). He stood behind us wearing an innocent, friendly smile—one I didn't believe in the slightest.

My disbelief intensified when Kuwabara's heels clicked together and he stood up very, very straight. "Hey, Kurama!" He gave a mechanical wave, forcing fake surprise. "Well, I'll be darned. Fancy meeting _you_ here!"

"Yeah!" Yusuke said with more of that same manufactured enthusiasm. His grin seemed too big, too cheeseball to fit on his face when he repeated, "Fancy meeting you here!"

I, meanwhile, shot Kurama an unamused glare. "Did you do this?"

His smile grew even more angelic, touched by darling confusion. "Did I do what?"

"You _know_ what."

"Why, Keiko." More of that oh-so-innocent blinking and smiling, one hand resting on his chest in denial. "How could I have _possibly_ contacted Yusuke and Kuwabara while we were at school?"

A beat. Then: "I hate that you make a good point. But I'm sure you have your ways." I ran my hands through my hair and sighed. "Well, no use delaying the inevitable. What did you guys have in mind for today?"

"The arcade," they said—all of them, all at once, after which they all looked at each other wearing "oh shit" faces. Kuwabara and Yusuke awkwardly coughed into their fists and laughed in nervous unison. Kurama cast his eyes skyward, smile turning just a touch brittle at the edges.

Once more I delivered unto Kurama the stare of a dead fish. "Nothing to do with it, huh?"

He cleared his throat, and he did not meet my eyes.

"… fine." The absurdity of the situation had me laughing, even if Kurama and Kuwabara and Yusuke were being sneaky. "The arcade it is."

Yusuke's face lit up. He started to speak, but before he could, the sound of my name rang out yet a-fucking-gain—this time in a voice only Kurama and I recognized. Near the school gates stood Nakamura, the guidance counselor. He eyed Kurama with approval, but when he caught sight of Kuwabara and Yusuke his expression soured.

"Yukimura!" he repeated, waving me over. "Come here, please!"

"Oh my god, what now?" I muttered, but I pasted on my Keiko Face and obediently approached. "Yes, _sensei_?"

"Remember to fill out your forms by the end of the week!" Once again he shot Yusuke and Kuwabara a look of pure, distilled judgement; probably recognized the uniforms, and since he knew my reputation for associating with delinquents, I couldn't imagine he approved. He harrumphed and said, "We're being gracious as it is giving you this extension. Do _not_ be late."

"Yes, sensei. I know, sensei." A bow, obedient and courteous. "I'll have them back to you by then."

"Good." He nodded at me, then aimed another nod over his shoulder. "Minamino." He hesitated, then added: "Others."

Nakamura didn't nod at said "others," so Yusuke openly mean-mugged him while Kurama and Kuwabara tried to look demure (though only Kurama succeeded, Kuwabara too big and ungainly to remain unobtrusive). Nakamura glared right back, stomping off down the sidewalk without another word. My mask crumbled as soon as his back turned; I stuck out my tongue, pulling it back into my mouth just as Yusuke looped an arm around my neck. His mocking smile gleamed like a bullet inscribed with my name.

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here," he said. "The great Yukimura Keiko, late on an assignment?"

"It's not an assignment; it's class selection for next semester."

"What the—?" He pulled his arm away so he could get a better look at my downcast face. "Even I sometimes turn crap like that in on time! What gives?"

"Yeah, Keiko, are you OK?" Kuwabara said, joining us with a look of concern. "It's not like you to put off something so… so minor."

His word choice rang inside my head like a bell. "That's just it. It's _minor_." And for a moment I threw caution to the wind and let myself speak freely, because maybe they could understand even if I didn't tell them everything, and feeling understood would be nice right about now. "Learning all these big secrets about the world, demons and ghosts and whatnot—it puts everyday life into perspective."

But apparently I'd given them too much credit, because Kurama arched a brow and said, "What do you mean by that?"

I gestured at him, at Yusuke, at Kuwabara, but no lightbulbs went off. Helplessly I managed, "I mean. You're off saving the world, and I'm stuck doing homework. Classes just don't feel important by comparison."

Yusuke eyes shot open. "Hold on a minute. _You_ don't think schoolwork is important?" He leaned in close, nose to nose, and glared. "Who are you and what have you done with Keiko?"

Behind him, Kurama frowned. "I didn't realize you felt like that."

"Can we help at all?" Kuwabara asked.

"Not really." I shrugged, a balloon deflating in time with my fading hopes. "I just—I dunno."

"Hey." Yusuke's arm encircled my shoulders again, hanging there like comfort made solid. I tangled my fingers with his when he asked, "What's wrong?"

I hesitated—and then, affecting a breezy insouciance, I grinned my hardest and joked, "Oh, you know, the usual. It's like my life just doesn't mean anything, that's all!"

It was funny because it was true—because I knew I was being dramatic when I said that, but at the same time and in spite of my joking tone, I meant far more of that statement than I'd like to admit. Kuwabara's eyes bugged nearly out of his head as he looked me up and down, stammering a worried, "Wow, Keiko, that's really morbid!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way," I said, rushing to pretend everything was fine, that those joking words had indeed been just that: a joke, morbid and terrible but a joke nonetheless. "But gotta admit that it's kind of hilarious, how imbalanced it all is. You're contending with the Toguro brothers, and here I am worrying about stupid, pointless classes. It just doesn't measure up."

A split second after I spoke, I mentally cursed myself. I'd talked about the Toguros in the present tense, and the second I had, Kurama's eyes had flickered to me with a firework of intense green. Luckily, however, Kurama was the only one who noticed. Yusuke's arm tightened across the back of my neck.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about them," Yusuke said. He flexed his free arm and grinned. "We beat the Toguro brothers black and blue."

"Yeah, we kicked their asses!" Kuwabara concurred.

I bit my lip and scrambled to cover, because Kurama was still staring at me. "Of course you did. But will the big bads of the next case be even tougher?"

Yusuke's smile faltered. He and Kuwabara exchanged a glance, confused and worried. Oh, shit, now I'd put my own worries into their heads. Great job, Keiko.

"Sorry," I said, trying to ameliorate the fear I'd planted. God, I was a fucking mess today. "It's just hard not to dwell on it. It's hard not to worry." And once again the truth slipped out, almost on its own, spoken in whispered words I didn't really intend anyone else to hear. "And it's harder not to think about my future as a footnote in a larger story."

Alas, Kuwabara heard them, for his jaw dropped again. "Keiko! That's even _more_ morbid!"

But Yusuke only laughed. "Heh. There's the Keiko I know and love." He waved his hands up and down, squawking like an agitated bird. "Flap those wings a little harder why dontcha, ya big ol' albatross?"

"Yusuke!" Kuwabara snapped, grabbing him by the collar. "That's not very nice! You take that back!"

"It's OK, Kuwabara. It's an inside joke of ours—and to be frank, I _do_ worry too much." I pushed between them, playing peacemaker with a smile. "How 'bout we get my mind off it and go sing out hearts out like a couple of canaries, yeah?"

That time several fists went into the air, Yusuke and Kuwabara chorusing an elated "Yeah!" as one.

They started to squabble almost immediately about what arcade to hit up, striding out ahead of Kurama and me as they argued and fought and bickered like an old married couple. I trailed behind them with a fond smile, watching them in silence. My stomach buckled with nerves at the prospect of losing a day of research—oh my god, _and_ of hanging out with Kuwabara. This was the first time we'd really hung out since we came back from the mission, wasn't it? Was I supposed to pry into the whole Yukina situation now, or wait until—?

"The Toguro brothers."

I flinched, but it was only Kurama, walking at my side with hands held loosely in his pockets. His eyes cut toward me sidelong, but he didn't speak again. I managed a weak smile, looking back at Yusuke and Kuwabara.

"I said too much," I admitted, voice low and soft. "Think I covered OK?"

"Seems that way." A pause, followed by a mild, "I admit, this conversation has been illuminating."

My turn to glance his way, but I read nothing of value in his calm, collected face. "Has it?" I asked.

Once more his eyes cut my way. "Keiko truly was a secondary character, wasn't she?"

For a second I forgot how breathing work, but soon I laughed under my breath and put a hand to my forehead. "You're too sharp for your own good. How'd you know?"

"A combination of factors." Amusement quirked the corner of his mouth, dry and understated. "Calling yourself a literal footnote in a larger story was certainly a hint."

I winced. "Admittedly, that was a bit on the nose."

"Luckily I'm the only one who saw that for what it was: Literalism as opposed to metaphor." Another hesitation before he said, "I admit I am confused by one thing."

"Oh?"

"You don't seem like a secondary character. Not to me." He nodded forward, ahead of us. "Not to them."

For a minute I couldn't say anything—too stunned, too touched to formulate a reply that wouldn't sound disgustingly saccharine and precious. I laughed and hung my head, hoping the fall of my bangs might hide my smile. It was comforting to hear I didn't feel secondary to Kurama, that he suspected the same of our other friends.

Comforting… but it didn't make it all better, either.

"Thanks," I said when I gathered my wits. I think my smile trembled at the corners. "Thanks, but it's true. In the source media, Keiko was very quickly relegated to the role of side character with diminishing contributions and shrinking importance."

Kurama's face turned my way, but I didn't have the heart to look him in the eye. Gaze trained carefully ahead, I stared at Yusuke's back, green fabric shimmering the slightest bit in the light of the setting sun.

"We're well past the point of Keiko's usefulness," I continued. "Now she's just the supportive girlfriend archetype, and that's it." I aimed a kick at a rock on the pavement, sending it skittering to bounce off the back of Yusuke's shoe. I smiled when he glared at me, saying under my breath, "If I prove useful past this point, it's not because of _that_."

Kurama stopped walking. I stopped walking, too, hopping a little as momentum tried to carry me forward. Spinning on a heel, I planted my hands on my hips and stared Kurama's way, lip jutting out in consternation. He, meanwhile, looked me over through narrowed eyes, lips pursed into a thin line of confused displeasure.

"What?" I said, fidgeting as he looked me up and down again. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

His eyes met mine. One brow lifted.

"Girlfriend?" he said.

A moment passed. Then two.

Kurama stared at me, expectant.

My face went damn near atomic.

"Oh, for the love of—we are not talking about this!" I pivoted on a foot and jogged ahead, hiding my molten face behind the folds of my knitted scarf. "Yusuke, Kuwabara, wait up!"

Kurama's laugh chased after me through the darkening night air, but to my immense relief he did not push the conversation further.

Not that night, anyway.

* * *

Fifteen crashed rally cars and a thousand yen later, Yusuke declared me utter shit at racing games and shoved me out of the driver's seat. "I told you racing games aren't my style!" I protested, but he made fun of me, anyway, and vowed to show me how it was done.

"Yeah, yeah, big man on campus," I said with an exaggerated roll of the eyes, but he flipped me off and revved the engine to drown my protests out.

The lights of the arcade made my eyes water, blinking colors and fluctuating brightness a far cry from the subdued libraries I'd visited recently. Yusuke cackled and howled as he knocked other racecars off the track, viciously spinning the plastic wheel left and right. Kurama watched with open amusement, entranced by Yusuke's delinquent behavior, and he stifled a laugh behind his hand when Yusuke crashed even faster than I had. "Just getting warmed up," Yusuke said by way of excuse, and he fed another coin into the machine.

"So you're not into racers, huh?" Kuwabara said to me. He eyed Yusuke's antics with an exasperated shake of his head. "What do you want to play instead, Keiko?"

"I dunno. I like RPGs best, but…" I spotted something winking with neon pink and bright gold over his shoulder; my eyes probably lit up. "Oh hey. Sailor V!"

Kuwabara followed me over to the game, looking over the bubbly logo and the girly color scheme with critical attention. He didn't seem put off by it, though, which was nice, and he actually looked at the promo scrolling across the screen with a big grin. "Nice graphics!" He shot me a look that seemed too searching, for comfort. It was odd. He said, "I've seen some stuff about Sailor V in the papers but I didn't know she had a video game."

"Apparently so," I said, fighting to keep a knowing smirk off my face. I stood in front of the controls and traced my hands over the buttons. "It's really fun."

"It looks fun!" he said—and he bit his lips, but soon he leaned forward with hand cupped around his mouth. "I know you know her, by the way."

My breathing stuttered. "Huh?"

"Botan told us while we were training her," he said. "Her earrings and stuff? She said she got them from Sailor V, who showed up during the whole Saint Beast incident, which means you must know her." He looked quite proud of himself, jabbing a thumb at his chest. "Figure you were playing it cool for some reason, so don't worry. I didn't tell anyone."

My breathing resumed. I'd kept Sailor V from the Yu Yu Hakusho crowd to keep things simple, and it hadn't really occurred to me that Botan would go blabbing. Bad move on my part. Taking a deep breath, I ran my fingers through my bangs and tried not to look too cowed.

"She swore me to secrecy," I mumbled. "Superheroes, y'know?" I shook my head and reached desperately for a subject change. "But anyway. Since then I've played this game a few times here and there and it's really fun."

"Hey, awesome!" Kuwabara crowded close to the edge of the screen, pressing against the side of the console with an eager expression. "Can't wait to see it!"

"Yes, Kei. Show us how it's done?"

Kurama walked up behind Kuwabara with a smile—a knowing smile, one with just enough teeth to be menacing. Had he overheard our talk about Sailor V? Uh oh.

"What, you don't wanna watch Yusuke crash cars anymore?" I said, hoping a joke would cover my nerves.

"People were staring," Kurama said, tone pleasant. "And besides. This game looks interesting."

He emphasized that last word.

 _Uh oh,_ indeed.

Rather than try to fire back, I popped in a few coins and started blasting monsters. I did pretty well, actually, managing to make it onto the second page of the leaderboards in pretty short order. Kuwabara threw up his hands with a cheer as I typed in my name.

"Great going, Keiko!" he said. "Can I try?"

"Be my guest!"

We played more than a few rounds of the Sailor V side-scroller before moving on to other games, Tetris and bubble pop and Galaga flying by in swathes of rainbow pixels and tinny music. Kurama excelled at puzzle games, predictably, while Kuwabara did very well at brawlers, also predictably. I didn't stand out at anything in particular, but I liked playing anyway, and soon the three of us were talking and laughing and Kurama's intense expression had melted into one of nonchalant enjoyment (whew!). I preferred console RPGs to arcade fare, but even so, we passed an hour or so like regular teens—teens who didn't have to save the world or fight monsters, for one precious hour clinging to normalcy like any other kid spending a fun afternoon at a local arcade. Stress melted from my shoulders in the light of those winking machines, and for the first time in ages I found myself laughing without restraint.

I should have known it wasn't meant to last.

We had just finished up a rousing round of _House of the Dead_ when Kuwabara stopped, looking off toward the crane machines lined up near the front of the arcade. His eyes brightened as he pointed, grabbing my sleeve with a gentle tug.

"Oh, Keiko! Look!" he said. "It's an octopus."

And indeed it was, a pink and fluffy cartoon octopus plush with a smiling face and small felt suckers on each of its limbs. It sat on a small mountain of other animals, most of its tentacles resting atop other plushes—so it wasn't halfway buried, meaning maybe I could grab it? Half the time the prizes in these games were slotted in so tight, you could never get one loose. I cooed and pressed my face against the game's glass exterior, hand sneaking into my pocket so I could count how much money I had left.

"Aww, it's cute!" I pulled out a fistful of coins and held them up. "I'm gonna get it. It looks loose, too."

"Nice!" Kuwabara said.

"Kuwabara!" Suddenly Yusuke's voice cut over the din of the nearby games, shouting the name at top volume. "I need somebody for a co-op shooter! This kid's dual-wielding over here!"

Kuwabara glared at the ceiling and scowled. "I'll be there in a second!"

"Not in a second. _Now!_ This kid's kicking my ass and I don't like it!"

"Ugh, fine!" Kuwabara said. He stomped off with a call over his shoulder of, "Be right back, Keiko, OK?"

"OK!" I said, and he vanished behind another game. I turned to Kurama and gestured at the octopus. "Wanna help?"

Though he nodded, he shot the game a dubious look. "How might I be of assistance?"

I pointed around the corner of the machine, to the Plexiglas wall perpendicular to the control panel. "Stand there and tell me when the claw aligns. It's hard to tell from the front of the machine."

I don't know if Kurama had ever played one of these kinds of games before, but he understood what I meant after a quick once-over of the game, noting the clear walls and the robotic crane-claw that ran on a track above the pile of prizes. "Right," he said. He stood where I'd pointed and gave me a nod. "Ready."

I fed coins into the machine until it lit up and the countdown timer started, joystick finally responding when I pushed it forward. The claw obeyed my commands and soon hovered over the octopus, from my vantage point looking pretty perfectly aligned. Kurama's eyes had narrowed, however, so I said, "There?"

He shook his head. "To the left."

I inched the claw to the left, the motion sending it wildly swinging on its tether.

"A little more toward me," Kurama said.

I did as he asked; he held up a hand and nodded, indicting we'd aligned the claw at last. I didn't press the button, though, watching as the claw swung back and forth, back and forth, parabola of its swing lessening bit by bit. Kurama opened his mouth, then shut it, realizing why I hadn't pressed the descend button (and I couldn't help but giggle because _I was playing a claw game with Kurama_ , of all people, and wow, _we were strategizing_ , and if that wasn't the most Kurama thing ever, I'll be a monkey's uncle).

In the silence I heard Yusuke yell again. "This kid is insane!" he said, and in the background Kuwabara yelled a wordless cry of defeat. Yusuke's voice grew even louder. "Hey, Grandma, you gotta come see this kid!"

My eyes tracked the claw like it had hypnotized me. "Kinda busy, Yusuke," I called back, eyeing the timer. Only ten seconds to go, my finger hovering ready over the drop button…

"Well, fuck—c'mere, kid, you should come play with us!"

There came a shout, this time by a higher voice I didn't recognize, and through the clear back of my claw machine I saw two figures appear around the corner of _House of the Dead_. One was Yusuke, clad all in green and instantly recognizable, but next to him stood someone shorter, unfamiliar for the barest of moments before I truly took in his mop of wild hair—

My hand spasmed around the joystick.

The claw jutted to one side just as the timer hit zero, swinging as it plummeted to the bottom of the machine. It landed on its side atop the octopus instead of grabbing it by its bulbous head; the game made a sad noise, consoling me in my defeat. I vaguely noticed Kurama staring, wondering why I'd just fucked up our game and lost us the prize, but I paid him no mind as he followed my gaze toward Yusuke.

Toward Yusuke, and toward the boy at Yusuke's side.

He had a mop of curling brown hair, this boy, shaved short on the back and sides, and he wore loose athletic shorts and an oversized t-shirt. To Kurama he surely appeared a totally ordinary boy, one of many such boys scattered across the islands of Japan, ten years old and gangly and freckle-faced and short. His eyes narrowed at the boy, taking him in from top to bottom in a long, slow sweep, but soon Kurama turned back to me with confusion painted across his face.

Kurama's eyes, sharp as they were, could not match my own, nor could they understand why the sight of this boy had turned my joints to brittle clay.

Though Kurama's destiny was inexorably entwined with the fate of the boy at Yusuke's side, he was not equipped to feel the electric jolt of recognition streaking down my back. He didn't see destiny writ in the boy's enormous eyes and pouting mouth the way I did. He couldn't feel the swing of the cosmos click into place around us and hold on tight, like some vast claw in a galactic prize game, nor could he experience the feeling of familiarity clenching into tight, hot dread inside my chest. He could only stare at me, and then at the boy, and wonder why my face had drained of color and why my hands had begun to shake around the joystick of a claw game.

Kurama's eyes, sharp as they were, had no way of knowing that this boy was Amanuma—Sensui's appointed Gamemaster—and that he was destined to die by Kurama's own hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Figured it was fitting, putting a timeskip into the story that corresponds with my real-world hiatus. And rut-roh. Another character met out of order. Where the hell is this going to go, do you suppose?
> 
> It's important to delve into how NQK is feeling at this time. They're officially past canon!Keiko's most useful story points, so the strain of that would be getting to her in bad ways. I hate feeling useless, and while I think I'm good at hiding stress, my friends all agree I am NOT. So of course everyone but Keiko realizes she's in a bad way. I am also a workhorse. Everyone else can usually see me overworking myself, but until I have a breakdown I don't usually realize what's happening to me. It's not great, but it's me! So I hope that came across here.
> 
> ALSO: I went to a neurologist! I have migraines. Which… duh. But I have meds now and I'm getting used to them. The meds have side effects a mile long and they're all cognitive delays and stuff about language confusion. I am loopy as hell as I write this. Hopefully it won't impact my work too much, but we'll see.
> 
> Many thanks to all those who wished me luck during my hiatus! I got lots of good work done, though I'm looking forward to the next Camp where I can hopefully finish what I started. Thank you all SO MUCH, because you are fantastic: Flaremage, Procrastilove, Just 2 Dream of You, Vinlala, SirisDerp, MageKing17, Han, MikoMouse, Unctuous, Eternalevecho, Not Quite a Morning Person, Sdelacruz, musiquemer, atsuyuri-sama, raeliskey, AnnAisu, Redfennec, sandybeach22, drmsqnc, opalalchemy.
> 
> Also I'm going to make a concerted effort to reply to comments after this chapter because I feel like it. Hope that's OK and not weird!!


	68. What Kei Would Do, Instead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK has a decision to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for suicidal thoughts/mentions of suicide.

As the boys—three I called mine, one new and unexpected—cooked meat on the small grill set in the middle of our table, I tried my best not to stare.

It wasn't hard. I'd done my staring when Amanuma introduced himself properly, confirming my almost supernatural premonition regarding his identity. Now I merely stared at the coals glowing beneath the grill's metal grate, orange and red and swimming behind a wall of heated haze. Yusuke and Kuwabara chatted with Amanuma at a decent clip while they flipped and turned our dinner. Neither appeared to notice my consternation.

Probably for the best. Just then, I really didn't want to be noticed.

I sat still and quiet at our booth. The octopus toy from the claw game sat on my lap. My hands hung loose and sweaty around the sphere of its mantle, slicking over its plush fur like tires over wet asphalt. Amanuma had won the toy for me in seconds. His eyes had lit up, he'd shouldered past me, and with a smug shrug he'd explained how best to time the swing of the claw to better your chances of winning a prize. Didn't pause a beat, winning that toy. Insert coins, move crane, press the drop button, and bingo. He won. I was the proud owner of a bright pink cartoon octopus that smelled inexplicably of strawberry.

"Here ya go," he'd said, handing over the toy with another shrug—and a grin I couldn't help but return with a shaking smile of my own. "Kinda silly-lookin' if you ask me, but if you like, that's OK I guess."

We were _all_ staring by then, my personal fixation blending with that of my peers.

And now I wasn't blending so much as flying under the radar—just keeping quiet, out of the way as the boys talked and laughed and elbowed each other for the best pieces of beef and pork. Amanuma gamely fought Yusuke and Kuwabara for the food, giggling like mad when they tag-teamed him and wrestled away a choice chicken wing. Perhaps he didn't get the chance to roughhouse with other boys too often. He was enjoying this almost too much, and after an hour at the arcade had come with us to dinner without a moment's hesitation.

"Hey, waiter, we need veggies!" Yusuke called out.

"You, Yusuke?" Kuwabara said with a snicker. "Veggies?"

"Not for me—for Keiko!" When Kuwabara's brow furrowed Yusuke added, "She only eats meat when her parents cook it; duh!"

Kuwabara blinked, looking to me for confirmation; I gave him an afforming nod. Didn't say anything else, though, or volunteer information—not like I normally would have. Normally I'd overshare about my conditional vegetarianism, but not today. Kuwabara waited a beat before muttering a confused "OK, then" and returning his attention to the food.

Beside me, Kurama's green eyes slid sidelong. His gaze pricked my skin like the tines of a cactus. He knew something was up, clearly, but there hadn't been a moment to ask why I'd gone as quiet as the grave at the sight of a happy elementary school kid.

Because that's what Amanuma looked like, chatting with Yusuke and Kuwabara, roughhousing over food with them and laughing his head off when Yusuke stuck a straw up his nose. Amanuma looked happy. Happy and cute and adorable.

It was _wrong._

Kuwabara blinked at something Amanuma said. "Mushiyori? What're you doing all the way out _here?_ "

Amanuma shrugged, his wide smile shuttering a fraction. "Came to see if there were any new games." He spoke with clipped tones, like he thought maybe we wouldn't believe him, or feared we might ask questions. "I've played all the ones out near my house and I thought I'd see what I could find."

Yusuke frowned—but then he shrugged. "I mean, sure. That makes sense, I guess."

"You find anything good?" Kuwabara asked.

Amanuma perks up at once. "Yeah, I did! That new Sailor V game isn't in Mushiyori yet, but I've been reading about it in the papers and wanted to try it out. It looks girly, but the graphics are really cool."

"Hey, Keiko's pretty good at that one!" Kuwabara grinned at me. "Aren't you, Keiko? You made it onto the leaderboards earlier, right?"

My hands clenched around the octopus plush, under the table and out of sight. "Uh. Yeah. I did," I said.

"Ah, really?" Amanuma's eyes glittered, kid bouncing in his seat. "That's great! Maybe you could show me the good combos sometime. I tried to get them to work but there must be some trick to it I'm not seeing."

He beamed, waiting for me to explain said trick.

I didn't say anything.

Amanuma's smile faltered.

Yusuke to the rescue. " _Of course_ she'll show you the combos." Yusuke kicked me under the table with a pointed glare. "Keiko loves a chance to show off. Don't you, Keiko?"

Again, I said nothing—but my fingers clamped onto the octopus a little harder.

Yusuke waited for me to chime in, but when I didn't he lost patience with me soon enough. Tossing his hair, he settled back in his seat with a smirk and shut his eyes, cracking one of them to look askance at Amanuma. "Say. We aren't usually in the business of hanging out with grade-schoolers, but skills like yours?" A lofty raise of his sharp chin. "It's not often anyone can challenge me at the arcade. You owe me a rematch."

"Gee, Yusuke," Kuwabara muttered, poking at a strip of pork. "You act like I didn't school your ass at Time Crisis last week."

"And as if I didn't best you at a game of competitive Tetris earlier this afternoon," Kurama demurely murmured.

Yusuke sputtered and rocked forward, booth shuddering a little from the force. "Sheesh! Some friends you two are!"

Amanuma, meanwhile, crossed his arms and put his nose in the air. "Well. As for that rematch, it depends on if I'm busy or not. I have a lot of friends, you know, so I'm usually booked up."

Yusuke and Kuwabara exchanged a look, conspiratorial. It hadn't escaped their notice Amanuma had been playing games alone. "Is that so?" Yusuke said.

"Yeah!" The kid's pert nose rose even higher. "And hanging out with middle schoolers isn't _that_ big a deal."

The fact that no one had said it was before then didn't get past anyone, given Yusuke's ill-concealed snickering and Kuwabara's goofy smile. Even Kurama appeared in on the joke. "Isn't it, now?" Kurama mused.

"And hey, maybe middle schoolers ain't shit, but these two are in high school," Yusuke said, pointing at Kurama and I.

"Even so. I'm friends with an _adult_ , and he's really cool." But Amanuma's triumphant smile faded. "I was supposed to meet him today, actually, but he didn't show up."

Yusuke harrumphed. "Some friend he is."

"Yeah, you sure he's really your friend?" said Kuwabara, concern etching lines across his brow.

Amanuma hung his head. "I thought he was…"

Such freckle-faced disappointment, large eyes watery above a jutting lip, could not stand at this table. Yusuke made a tetching noise between his teeth. "Well, kiddo. It's no great loss." He grinned like a rogue as he caught Amanuma's curious eye. "You met _us_ , right?"

The kid's smile returned as quickly as it had disappeared. "I guess I did!" he said. "And yeah, my friend was really nice, but you guys seem—"

As it was no great leap to assume his older friend was a certain former Spirit Detective bent on flooding Human World with demons, a cold void opened beneath the cage of my lungs, hollow and empty and gaping. My breathing stuttered, chest hitching out of my control, and with a burst of icy adrenaline I slid out of the booth.

"Where you going in a hurry?" Yusuke called after me as I stalked away through the restaurant.

"Bathroom," I called back.

"Must be an emergency!" he said—and although the words were intended as a sarcastic joke, Yusuke had no idea just how right he was.

Because I didn't know what else to do, I did as I'd said and went to the bathroom, peeing for the sake of it even though I didn't have much to pee in the first place. I washed my hands with exacting care and stared at myself in the mirror for a minute longer than was necessary. Only left because a few more girls came in, talking and giggling, so I slipped into the hallway and just stood there. To my left lay the restaurant, clinking cutlery and conversation creating a bright concerto—much too bright for my tastes, light and sound like acid on the eyes and ears. To my right lay a short hallway, darker and much more preferable. Only two doors past the bathrooms, one marked as a supply closet, the other unmarked entirely.

I knew what it was, though: a back door. Every restaurant had one.

This back door let out onto the fire escape three stories up above a dark alley at the back of the building. The restaurant was in a plaza, a three-story ring of shops and eateries arranged in a U around a big open green dotted with benches and fountains. Very trendy spot, though this back door didn't show any of what made the place a favorite haunt of local teens. The rickety metal structure overlooked the tops of neighboring businesses. Whirling A/C units, gouts of steam and smoke, boxes stacked next to rooftop access doors—not a great view, no, but beyond the businesses lay a neighborhood of swaying trees and winking lights. I tried to look at those instead of the ugly roofs as I propped open the door behind me with a brick I found lying on the fire escape; most likely the cooks used it so they didn't get locked out on their smoke breaks. Deep breath in, deep breath out, I tucked my octopus toy under my arm and grasped the railing of the fire escape in both hands. The scent of earthy garbage wafted across my face, likely from a dumpster hidden in the darkness below. I didn't mind, though. I gazed out over the city until my eyes lost focus and the lights all blurred together. When a wind stripped by, cold with oncoming winter, the fire escape creaked beneath my feet. The entire structure swayed the slightest bit, a boat on a vast, dark sea.

I wondered, vaguely, how long it would take for me to hit the ground from this height, but I stopped short of actually doing the math. I knew the physics. I could do the math if I tried. But there was a difference, I felt, between wondering and performing, and the latter felt too morbid for my tastes. And there was no desire in me to die or anything, either, when I wondered about falling and smashing on the pavement below. Just a vague curiosity, a tingle of adrenaline in the palms, as if I didn't trust myself not to toss myself over the rail simply to scratch my intellectual itch.

There was a French term for it, I recalled. A term for that obsession with death, that odd compulsion to throw oneself from a high place alongside a lack of suicidal ideation—but I couldn't remember the word. Had been a long time since I had any reason to think in French.

But I was stalling.

I was stalling because I didn't want to think about what I needed to think about, and because I didn't know what to do.

I had no fucking idea what to do.

This went beyond "What would Keiko do?" Now I wasn't sure what question to ask myself, much less the answer to it.

Earlier that afternoon, wandering behind the boys through the scintillating arcade, I'd wracked my brains for what I knew about Amanuma. I'd gathered every last piece of information I could recall, hoping to arrange it into a mental dossier that would tell me precisely how to handle the unexpected situation unfolding before me. I recalled as follows: Amanuma was a kid, he lived a city over (what was he even _doing_ in Sarayashiki?), he was great at games—and he was lonely. That was the biggest personality trait I could recall, the most important piece of the Amanuma puzzle. He was lonely as hell, and that's how Sensui got his claws into the kid in the first place. Didn't even have to show him Chapter Black to get him to go along with Sensui's scheme, in fact. Just gave the kid a chance to belong to something and Amanuma went along with it, because he was so fucking _lonely_.

Earlier, I'd wracked my brain for all of that. But I wasn't wracking now. Now I just stared, eyes unseeing, over the dark roofs of the surrounding neighborhood, chest as cold as the wind in my hair.

In theory, I should have taken control of the situation as soon as Amanuma introduced himself. In theory, I should have taken the reins and swung into action and fixed all of this the minute he walked up.

Instead I'd let Amanuma win me the octopus under my arm and make friends with the boys.

Make _friends_. When he was supposed to be _lonely_.

What a mess.

What a fucking mess.

I'd been too overwhelmed to do a goddamn thing, when Amanuma showed up out of the blue the way he had. I'd wracked and wracked and wracked until mental exhaustion led to physical exhaustion, following the boys around from arcade to restaurant in a stunned haze, unable to do anything but weakly protest ("Now, now, we can't stay out _too_ late.") when they invited the boy to dinner.

Because what else was I supposed to do? Be _actively_ _mean_ to an innocent kid to preserve canon?

Nah,  Amanuma, you can't sit with us. On Wednesdays we wear pink and your hair is hideous. Who am i, Regina George? Christ...

My chin tipped down, viewpoint swinging with it into the dark abyss below the fire escape. I wondered with more clarity what it would be like to pitch over the railing and over the edge, into that dark below. The rail would bite into my stomach for just a second, perhaps pushing a little air from my chest, and then I'd fall. I'd fall into the cold and dark, smash on the pavement, just obliterate into a thousand tiny stars of consciousness and scattered atoms, and cease to exist.

It was almost comical. I'd completely lost control of the situation when Amanuma arrived. Death was, ironically, perhaps the one thing I could control—though perhaps Hiruko would intervene again. I'd smashed my head in once, a car crash as opposed to a flight into the void, and Hiruko hadn't let it stick.

Right. That was the term for it: _l'appel du vide_. Translation, "the call of the void." That was the phrase I was looking for.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't suicidal. There was no desire in me to die. I wanted to live. And perhaps that's what these thoughts were telling me. Some psychologists thought _l'appel du vide_ was the brain's way of reminding you to appreciate life, in fact.

I don't know, really. But damn if a long nap in the void didn't sound appealing, if it meant an escape from the responsibility dogging my steps that night.

Speaking of which: I did not want to go back into that restaurant. So, I wouldn't. It's not like anyone could make me, after all.

I had just sat down, legs thrust between the bars of the fire escape so my feet could dangle in thin air, when the door behind me creaked open. "Kei?" Kurama said.

"Here," I replied.

He didn't move. I leaned my forehead against one of the bars in front of me, octopus toy pillowed on my lap. Its strawberry scent mixed with the garbage smell from the alley, tangy and pungent. No one could make me come back inside, but I got the feeling Kurama was about to try, so I braced myself. Not that I had much fight in me at that point.

"They're wondering where you've gone," Kurama said.

I snorted. "How many constipation jokes has Yusuke made?"

He started to speak. Stopped. Admitted in a quiet, embarrassed whisper: "Four."

"Disappointing," I said. "I'd counted on at least six."

"You make jokes to deflect."

That simple declarative sentence wasn't voiced like an accusation, but in my agitated state it somehow felt like one. I shifted in my seat and grimaced, pressing my forehead against the bars until it almost hurt. The cold empty spot beneath my ribs yawned open like a black hole, trying to suck down every last drop of my emotions.

"I hate that you can read me so well," I said.

"I consider it a blessing." His footsteps, measured and precise, barely vibrated through the metal fire escape when he walked across it and sat at my side, leaning against the railing instead of threading his legs through it. He could look at me this way, head turned to one side with the crown of his head against the bars, green eyes luminescent even in the single fitful light above the door. "Especially when you keep to yourself with such tenacity."

I said, "It's necessary."

"I know," he said. "I understand the necessity of keeping your knowledge of the future secret." Here his voice firmed. "But I wish you would trust me to— _oh!_ "

Kurama didn't quite know how to react when I started to cry, but then again, neither did I. I hadn't expected tears. He hadn't even gotten going, admonishing me, but the tears had started nonetheless. I blotted at them with my sleeve with almost angry swipes, teeth bared in annoyance at the hiccups inflating my tight chest. Kurama offered me a handkerchief, which I took with a growl of thanks. This was more embarrassing than anything, crying out of nowhere—embarrassing and inconvenient. Crying filled the empty pot in my chest with a heavy weight, surging and bubbling, forcing its way up my neck like lava from the mouth of a volcano. But I kept none of my journals in Japanese, and despite a lifetime's worth of speaking such, I knew I couldn't express myself in any language but my native one.

"May I speak English?" I rasped.

"Yes," Kurama said, uncertain.

With his permission, I launched right in. "It's a gigantic clock, the world. All these moving gears and parts, spinning in place and intersecting with only the barest of margins for error, a cosmic spiral of fate and destiny and intention as inscrutable as the whirling stars." These were the words I'd written in private, had told myself a hundred times over, and at their sound Kurama's eyes widened. I blazed forward, unable to slow or stop. "The slightest anomaly could shatter the gears, send them spiraling out of control, hands striking midnight at high noon, fate inverted and perverted until nothing but ash remains." I thrust a hand at the door behind us, handkerchief waving like a white flag. "That boy we met tonight is a small cog in an enormous mechanism, and if the teeth of that cog fall out of alignment, I have no idea what consequences might be wrought. And I have no idea of those consequences will be terrible or insignificant."

Kurama paused, sorting through the English onslaught. "To know the future," he eventually said, gravitas unmistakable. "To know fate—it isn't the gift some assume it might be."

"That's just it. I _don't_ know the future. I know _one_ future. I know _one_ version of fate." Another wave at the door, motion almost violent. "A version that could evaporate if I don't fix what's going on inside right at this very moment."

But even as I said the words, I knew how futile they were. I sagged against the fire escape, fingers winding around the bars with just enough strength to hold onto them—but only just. And then they lost their grip entirely and fell to the octopus on my lap.

"What do you need to do?" Kurama asked.

"Something awful," I said.

I shut my eyes. The next part wasn't something I could face with eyes wide open.

"That boy is lonely," I said. "Terribly, terminally lonely. So lonely he could die, in fact. And for him to play his role in fate successfully, he needs to suffer that cruel fate. I need to stand back and let him fall into absolute despair." My chest shuddered. "I need to stand idle and _watch_."

Unbidden, my hands pressed into the octopus, releasing a burst of strawberry scent I only barely smelled—because to smell something so sweet when I spoke something so foul wasn't fair. Not fair at all. Kurama didn't move beside me, didn't flinch away like I feared he might at my admission. In fact, he didn't move at all, but that was almost worse. He went utterly still, unmoving the way he did when the moment became unbearably tense, and I stilled, too, to echo him.

"That isn't the Kei I know," he said after a time. "That isn't the Kei who made my mother so many meals." His voice gained a modicum of strength. "That isn't the Kei who came to me on that rooftop and saved me from myself."

"I know," I said.

My eyes fluttered open, giving me a view of the darkness below. I tried not to think of _l'appel du vide_ again. I thought of _l'appel du vide_ again. I thought of having the power to throw myself into the void, and of having the power to refrain.

I thought of Amanuma having no power at all.

"I am in agony, Kurama—because that boy does not deserve his fate." The words slipped out of their own accord and I found myself quite unwilling to stop them. Part of me screamed to stop, to keep secrets, to preserve destiny as had been my practice since I first came to this new world, but the rest of me didn't have the willpower to care. The words poured from my mouth like boiling water from a geyser as I said, "Amanuma does not deserve what happens to him, Kurama. He does not deserve to suffer the way he is destined to. And in the end fate intervenes, and it rights the wrongs that happen to him, but even so. Even so! The cruelty he suffers—" I gnashed my teeth. "And what if fate does not behave as it's supposed to? What if the deus ex machina that saves him breaks down like a clock unwinding, gears tarnished, unable to perform its duty? What if I ensure the fate of this boy's suffering, but I undo the fate of his salvation?"

I looked at Kurama for the first time in a long time, then, for confirmation or condemnation I can't say. He provided neither. He merely stared at me, stricken, back ramrod straight and eyes narrow with… I don't even know what. Worry? Fear? Anger? Confusion? There was no telling. There was no finding out. There was no stopping to find out because I wasn't finished, and if I didn't say this now, there was a chance I'd never say it at all.

And I needed to say it, I thought.

I needed to say it, or else I might explode.

"I'm the aberration, in the end," I told him. "I'm what's different about the legend today. Me, and only me. If things go wrong, it's all on me. I'm the one to blame. The _only_ one to blame. And the pressure of that—"

I shook my head and laughed—laughed long and loud and hysterical, head thrown back atop my limp neck, clutching the stuffed toy on my lap like it could save me from drowning. Kurama watched without a word, and now true worry crept into his gaze. He'd seen me anxious. He'd never seen me quite like this.

" _That's_ why I keep things from you, Kurama," I said, uncaring of how unhinged I looked, uncaring in the slightest for editing myself (a choice I would, perhaps, regret eventually, but in the moment I found I did not care). "I can't put that burden on anyone else. This life I live? This fate I know? It's _excruciating_. It's excruciating, knowing the choices I make could result in chaos. That by being true to myself, by treating that boy kindly the way I want to, that by being kind I could kill you."

Kurama roused from whatever trance he'd been in when he repeated me words back at me, saying, "Kill me?"

Uh oh. Despite my revelatory state of mind, that had been too specific—too specifically tying him to the Amanuma situation, to the chance of him losing the Goblin City game. With haste I waved a hand and shook my head.

"Kill you. Kill everyone," I tried to amend. "The fate of the world depends on the loneliness of a grade-schooler—depends on him dying at just the right moment in time."

I stopped, biting my lip to bite back the rest of what I'd been about to say. Kurama leaned toward me almost imperceptibly, drawing in a sharp breath that sounded almost like a gasp. I hadn't meant to go that far in my confession tonight.

But now that I'd gone there—

_Fuck it._

"Because that's his destiny, Kurama," I admitted in a softer voice, one tangled up in regret and sorrow. "His fate is to die. And he'll be brought back, but he will cower in terror before he goes, and he will live in utter, depraved loneliness until his life snuffs out." My head shook harder than it had all night, hair slicing against my cheeks. "It goes against everything I believe it, to stand by while someone else suffers, but for the wellbeing of everyone I care for, I have to watch him rot. I _hate_ it." The admission cut my tongue like a blade. I sat there in silence, reeling from the sting, and then I repeated: "I don't know what to do and I hate it. I _hate_ it." I looked at him in as much wonder as I did horror. "I hate it, Kurama. _I hate it_ —!"

And then I was crying again.

Kurama took my breakdown very much in stride, with a level of poise that shouldn't have surprised me, and yet it did. He looped an arm in front of my shoulders and pulled me to him, hand tangling with the hair on the back of my head as I pressed my face into the crook of his neck and dug my hands into his school jacket. I owed him a dry-cleaning bill, probably, but he didn't say a single word as sobs tried to shake my bones apart. He only stroked my hair with his thumb and let me cry until I couldn't cry anymore, and when I pulled away, he looked very politely to one side while I composed myself. I knew I'd be embarrassed about this in the morning, but I was too tired to give a damn that night.

"You said that boy doesn't deserve the fate he has been given," Kurama said as I mopped off my face. "Neither do you."

For a moment I thought I hadn't heard him right, blinking into his borrowed handkerchief in disbelief. Soon I lifted my face from the cloth and very articulately blurted, "What?"

"You didn't ask for this life," he said, still not looking at me. Another wind blew by, curling his hair around his broad shoulders. "You didn't ask to be put in this position, responsible for the fates of those you care for. It eats at you. I can see it." And then at last he looked at me. Luminous eyes searched my face, steady and insightful. "I see it gnawing at you from the inside out, day after day. It's a burden you won't share, even if, perhaps, you should." His lips thinned. "It's a wonder you haven't broken down before today."

"I have."

His brow knit. "When?"

"When you found me out." I swallowed. "But it all worked out OK, so I was OK, too."

He considered this. What he thought about it, I can't say. We sat in silence for a long time—and I wondered how long we'd been outside, what the boys might be thinking of our absence. I didn't want to go back in yet, necessarily, but if Yusuke had forgotten his wallet I didn't want him walking out on the check or leaving Kuwabara and Amanuma (or me, for that matter) saddled with—

"You said that being true to yourself could end in chaos."

I flinched at Kurama's soft voice, at his unyielding stare and the way he'd angled his torso ever so slightly toward me. "Yes," I said in belated answer.

"Then let chaos descend," he replied.

I couldn't have heard him right. "What?" I said.

"We welcome chaos. _I_ welcome chaos." His chin lifted, internal decisions—inexplicable as they were—made and set. "Whatever storm it brings, we'll weather it together."

"You don't understand what you're suggesting," I said, because clearly he didn't, he _couldn't_.

"Don't I?" Kurama said, face composed and cool. His eyes hardened into chips of bladed malachite. "You said your choice could kill me. I do not believe you misspoke. You rarely misspeak. I believe I am connected to this, and intimately. Am I wrong?"

"No," I had no choice but to admit.

"Then it is not even your choice to make," came his simple reasoning. "It is mine."

"You—but you don't understand."

My weak reply seemed to grate at him, for his lips pulled back below his narrowing eyes. Kurama leaned toward me, the part of him that was Shuichi making way for pure _Kurama_ , that demon I barely knew who was all bared teeth and radiating menace surging to the forefront. "Then _make me_ understand," he said, leaning so close I caught a hint of evergreen and mint. "I understand the need for your secrecy, Kei, but even my patience has its—"

Under the weight of his livid gaze, something inside me broke.

"That boy is recruited by an enemy to stand in our way on the eve of the end of the world," I said, "and you will have no choice but to kill him when that time comes, to prevent the descent of an apocalypse."

It was the most detailed thing I'd ever said regarding our shared future, and Kurama knew it. He pulled back in shock, blinking away the wild until the Kurama I knew returned in full. We traded a long look, bald and vulnerable, until he spoke.

"Me," he said.

"You," I said.

"I will have to kill a child."

"Yes." I took a deep breath, one that shook in my throat. "He was a stranger to you in the legend. And if he becomes your friend today…"

"You fear I won't do what must be done." A beat, and then: "You underestimate me."

I winced. "You're not that cruel."

"But I am that dedicated," he said. "But I am the kind of man who does what needs to be done, when it needs to be done, my feelings notwithstanding." Once more he lifted his chin, imperious and proud. "You once blamed yourself for my actions, Kei, when I did not use the Mirror of Darkness to cure my mother. Do not make the mistake of crediting yourself for my decisions again." The faintest of smiles ghosted across his mouth. "My pride will not allow it."

"I imagine so." And the strength left me, head hanging atop my boneless neck. I lifted the octopus plush to my mouth and murmured "What have I done, telling you this?" as I drank the scent of its fur.

"You've given me a choice," Kurama said, utterly matter of fact, not at all bothered by the risk I had just taken in divulging the future to him—perhaps he had more faith in fate than I did, or perhaps he just had faith in me, though in the moment that seemed preposterous. "You have a choice to make, as well."

Kurama put a hand on my shoulder. I lifted my head, agonizing though the action felt, to look him in his bright eye. He was all serious, then, no smiles or jokes to soften his delivery. What he had to say booked no room for prevarication.

"You have two options. The first is to do nothing. Betray your principles and let that boy suffer," he said. "The second is to honor yourself, and to do what you feel is right."

"Right for him, or right for everyone?" I murmured.

"I can't say. It isn't up to me."

A million different responses flitted through my head just then. Jokes about the Trolley Problem in real life, utilitarianism's practical application, that Agents, Actions and Ends class I took in college finally getting put to good use. But none of that felt appropriate. None of that felt like it mattered, relevant though it most certainly was. Instead I looked back out into the dark, into the light-polluted sky devoid of stars, and sighed.

"You know," I said. "Sometimes I ask myself 'What would Keiko do?' The real Keiko, I mean. The Keiko I replaced." I smiled at the starless sky, at the void arching high above. "She was kind, the real Keiko, but she was responsible. She was strong."

"And what do you think you are?" Kurama asked.

It took me a minute to work up the courage and admit: "I don't know what I am." But that was the truth, and to say anything else would be a betrayal indescribable. "But _she_ would know what to do right now."

"Kei."

Once more he touched my shoulder. Once more I looked his way, managing the shakiest of smiles I barely felt inside. He matched it with a smile of his own, mild and subtle. A Kurama smile. One he didn't show me often, but one I drank the sight of eagerly.

"Perhaps instead of wondering what the other Keiko would do—" He paused, gathering himself. When his green eyes firmed, he looked me in mine and continued. "Perhaps it's best you ask what Kei would do, instead," he said.

His hand on my shoulder tightened.

"The original Keiko does not have a monopoly on good decisions," he said.

Kurama knew better than to wait around, I think. He knew I'd only argue, or that I'd shrug off the compliment with something self-deprecating. With one final squeeze of my shoulder he stood and went back inside, carefully propping open the door so I wouldn't get stranded on the fire escape.

I didn't move.

Not for a while, anyway.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, honestly. I'm not sure how long it took me to swim from the depths of my own disquiet and stand, to walk back into the restaurant and down the dark hallway, to the edge of the well-lit interior where I could watch the boys talk and laugh at eat at their chosen booth. Amanuma almost glowed as Yusuke ruffled his hair, freckled face beaming from the inside out at the attention he probably felt starved for.

I didn't know what to do.

I still didn't know what to do, even after everything Kurama had said to me—but he was right. The crux of the matter was the choice of being true to myself or respecting canon… and in this case, the two were not compatible.

So what was I supposed to do, exactly?

Yusuke cackled, the sound audible even from my distant vantage point. Amanuma joined in. I heard him laughing, too, even from so far off—and at the sound of that eager laugh, something inside me solidified.

Perhaps it was the wrong choice, what I did next. Perhaps it was a choice that would damn us all, bring us to ruin, make everything about this life I'd made for myself come crashing down around my well-meaning head.

Still.

It was the choice I made—and I made it myself.

I took a deep breath.

I steeled my nerves.

I walked into the restaurant, over to the boys, and back into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recognize this is a bit shorter than usual, I'm not feeling motivated enough to write 10,000 words like I do most weeks.
> 
> Also this chapter was dark but I'm OK, so don't worry.
> 
> It was wonderful to hear from you after coming back from hiatus. To the following I give enormous thanks for greeting the story as it returned from hiatus. I couldn't do this without you: Just 2 Dream of You, Sdelacruz, Unctuous, Procrastilove, drmsqnc, TheInterim_VectorChronos, eternalevecho, vinlala, Saj_te_Gyuhyall, Tactile, musiquemer, NotQuiteAMorningPerson, MageKing17, BastetTheWritingCat, atsuyuri_sama!
> 
> (Also I have a few comments left from last week to reply to, and I will do that later today. Sorry for the delay!)


	69. This is the Choice I Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK is comforted.

The star map overhead danced and whirled like something from a dream, casting minute pops and sparks of errant light across the listening faces of Kagome and Minato. Neither of them interrupted me, thank my lucky stars. I'm not sure I would have the strength to finish my story if they did. I'd called them to this meeting in Minato's underground command station the second I'd bid Yusuke and the others goodbye that night—"the others" including Amanuma, the name of whom both of my switcheroo friends had recognized at once, recognitions accompanied by twin dropped jaws and a gasp of shock from Kagome. I tried not to look at their faces while I spoke, much though I wanted to know what they were thinking when I explained my decision not to pull a _Mean Girls_ and treat the kid with all the disdain with which a proper high school girl should by all rights be capable. It wasn't right, I said, to let this boy suffer the way he was fated, even if his suffering was canon, and thus I could not let that suffering rage unchecked—and then I held my breath and waited.

I waited for them to rebuke me—or to wish me luck.

I wasn't sure which way this pendulum might swing.

It felt like a long time passed, even though it couldn't have been more than a minute or two before Kagome cleared her throat and sat up straight. The vinyl bench beneath her squeaked, loud in the stillness of Minato's fortress. Sweat beaded on my neck and rolled down the length of my throat, a cold track left in its chill wake.

"Well," she said. She shot Minato (his face impassive, regarding me with cool detachment) a defiant look, as if daring him to contradict her. "I, for one, think you did the right thing."

I could only blink, astonished. "You do?"

She hummed. I stared, waiting for the "but," for the other shoe to drop—but neither came. My knees weakened. I sat down, head in my hand, elbow on my knee. My palm smelled like the meat we'd grilled at the restaurant, aroma clinging to my clothes and hair. Kagome made the sound of a worried mother hen; I felt her presence at my side a moment later.

"You said—you said, what if you ensure Amanuma dies, but then somehow Koenma can't resurrect him?" she said, arm going around my back like a comforting scarf. "It's a valid concern. But that's not even the worst 'what if.'"

I raised my head. Looked into her drawn face and the tight smile on her small mouth.

"You could ensure Amanuma bands with Sensui, and along the way a hundred new things could go wrong," she said. "Amanuma could die before Kurama is supposed to kill him. Or Amanuma could be angry at you for rejecting him and fight harder, not lose against Kurama at all."

Truth be told, neither of those possibilities had occurred to me—and they were arguably both worse the possibility I'd cooked up, of a missed opportunity for resurrection. The thought of them stilled the air in my lungs; I only started breathing again with Kagome told me to do so, a command uttered with a chiding look and a knowing giggle.

"You aren't the only one who's overthought this," she went on. "I've wondered, too, what consequences all the little canon aberrations will cause in our futures." Her smile, tight though it was, managed to make her eyes crinkle. "You weren't supposed to meet Amanuma now, Keiko. But you have, and you can't change that. When canon has already gone so far off course, is there any point trying to put it back on track? Maybe, in that case, it's best to see where the new track leads, and hope it arrives at the same destination even while taking a different course." Her face screwed up. "But also maybe I'm not making sense."

Minato's brusque tones cut in like a razor. "You _are_ making sense. And I agree." He stood up, back ramrod straight and head inclined just so as his blue eyes blazed. "I will confess I don't like the thought of such a complete breach of fated events. But at the same time, you are the earliest along in your story. This is a valuable research opportunity."

I winced, but not in a bad way (if that even makes sense). Minato's words were a little harsh on the surface. Kagome certainly shot him a sharp glare, but I just laughed and shook my head. "I didn't want to call myself a guinea pig, but I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't occurred to me." Leave it to Minato to see the tactics at play in my decision. "Amanuma does play a key role in events to come, but he's no Yusuke. He's no Sensui, even. I don't think he's as much of a linchpin as some of the other Yu Yu Hakusho characters."

"What are you saying?" Kagome asked.

"I'm saying that if I can test the waters and see just how much canon can be stretched without breaking it, these events with Amanuma acting as my litmus test," I said, nodding at her and Minato in turn, "it could benefit the both of you when your stories kick into gear."

She stared at me a second—and then she grimaced. "You _martyr!_ " The word heaved forth on the edge of an exasperated sigh, her hand tangling with her thick bangs, eyes closing after they rolled.

"You know me. Always looking for a chance to show off," I joked. All jokes died when I added, "Though I'll admit giving Hiruko what he wants puts a sour taste in my mouth."

"And in mine," Minato concurred.

Kagome nodded "Me, too."

We shared a moment of contemplative silence. The Hiruko of it all weighed heavy on my heart—had been weighing heavy on my heart for a month, ever since Yusuke saw him standing over Sakyo's shoulder back in Tarukane's mountain mansion. I'd had a month to grapple with the idea of his presence in my physical world. I'd only had a few hours to grapple with Amanuma's. Perhaps the month of contemplation regarding Hiruko had prepared me to wrestle with Amanuma, because after my talk with Kurama and frantic calls to Kagome and Minato, I'd been able to take a minute to breathe. To think. To slot everything I knew into neat (if not agonizing) categories. Kurama's pep-talk had helped, of course. It had given me some perspective. Waiting in my room for Minato to open a TARDIS-like portal in my closet door had even afforded me time to jot down a pros and cons list in a journal, too, and that had also helped.

My decision hadn't been simple, of course.

But in the end, it had been easy—the way the right decisions all so often are.

"My mind's been racing all night, all afternoon, ever since Amanuma showed up," I said. The quiet hums and beeps of the command center permeated the air like the heartbeat of some great beast. Minato and Kagome watched me carefully while I spoke, Kagome's arm tightening the slightest bit around my shoulders. "I don't intend to throw canon completely off the rails or anything. Too much at risk to do that, but... I don't know. It doesn't seem canon can be kept perfectly in line, either. And if that's the case, why run myself ragged trying to fight it?"

"You've been doing just that chasing after Hiruko," Kagome said. "Worrying yourself to death over breaking canon on top of worrying about him…"

"I'll never stop worrying," I admitted—and that admission took an effort untold. I kept talking with my eyes closed tight. "I don't think it's possible for me to ever stop worrying. But I can try to roll with changes better. I can try a new tactic." I made an effort to correct my posture, to channel Minato's upright sensibilities, force confidence until I felt it inside myself. "Instead of worrying about the little details that are going wrong around me, I'm going to adjust my thinking. Try to focus on the bigger picture." I was trying to convince myself of this as much as I was trying to convince my peers. "The small decisions I make along the way don't matter so much, so long as in the end they add up to a greater whole: Yu Yu Hakusho's happy ending, and the subversion of all the end-of-world scenarios Yusuke prevents."

"Like a Monet."

It was Minato who said this; surprise opened my eyes and drew them to him. He stood with hands in his pockets, the lightest of smiles ghosting across his lips. The moment he drew the comparison, it made sense to me, even if before the comparison had not occurred.

"Exactly," I said. "I think that's right."

Kagome frowned. "Sorry, you two, but a Monet?"

Minato didn't reply; he walked to the long, low control panel dominating the center of the underground amphitheater and began fiddling with the control, the light screens projected above the command station blinking and shifting through a series of images almost too fast for me to follow. I turned back to Kagome.

"Claude Monet was a French painter. He was—" I found I didn't know the term in Japanese, however; I switched to English on reflex. "He was an impressionist. He painted—"

She pointed over my shoulder, eyes widening. "Oh, I remember! Water lilies!"

Minato had summoned a selection of Monet's work, mostly of his myriad paintings of colorful water lilies; among the rotating mass of images I spotted "The Japanese Footbridge," "Woman with a Parasol," and the eponymous "Impression, Sunrise." The saturated colors and broad brush strokes, the sense of light and depth, all so characteristic of his paintings—it had been a while since I'd seen them up close. Not since my past life, actually, when my grandmother had given me a book of his work for a birthday present. We'd loved Monet, my grandmother and l. The memory brought a smile to my face.

"Yeah." I caught Minato's eye and gestured at "Woman with a Parasol." "And when you zoom in…"

He did as indicated, zooming in on the luminous grass at the bottom of the painting—only the closer the view became of the flowers dotting the grass became, the clearer it became that the flowers were no more than smudges of paint, featureless and without detail atop green and brown stripes of paint and the blue background of the woman's dress (though up so close you couldn't tell). Nothing flowerlike remained of the yellow smudges at all.

"Oh." Kagome's nose wrinkled. "It's a mess."

"It is. It's an inscrutable, colorful mess." My lips curled into a helpless smile. "And when you pull back, it's a beautiful field of flowers."

Minato zoomed out again. The flowers became themselves once more.

"Perhaps it's wishful thinking, that the choice I've made with Amanuma will turn out this way—that the mess I create now will contribute to a larger whole I can look back on with satisfaction. But that is my hope, and this is my choice." I shrugged, unable to do anything more elaborate than that. "My heart is in my teeth, but this is the choice I stand by, and this is the path I take."

"I'm sorry—that last part." Minato looked over his shoulder as he banished the images of the paintings one by one, frowning. "The path you…?"

My cheeks colored. "Oh. Sorry. I said—" And I had to repeat myself in Japanese, because I hadn't switched back from English in some time. Rubbing the back of my neck I muttered, "Even though I've grown up with Japanese, sometimes it's just easier to express myself in English."

"Feels homey, huh?" Kagome said, cracking a grin.

I grinned back. "It does."

Minato watched us, smiling, but his smile possessed a wry edge I couldn't help but notice. "The two of you are lucky, to converse in that respect." I couldn't help but note that he changed the subject just then, either, with a shake of his head and a clearing of his throat. "At any rate. What are your plans involving Amanuma?"

"'Plans' is a generous term," I muttered, lips twisting. "I was a bit too stunned to really get to know him, but Yusuke and Kuwabara promised to meet him again next Sunday. I supposed I'll come with and see what shakes down." A moment's hesitation before I added, "I might let Yusuke and Kuwabara guide that friendship."

"And the Kurama of it all?" Minato asked.

"I'm not sure. Still debating the wisdom of telling him he's meant to kill the kid, but..."

"From what I remember, he is not the type to be ruled by his emotions," Minato said.

"No. He's not." But even with that reassurance, I didn't want to think about that anymore. Time for a subject change of my own. "I think my best bet is to let this run its course as an informed observer. Be kind to the kid, but don't try to force anything. Let Kuwabara and Yusuke take the reins. Happy medium between walking away and swooping in like the albatross I am, I guess."

Kagome nudged my knee with her own. "Good thinkin', Eeyore."

"Be sure to keep us informed," Minato said.

"I will," I told them—and I meant it.

Much though Kurama could offer some comforts, it was Minato and Kagome who truly understood my plight, and it was the two of them who remained best equipped to understand the dilemma of my choices.

With their blessing regarding Amanuma and my decision to treat him with civility (such a small decision, when put in such bald term; such a small decision with potentially far-reaching consequences), the night was at its end. Minato walked Kagome to the door of the arcade, seeing her off on her way home, before escorting me to the supply closet where my portal home awaited. A typical drop-off, all things considered, even if the reason for our meeting had been anything but. We'd had an occasional meeting since Minato had delivered Botan to me so many months before, but he'd remained distant since then aside from the occasional and utterly cursory check-in. Minato was never cold (he was too polite to be that) but he'd met all of mine and Kagome's invitations for frozen yogurt with civil declinations.

As I stepped over the threshold of the closet-portal, transitioning from the humid arcade and into the dry quiet of my bedroom, an image of Minato's wry smile flashed through my head. Perhaps I was simply tired of thinking about myself and my own problems, albatross nature desperate for something to mother into distraction, but I turned on my heel with an inquiry on my mouth. I smiled. Minato saw this as he reached for the doorknob and stopped.

"Hey. Quick question," I said.

One blond brow lifted, eloquent in its silence—and at his deadpan stare the mothering albatross wings in my soul closed up tight, looked away, and whistled with awkward nonchalance, nerve lost in the span of two seconds.

Great.

So much for a distraction.

"Um," I said, searching desperately for another topic. I found one in short order, though it sounded lame even to me. "Um—is it OK for me to play the Sailor V games?"

His brow shot up higher still, in danger of melding with his cropped hairline.

"You have them out in public so I assume it is," I continued, well aware I was almost babbling, "but Amanuma is interested in learning to play them better, so I wanted to ask…"

Minato shut his eyes and shook his head, as if perplexed by me. "It's fine. I knew putting them in public would attract attention. I mostly use them to monitor for Scout activity, anyway."

That got my ears perking, lemme tell ya. "Have you seen…?" I asked, now well aware I was fishing.

Minato smiled. "Do you _really_ want to know?"

Yes, no, of course, but also of course not—I knew it was a bad idea to get involved, much though I wanted to. I stuck out my tongue. "Spoilsport."

That got a laugh out of him. "Best not let the wires cross," he said, grasping the doorknob and pulling the door toward him and the arcade threshold—but he paused. Stood there, staring at the floor, until he raised his eyes to mine with a sly smile. "But for the record, captain—whenever you or Kagome play, I'm sent a ping." His smile widened. "Your scores have improved lately."

I grinned back. "Good to know."

It was gratifying to know Minato had a sense of humor, that he could make small, sly jokes when the occasion called for it. He had a sense of humor buried under his dour side, under the side of him trained by duty and honor to put responsibility first and friendship second. As I wandered into my bedroom and sat restless on my bed, pillow held loosely to my chest, I wondered if he would be funnier in German. I certainly thought I was funnier in my native English than I was in Japanese, all my years speaking the latter be damned. That's why Kagome and I almost always slipped into English when we were with each other, why I'd resorted to English when expressing myself around Kurama. It felt more natural. It was a pity I didn't speak German, and that I didn't know anyone who did I could introduce to Minato—

It was around this time I got an idea. Probably the best idea I'd had all night, in fact, and one that suited my internal albatross quite nicely.

Putting the idea into action took a little finagling, of course. A bit of research and some flipping through a certain catalogue—but only half an hour's worth of work, really, and most of it involved shuffling stuff around, which isn't much effort at all when you get right down to it. No trouble at all in the grand scheme of things. Happy to do it, really. Whistling a tune, I trotted down the stairs just as my parents were finishing cleaning the kitchen for the night, last of the cooks and servers bidding them goodbye as they shuffled out the alley door for the evening. I sat at the bar and slid a packet of papers across it with a chirp of, "Hello, Mom. Signature, please."

She put down the steel wool she'd been using to scrub out a stubborn pot and peered at the papers on the bar, eyes brightening a watt or two when she recognized them. "You finished your class selection!" she said. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"You're welcome." I produced a pen with a flourish. "Now sign my life away, please."

"Of course, of course," she said, but she couldn't resist flipping through the sheets until she found what I'd chosen. A quick scan with her brown eyes and she said, "Oh, interesting choice. Dance as an elective?"

I shrugged. "Always wanted to try it."

"I see." A second scan. Her brows lifted. "More literature?"

"It's my favorite!"

"Psych, philosophy…" Her lips pursed. "No more math?"

"Well, I'm just about finished. I thought I'd take the final stuff my senior year."

"Yes, but…" She sighed. "Well, if you're sure—wait." Her eyes widened. "You want to take _German_ classes?"

At that I could only grin. "They offer them on Saturdays," I said, "in place of regular homeroom."

Mom sighed, a little flummoxed by the choice, but she signed her name on the approval line regardless. When she asked I told her I just thought the classes sounded fun, and that since I'd already tested out of more English classes, colleges would find it impressive if I took another foreign language. She bought that reasoning without undue complaint, though she thought French would be a more aesthetic option for a second foreign language choice.

I couldn't tell her the real reason I wanted to take German: I wanted to find out if Minato was indeed funnier in his own language, even if it meant crossing the wires of our fandoms just a little more than was necessary—and I wanted, perhaps, to give him some of the comfort speaking one's native tongue so often afford me.

But of course, Mom wouldn't understand any of that.

It was amazing, though, how eager I felt to complete my class choices all of sudden, when before I'd looked at them as such a burden—as such a reminder of the inconsequential nature of my role in Yu Yu Hakusho. But that was textbook Not-Quite-Keiko for you, finding motivation just about anywhere but in myself. It was sort of depressing, really, how unmotivated I'd been to pick classes for my own sake, but the minute someone else got involved—

Before I could delve into the dark of that particular rabbit hole, from down the hall I heard my bedroom phone ring. I climbed the stairs two and a time and threw myself belly-down atop my bed, glancing at the clock as I threw my course list onto my desk and snatched the phone off the cradle on the final ring. 9:30 PM. Not too late, then, so probably a friend. Yusuke or Kuwabara, if I had to guess.

I was right; Kuwabara's rough voice grated my name through the connection a moment later. "Hi, Kuwabara. How are you?" I replied, flopping onto my back with phone balanced precariously on my turned cheek.

"I'm good, I'm good—but enough about me! It's _you_ I'm worried about!"

I gave my bedroom wall a deadpan stare. "You said two words about yourself. Don't be dramatic."

"I'll be dramatic if I gosh darn wanna, Keiko! First time I've seen you in a month and you ran out in the middle of dinner like you'd gotten sick or somethin'?!" His aggressive voice dropped low, plunging right into the depths of worry. "You didn't _actually_ get sick or somethin', did ya?"

"No, I didn't get sick." Lying to him hurt, but it felt like a necessary evil—as lying so often did these days. "Just needed some air."

"Good," he said. "Kurama was telling us you've been busy with high school stuff, you're behind on some things because of the school transfer and skipping a grade…"

He trailed off, as if waiting for me to deny or confirm. "Sounds about right," I said.

"OK." But he didn't sound convinced. "And I asked Yusuke, too, and he said it's pointless to nag you. If you want to talk about it, you'll talk about it, but not a minute before."

"That sounds about right, too."

"OK. Um." He paused, and then the words burst out of him like steam from a teakettle. "But Keiko—you'd tell me if something was wrong, right? Like if something was really, _really_ wrong? Like if you needed help, you'd tell me?"

My heart swelled. "Of course I would."

"Good. Just—ah." I could practically hear him blushing, rubbing the back of his neck, staring at the floor as he avoided my gaze. "I worry about you, y'know?"

"You really shouldn't," I said, fighting to keep a giggle from my voice (and a tear from my eye, if all truth is being told, because after this night of emotional wreckage this call tugged at every last heartstring I possessed). "I'm a big girl."

"I know, I know," he grumbled. "You've never been the type who needed rescuing or whatnot, but still. I'm here if you need me." And his voice turned plaintive once more. "You know that, right?"

"Of course I do." A lump gathered in my throat. Although he didn't know it, I'd needed this call from him tonight, and I meant every word when I said, "You're my best friend."

"Damn straight, I am!" he said, preening like a peacock. He gasped, though, and made a wordless noise of excitement through his teeth. "Oh, oh Keiko—now don't get too excited, but I've got something really, _really_ cool in the works, and it's not a sure thing yet so I'm not going to tell you what it is, but if it works out the way I want it to, next fall is gonna be _sick_."

I frowned, sitting up in a tangle of phone cords and bedclothes. "Really, now?"

"Hell yeah!" He modulated his town, clearing his throat and speaking like he'd been called on by a teacher. "But like I said, no guarantees, so I gotta keep a lid on the specifics until I get this more nailed down. Don't want to disappoint you if it doesn't work out, y'know?"

"Well, color me intrigued. I will wait with bated breath." And speaking of waiting and bated breath—mine suddenly hitched. Speaking quickly lest my courage fail me, I clenched my fist around the phone and said, "Say, Kuwabara—I never did follow up with you about your mission for Spirit World. The rescue mission in the mountains?" A deep breath, bracing and cool. "How'd that go for you?"

"How'd that go?" he repeated, incredulous. "Yusuke said he and Botan filled you in."

"They did. But I never got your side of it before the school stuff swallowed me whole." I did my best to sound casual, but interested, encouraging him to talk. "Anything you want to talk about? Anything exciting Yusuke probably forgot to mention?"

"He _would_ forget to mention if I did something badass, wouldn't he?" Kuwabara groused—and yet he sighed. "But no, not really. Mission went off without a hitch."

There followed a pause.

"Though I did meet someone pretty nice," he said.

He didn't say it in an overly excited way. No yelling or screeching or babbling—but his voice brightened a tough, lifting a little, and my heart quickened in response. I sat up straighter on my bed, free hand winding tight into the spiral cord of my phone.

"Oh?" I said.

"Yeah—the girl we rescued? Yukina? She was really sweet!" He spoke with that same eager brightness as before, though still not yelling or anything. "Healed us right up after we fought those asshole Toguro brothers."

I waited for him to go on. He didn't. "She sounds great," I supplied, hoping it might spur him on.

"She was!" he agreed, and he heaved an annoyed sigh. "Too bad she had to go back to her home world, y'know? I got the feeling she would have fit right in, and—hold on a second." Something rustled against the receiver, and although muffled I heard him bellow, "Shizuru, I'm on the phone! Wait, what the, _no no wait I'm sorry stop wait_ —"

A thump and a thud and a screech later, the line buzzed. Something crackled, and a new voice filtered through the rough connection.

"Sorry, Keiko," said Shizuru, "but my baby brother has a test tomorrow and social hour is hereby over."

The words sounded as desperate as I felt. "Shizuru, _wait_ —!"

"Sorry, kiddo, but I'm pulling rank," she said, unimpressed. "He'll see you when he sees you."

"We were only talking for five minute, sis, why do you have to be such a—" Kuwabara yelled from somewhere in the distance, but his protests did him no good.

A moment later, the line went quite dead.

I pulled the phone from my face and stared at it, disgruntled (and also more than a little pissed at Shizuru, who would suffer my wrath at an unknown point in the near or distant future; my vengeance would not be denied and time would play no role in its deliverance). If only I'd been able to talk to Kuwabara a little longer, I could have pulled more out of him about Yukina—more than the warm but not gushing enthusiasm he'd displayed over the phone. He'd seemed happy about her, sure, but nothing like the exuberance he'd displayed in the anime. This reaction of him was ambiguous. Much too ambiguous for my tastes, and I had no idea what to make of it. It was possible he'd been playing it cool for my benefit, or maybe since Shizuru had been nearby, but…

I was really, really looking forward to seeing the pair of them together at the Dark Tournament, that was for sure.

Sighing, I swung my legs off my bed and put the phone back in its cradle. My course schedule packet had come un-paperclipped when I threw it on my desk; I gathered up the papers and tapped the bottom of them on the surface of the table a few times, securing the top of them with the clip before filing them carefully away inside my school bag. Wouldn't the guidance counselor be surprised when I turned them in early instead of late, or barely under the deadline. I lifted my face to the window to practice my best Keiko Smile, the one I'd wear when his jaw dropped and he stammered out that he could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Lots of teeth would be necessary, but not so many that I looked aggressive, and I'd want my eyes to glitter just so—

Two brown eyes did not stare back at me from the window pane.

Instead, two luminous red orbs of fire glared back at me from beyond the glass, reflecting the light of my lamp like coals burnings in the darkness beyond.

I screeched, of course, because that is what I do when I'm frightened out of my own damn skin, and then a purple glow appeared above and between the red sparks and my window slid open with a rattle. "Meigo," Hiei said as he slid onto my desk and hopped lithely to the floor. "What in the world were you doing just now?"

I didn't dignify that question with an answer, because I was on the other side of the room backed all the way up against my bedroom door with my hand over my heart. "Jumpin' Jehoshaphat, Hiei, you _fucking scared me!_ " I said.

He glared, because he was Hiei, and Hiei glares a lot. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

"What kind of question is _that?"_

More glaring, this time accompanied by a sneer and a look that said I must be the stupidest person alive. "You skipped our meeting," he said, like it was obvious.

And yeah—I had skipped our meeting today, so I could go meet with the other Switcheroo Characters at Minato's arcade. But the thing was, I'd left a note on my window for Hiei to find when he inevitably wondered where I'd gone. "Did you see my note?" I asked, mimicking his it-was-obvious-and-you're-an-idiot tone of voice.

"Yes. And I found it…" He raised his nose so he could look at me down its length. _"… insufficient."_

I glowered. "You mean you're hungry."

An overstated roll of the eyes. "Your deductive powers never cease to amaze."

"Ugh, fine." I went to my closet, grabbed a coat, and headed for the window. "I could do with a snack, anyway. C'mon."

Hiei followed me out of the window and onto the roof without complaint, seemingly triumphant that I hadn't insisted we use a proper door. I didn't want my parents asking where I was going this time of night, was the thing, and I didn't want them asking why I hadn't eaten dinner; too hard to explain I hadn't had the stomach for food during dinner with the boys, nerves making it impossible to eat. But I felt calmer now, and at the mention of food my belly had buckled with a pang of insistent hunger. Hiei leapt into the night and vanished as I shimmied down the drainpipe and into the alley; he reappeared at my side a moment later, trailing behind me as I led him from the dark side street and into the neighborhood beyond.

Fortunately for Hiei, even though my parents' flagship restaurant had closed for the night, they had a fleet of mobile foodtrucks open into the wee hours of the night that were still bustling. The cook manning the nearest one served up my favorite veggie version of their ramen on the house, happily giving my "charming goth friend" (first word spoken with ample sarcasm) a helping of pork ramen, too, once I told him what Hiei liked. Hiei didn't say anything, just glared, and practically inhaled his meal as we stood at the cart to eat.

"Good, huh?" I asked.

He slurped up noodles and shot me A Look of Significance. "Not as good as usual," he said, but that didn't stop him from taking another enormous bite.

I wasn't sure if I should be flattered the he preferred my parents' cooking, or if I should be glad the cook heading up this cart was too busy with another customer to overhear the indirect insult. Soon the cook swung back over to ask how we were.

"Think you'll get dessert after this?" he asked.

"Maybe," I said.

"Try the crepe place off 7th and 42nd," he said. "Better n' ice cream on a night like this, that's for sure."

Ice cream, huh.

Now there was an idea.

The night had turned chilly, ramen a perfect choice to keep me warm on our outing. I'd been wearing gym shorts when we'd left, forgetting to change into pants when Hiei had demanded food and a trip outside. As we walked away from the ramen cart, I shoved my hands deep into my jacket pockets and sighed. Full belly, nice and warm, only my legs felt cold as we slowly walked back home, two Keiko-flavored popsicles carrying the rest of me through the night. I giggled at the imagery, earning an annoyed look from Hiei, so I stopped—but thinking about popsicles reminded me of ice cream again.

"You in the mood for dessert?" I asked.

Hiei scowled.

I wasn't sure if that was a yes or not, but he didn't protest when I steered us in the direction of an ice cream parlor nearby. I stopped outside of its big plate glass windows and nodded at the colorful awning, the counter with its many tubs of ice cream being scooped onto cones by servers in paper hats. Hiei narrowed his eyes at it, staring at my smiling self with outright suspicion. I couldn't keep a grin off my face, expression as bright and happy as the yellow awning hanging above the shop's door. I vaguely wondered how they stayed open this time of year, but I guess ice cream is a favorite no matter the season.

I jerked my head toward the shop. "You ever had this before?" I asked.

Another of his 'are you stupid' expressions. "Yes," Hiei said, hands shoving almost violently into his pockets. "Why?"

I'm a little ashamed to admit I was disappointed I wouldn't get to introduce him to ice cream, but then again, he'd known about record players; this shouldn't have surprised me. "So it's called…?" I said, trailing off so he could finish the sentence… and hopefully with the phase 'sweet snow.'

Hey. What can I say? I'm a trashy fangirl at heart, through and through.

But Hiei surprised me again.

"What are you on about?" he said, head tossing like a defiant horse. "It's ice cream, Meigo. It says so on the damn sign. I'm no idiot, _and_ I can read." He turned away, slouching in his dark cloak. "And I don't care for ice cream, anyway."

That last statement struck me momentarily dumb. "You—you don't?" I managed to blurt when I found my voice.

"Of _course_ not," he spat. "Pointless human invention. Absolutely useless." He looked at me over his shoulder, baleful and accusatory. "Nothing that cold has the right to taste good."

For a minute, it was all I could do to stare, slack-jawed… and then it hit me.

Holy shit—Hiei got tossed off a goddamn ice island by a bunch of ice demons. He associated cold with bad, with rejection, with pain. Why in the fucking hell would he like ice cream, of all things? It took something he hated and combined it with a good taste, making a mockery of his long and deeply held associations, and—

Well, then.

No wonder he didn't care for ice cream overmuch, let alone have a cutesy name for it like "sweet snow."

I put a hand to my forehead with a laugh, chiding myself for this mistake. "Y'know, you're right," I said. Hiei eyed me with suspicion, so I offered him a shrug and an apologetic smile. "And besides. It's too cold outside for ice cream, anyway." I walked past him and latched onto the arm of his cloak, dragging him after me down the street. "C'mon. Let's head over to that crepe place we heard about."

He wrenched his arm out of mine with a snarl of protest, but nonetheless he dogged my steps down another street, and then another, until we found the crepe place the cook had mentioned. Hiei seemed to like the crepes, though I didn't get him the sweetest one on the menu (he wasn't the biggest fan of sweets, I'd learned, though he didn't hate them or anything, preferring when something acidic cut the sweetness; Yusuke was the real sugar fiend of our friend group). We sat outside on the curb to eat, consuming the baked goods in silence that wasn't… it wasn't bad, I guess. Hiei wasn't the silent statue fanfiction often made him out to be, but he still wasn't a man prone to pointless chatter, either, and in this moment, we both felt content to eat.

When we finished, however, I felt I had something to say.

"Sorry I've been skipping our meetings," I said.

Hiei looked at my askance, mid-bite and only mildly interested in what I had to say. In the past month I'd attended our meetings as scheduled, but I'd left early and skimmed library books during them, distracted by my Hiruko research. Wasn't sure if Hiei had noticed, though of course he'd noticed when I failed to show up at all. That had to count for something in this odd friendship of ours, I decided.

"Just… I've been busy." I shrugged, crumpling my crepe's wrapped in my fist. "But I think things are going to calm down a bit, so… meetings are back on, as scheduled."

Hiei harrumphed, took a bite, and chewed. "Good," he said once he swallowed. "You've been on the verge of implosion since we returned from the mountains."

I blinked, taken aback. "You noticed?"

"How could I _not?_ " he said, annoyance grating in his harsh voice. "Even when you show up to our meetings, you're a thousand miles away. It's not like you. It's irritating." Another bite, this one vicious, all gnashing teeth and clacking jaw. Through a full mouth he muttered, "You haven't even pestered me about my parting from Yukina."

Gently, carefully, I smoothed the edges of my gym shorts.

Gently, carefully, I kept a devious grin from appearing on my face.

Gently, carefully, I asked, "Do you _want_ me to pester you about your parting from Yukina?"

Hiei went stock-still, fingers tightening around his crepe.

"Because the fact that you brought it up," I oh-so-primly suggested, "makes it seem as though, perhaps, you _want_ me to pester you about your parting from Yukina."

His fist completely clenched, crepes smushing into paste under his hand. "Utter garbage," Hiei snarled.

"I can pester you about it if you want me to, Hiei," I said, face as innocent as a newborn lamb's. "I'd be happy to do that for you, if that's what you way."

"Don't be ridiculous." The crepe fell to pieces, pattering onto the pavement in a chocolatey shower. Hiei turned toward me with a glower that could melt stone, though under its glaring heat my angelic smile remained unmoved. "That is _not_ what I want _and you are perfectly aware of it_ , _Meigo_."

I lifted a hand. Placed it on his shoulder. Smiled at him as a mother might, with understanding and unconditional affection. His did a double take between my face and my hand as I very sweetly told him, "Any time you want to talk about your feelings, Hiei, please know that I am here for you—"

His face turned as crimson as the strawberries lying squished and uneaten on the ground below. _"Be quiet you annoying wench!"_ Hiei snarled, and in a flash of black and a rush of hot air he disappeared from sight.

I couldn't keep up the charade any longer. As soon as he disappeared, leaving my hand to clutch nothing but empty air, _I fucking lost it_. My head hung on a boneless neck between my knees as I guffawed, a rich and true belly laugh bubbling from my gut and between my lips, a cackle soaring after him into the dark of the night like—like a bird after a bug? Something. A metaphor escaped me, but surely it would involve an albatross.

"Love you, too, Hiei," I wheezed between my laughed. "See you next week, you little shit."

As I got up to walk home (and to pick up Hiei's litter), it occurred to me that this night—every last part of it, really—hadn't gone as expected. First my research had been interrupted, and then Amanuma had arrived, and then I'd had the frankest talk with Kurama yet, and then I'd been given the random support of Kuwabara, and the unexpected gift of laughter from Hiei had dumped itself onto my laugh… and that laughter was certainly the last thing I'd expected after such a harrowing evening.

The last thing I'd expected, but probably the thing I'd needed most.

Truth be told, each in their own way, all of the boys had come through for me that night. Yusuke had advised Kuwabara from a distance on how best to support me, and doubtless Yusuke had been behind the trip to the arcade in some form or fashion. Kurama had given me the strength I'd needed to make a hard decision, and a reminder of my principles when I had lost my perspective of them. Kuwabara had been there for me, too, a reminder that I was loved and valued in a dark moment, and of course Hiei had swooped in like a weird goth bat and made me laugh like a hyena, in his own way providing support he didn't know I needed.

None of them knew it, but these tiny gestures added up in enormous ways. Alone, I could only do so much, but with them behind me, I felt I could do anything. I only hoped that everything worked out, and that the choices they gave me the strength to make—the choices I made as Kei, and not merely as Keiko's replacement—turned out for the best. For all of us.

I could only hope that these early days were the painful, madcap strokes of a fledgling Monet, and that in the end they would come together to form a beautiful image coherent—and not a portrait of the havoc I feared my choice my wreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was… a clusterfuck. 10 hours in the car with my parents. They were less than pleasant ("People with mental illnesses are prone to violence and therefore we can't trust you anymore, Star Charter, since you recently disclosed your anxiety disorder to us," is about the gist of what they said—what a load of horse shit that was). This chapter is late because I was basically just too exhausted to function, let alone write. But here we are, and I hope you enjoyed what I managed to produce today.
> 
> Writing it was the best part of my weekend, hands down. Thanks for abiding the sort of fluffiness after last week, but it cheered me up, and that was nice.
> 
> These next few chapters are going to be a bit of a montage that show the passage of time leading up to the kick-off of the Dark Tournament, which canonically happens during Spring Break (late March in Japan). Stay tuned. I'm not interested in writing reams of filler but there are a few necessary scenes to cover before the Dark Tournament gets underway. Will endeavor to make them speedy.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented last week: Atsuyuri-sama, Not Quite a Morning Person, Angelfish 1214, Vinlala, fox lover, Sun Shark, musiquemer, Bastet the Writing Cat, Mage King 17!


	70. Happy Death Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK dispenses some advice and shows off her baking skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Japan, most schools have school on Saturday, but it's a half day devoted to homeroom stuff like cleaning (or so I've read). It's briefly mentioned here.
> 
> This contains a brief reference to a Japanese cryptid called a tsuchinoko, which is featured in Lucky Child's Inuyasha side-story crossover, Daughters of Destiny. So just know that NQK's little references to that are in regards to that story.

Like the subject of an impressionist painting, my new reality came into focus one brush stroke at a time.

The first image to swim into view took the form of Amanuma.

He became a fixture at the local arcade slowly, at first showing up twice a month, then once a week, then twice a week as time slipped by and fall turned decidedly to winter. Yusuke and Kuwabara enjoyed the kid, mostly because he represented a chance for them to show off—an audience for whom they could posture and pose, and one who provided them rapt attention and a constant source of wide-eyed (though he tried to hide it) fascination. Although we were only three years older than Amanuma, I'm sure we looked quite mature in his eyes. Teenagers always looked like adults when I was a kid (or they had in my past life, anyway) and I was certain the same held true for Amanuma. He certainly giggled and laughed at Yusuke and Kuwabara's antics with genuine glee, even if he followed that laughter with a snotty comment or two and then whupped the older boys' asses at video games. The boys took that in stride, though, and each of them was good at their respective games of choice (racing and platformers for Kuwabara, beat-em-ups and shooters for Yusuke), providing Amanuma with enough challenge to keep him interested during their weekly meetups.

I was there, too, but I wasn't good enough at any of the games to really factor in.

Not that they ignored me when I tagged along at the arcade, mind you. I came to the prescribed meetings as scheduled and was greeted warmly—but mostly by Kuwabara and Yusuke. Amanuma eyed me askance most days, calling me the formal "Yukimura" instead of my given name, and addressed Yusuke and Kuwabara more than he did me. I understood why. That first night, when we'd met, I hadn't been the most social or affable of people. It was no wonder he was more drawn to the exuberant Yusuke and Kuwabara, who were better at arcade games, besides. And when Kurama came around (maybe only twice a month, friendly but not oppressive, likely to maintain some degree of distance between himself and the child he might someday be forced to slay), Amanuma went nuts. Kurama was _brilliant_ at puzzle and strategy games, and when Amanuma had all three of the older boys in attendance, he looked happy as a clam. Far happier than when it was just me around.

Plus, they were _dudes_.

Amanuma was 11. Mature for his age, sure, but still: 11 years old. Something told me he wasn't quite sure girls did not, in fact, carry cooties (nor that cooties were just made up and couldn't actually kill him if he touched a girl). He was never mean to me or anything, but he just wasn't _warm_. It was easier for him to look up to the boys, who welcomed him with open arms, and to merely tolerate me, who had been standoffish toward him at first blush. Kid was lonely, after all. Why would he risk cozying up to me when I'd been cold toward him? He wasn't the type to risk rejection like that, or so it seemed to me.

Part of me was happy about his apparent decision to keep his distance, frankly. Much though I had resolved to cure Amanuma's loneliness, I had likewise decided to let Yusuke and Kuwabara take point on said intervention, watch from afar while they befriended the lonely little boy and keep myself mostly out of it, an observer as opposed to active participant. Amanuma wasn't _not_ a fan of mine, but we weren't super-duper buddies, either, and that felt comfortable to me.

Too bad for me, my albatross tendencies are hard to keep in check.

Especially when I find myself alone with terminally lonely little boys.

One Saturday in late November, I headed over to the arcade alone after my half day at school. Kurama and I had parted at the school gate (he had promised to go grocery shopping with his mother and would be skipping this arcade venture) and I made my way to the arcade alone. The rest of the boys would be meeting me there.

And the boys were late—two of them, anyway. And the most inconvenient two of the bunch, at that.

I found Amanuma standing by a racing game, idly dropping coins from one hand into the other in a clinking silver stream. He saw me from the corner of his eye and turned, not quite able to keep his face from falling. I raised one hand in an awkward wave, hoping the blinking multicolored lights of the surrounding games would cover the anxiety most certainly etched into my features. "Hey," I said—and as the word left my mouth, and as I noticed that look in his eye, I realized the reason for his expression. I took a deep breath; the arcade was warmer than the cold day outside, air perfumed with the scent of carpeting and the singed filaments of hot video games. "So they're not here yet, huh?"

"No." Amanuma shifted from sneaker to sneaker, his mop of hair not quite hiding his searching eyes. "Haven't seen 'em."

No wonder he'd looked disappointed when I walked up alone. I tried on a conciliatory smile, but his expression didn't change. "Running late, I'm guessing. Probably had to clean the bathrooms or something." I rolled my eyes. "Extra chore for cutting up in class, knowing them."

"Oh. Well." He looked only slightly placated, but nevertheless he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Wanna play Street Fighter?"

"Sure."

It was awkward, just the two of us, but I let Amanuma take the lead as I secretly wished all manner of unpleasantness onto Yusuke for putting me through this hell. We queued up the game and chose our characters before pummeling the crap out of each other, and of course Amanuma got the better of me in minutes. I got the sense he was even going easy on me; he looked less than pleased by my performance, tiny face barely clearing the top of the game's control panel, frown turning down the corners of his small mouth.

"You're good at blocking," he observed as he fed more coins into the machine, "but you really need to learn better combos. Watch how I—"

The kid had good sportsmanship; I'll give him that much. He taught me a few combos during our next round, not bothering to hit my character and letting me attack him to get a feel for stringing hits together. Amanuma _liked_ being challenged, and he didn't see the point in playing a game that ended in an easy win. Made sense why he liked Sensui, who was good at games, and why he'd taken a shine to Yusuke, Kuwabara, and Kurama, who could give him a good show if they chose the right game. Me, though? I stood zero chance at beating him at… well, anything.

As Amanuma beat my character to a pulp, however, looking satisfied when I managed to pop off a round of combos he'd taught me, I found myself smiling. Normally I was rather competitive. Normally it would bother me to play a game I knew full well I'd lose—but for reasons I couldn't quite put my finger on, I didn't mind so much just then.

"Say, Amanuma."

As the victory screen played, declaring him the winner of the round, he glanced up. "Hmm?"

"Sorry I'm not very good at this."

He looked back at the screen with a shrug. "It's OK. I'm used to it." A countdown began, signaling the start of the next round. "Not too many people can really challenge me, anyway."

"Is that so?" I said. "I think I remember you saying you had a friend who could."

He didn't take his eyes off the screen; the round had begun, and he maneuvered his character swiftly into striking distance. "A friend who could…?" he asked.

"A friend who could challenge you—oh, wait, _dangit!_ "

The conversation had to stop—not because of Amanuma, who could have easily kept talking while playing, but because I couldn't keep up the dialogue when my hands were busy on the controls. Incapable of walking and chewing gum at the same time, that's me. Amanuma won the series of battles (of course he did) but after his earlier instructions, the score this time around wasn't as pitiful to behold. I barely noticed, though, even if Amanuma looked at it with undisguised pride.

"The day we first ran into you, you said you were meeting someone who was good at games, and then he ditched," I said. "Whatever happened to him, anyway?"

Amanuma frowned, leaning an elbow against the Street Fighter console. "You remember that?" he said, face screwing up in consternation.

I tapped my temple with a knuckle. "I've got a weird memory. Can't remember anything I've got planned this week without my day planner, but I could probably remember what you ordered for dinner that night we met."

It wasn't a bluff—I had a shit head for dates and appointments but a strong biographical memory, an attention to little details like meals and outfits and snippets of past dialogue. Drove my past life family and friends nuts, though remembering what I'd worn when I met someone was a nice party trick. Amanuma certainly seemed to think so.

"Really?" He looked interested in something I had to say, for once, almost eager when he asked, "What did I order?"

"Let's see…" I thought about it, hand on my chin. I ventured, "Buckwheat noodles and pork belly?"

His face screwed up as he tried to recall the meal—and then his eyes popped wide. "Hey, I think that's right!" he said. "That's _cool!_ "

"Glad you think so." I nodded back at the game. "Another round?"

"Sure."

It was a shame the conversation had drifted, I thought, and that steering it back toward Sensui would look too pointed and suspicious, but I figured there would be more moments to go fishing. I concentrated on the game, trying to give Amanuma a decent fight even if I knew he'd win in the end—and perhaps the universe rewarded me for that show of good faith, because as punches flew and combos stacked, Amanuma drew in a deep breath at my side.

"He, uh… I haven't seen him," he said.

The sound of flying fists and aggressive music nearly rendered his words inaudible; my distracted brain could only manage to force an eloquent "Eh?" from between my clenched teeth.

"That friend," Amanuma said. His hands on the joystick and buttons didn't pause even an instant. "I haven't seen him."

I didn't react, aside from my fingers going rigid on the console. Amanuma's chin ducked toward his chest as his character on screen delivered an enormous blow, reducing my character's HP bar to nothing. Victory music, tinny and electric, rang through buzzing speakers like rain through a glutted gutter.

"Guess he wasn't a friend, after all." His eyes vanished beneath the shade of his brown hair. "Not that I'd know."

"Amanuma," I said. "Do you—?"

"Oh, look. Time Crisis is free." He turned on his heel and walked away. "Let's play that now."

Without a word, I followed.

Time Crisis had a tag-team mode; we played that, Amanuma taking pity on me instead of beating me into the dirt again. Good thing, too, because I surely would've been killed in two seconds flat again had I'd gone up against someone as skilled as him, given what he'd muttered under his breath just minutes before—not that he'd meant for me _not_ to hear what he'd muttered, of course. His last comment had been one of those pointed things kids say to get your attention, wanting you to pry but scared of what'll happen when you do, hence him running away as soon as I'd tried to talk him. A cry for help, though he'd never admit it. It was almost cute—but knowing the root cause of it was heartbreaking.

Heartbreaking, and infuriating.

Dammit, Sensui. You were such an asshole, weren't you?

As Amanuma and I shot enemies onscreen using controllers shaped like plastic firearms, Amanuma favoring the pistol while I used a shotgun, I pretended each opponent bore Sensui's smug face. Amanuma was probably wondering why his friend, _his super cool adult friend Sensui,_ had all of a sudden abandoned him. Had probably assumed he did something wrong and drove his super cool friend away. Had probably internalized his super cool adult friend Sensui's rejection in recent weeks and taken it personally, letting it chip away at his self-esteem until he wondered if he was worth being friends with at all.

Sensui had preyed on the kid's loneliness, and if I had to bet, he'd done a bang-up job sending that loneliness into overdrive, too, with this disappearing act of his.

No wonder Amanuma had wanted to be friends with Yusuke and company so badly in recent weeks, in that case—and the irony was that we were probably the reason Sensui had rejected Amanuma in the first place, if indeed Sensui had rejected the kid wholesale. We were the cause of his present loneliness as much as we were the cure for it.

As I shot another enemy, and then another, each blast ricocheting like thunder in my ears, I imagined Sensui's dick-ass face (cartoon version; I hadn't seen the flesh and blood version yet) saying, "Well, seems the kid has friends; guess he's worthless to me now." And then he trotted off atop his ridiculously long legs and into the dark of my imagination with a dramatically evil laugh.

"Dick," I muttered to myself, shooting an enemy with vengeful gusto. "Fucking _dick_."

Beside me, Amanuma gasped. I shot him an apologetic smile, but he looked… pleased. Like he hadn't known a girl could curse, maybe, and he began to fire upon the Time Crisis opponents with renewed vigor.

As I returned my attention to the game, I warned myself that it was too early to tell. Sensui might just be busy. Or this could be a plot to make Amanuma lonelier, and then Sensui would reappear and Amanuma would feel grateful to have a friend again (thought joke's on Sensui; we were here now). Whatever the reason for his absence, Sensui might resurface and try to recruit Amanuma… but the fact remained that if we made the kid less lonely, he'd be less easy for Sensui to recruit. And maybe Sensui wouldn't even bother trying to recruit him if the kid became too much effort.

Or maybe he'd just show Amanuma Chapter Black and call it a day. And who's to say if the tactic would or wouldn't work, Amanuma having friends as he now did? We could only be there for Amanuma when it happened. _If_ it happened. That's what friends are for.

… did Amanuma know that, though?

We cleared the battlefield in good time; Amanuma made it onto the first page of leaderboards (of course) and I somehow made it onto the fourth. Amanuma laughed as we shot our names onto the screen, beaming at me with the warmest look I think he'd ever given me.

"Y'know," he said, favoring me with new respect, "you're actually a pretty good shot."

"You sound surprised," I said as I holstered the game's replica firearm.

"I mean, _yeah_." Even though he laughed at me I couldn't find it within myself to feel insulted. Giggling, he said, "You're not very good at most of this stuff."

"Well, I like turn-based RPGs more than anything."

"And shooters," he observed.

"Some of them." Only the ones with a fake firearm like this, which made it easy to aim; reminded me of shooting actual guns in my past life, which I'd been pretty good at. Seems muscle memory transcended time and space, but since I couldn't explain that to Amanuma, I pointed over his shoulder toward the edge of the arcade. "Hey, you want some cocoa? My treat."

His eyes lit up, and he scampered off ahead of me with a delighted cry of, "All right!"

They'd built a tiny café onto the arcade. It wasn't much, basically a coffee shop with some premade snacks and a seating area in case kids wanted to hang out with their drinks. We grabbed a table after we got our cocoa and sat near the front, up by the windows facing the street near the arcade doors. Every now and again the automatic doors whooshed open, letting in a blast of wintry air; we bundled up in our various scarves and coats and settled in, Amanuma chattering about nothing and everything while we sipped our drinks. He had a way of filling the silence, this kid, especially when there were video games in eyesight he could riff off of.

Eventually, though, he had to pause for breath, and to take a big drink of his cocoa.

That was my moment, and I took it.

"At the risk of being a buzzkill, can I say something kind of serious?"

He looked at me over the rim of his cup, enormous eyes confused below a knit brow. Slowly he lowered his drink, licking his lips to clear the whipped cream from his chin. A teeny bit of foam clung to his cheek; he didn't appear to notice. "Uh. I guess?"

"Adults don't need help from kids."

He put down his cup, nonplussed. "What's _that_ mean?"

"If an adult tells you they need your help, and only you can help them, they're full of shit." Amanuma balked at my profanity again, but I soldiered on, unblinking and sincere. "There's no reason an adult should need the help of a little kid."

"There's no reason…?" he said, mystified.

"Now, if they're pinned under a fallen tree and they're asking you to call 911, that's one thing. In that case, they're just a person in need asking the nearest human being for assistance." I lifted a finger into the air. "But, if an adult tells a kid they need them to keep a secret to help them, or something like that? If they say that kid is the _only person in the world_ who can help that adult with something?" I tapped the finger on the table, nail clicking loudly against wood. "It's shady. They should be asking another grownup for help, not a kid in elementary school." I drew back the hand, wrapping it around my cup of cocoa. "An adult like that isn't your friend. My grandma told me that a long time ago." I took a prolonged drink of my hot chocolate, sweet and bitter and warm. "It's good advice, and I wanted to pass it along."

Amanuma didn't react at first. Not that I blame him. My comments came out of nowhere, in his eyes. I sipped my drink while the wheels turned in his head, watching as the light dawned in his eyes. He was smart, this kid. He connected the dots fast enough.

"You think that friend of mind, the one who ditched me… you think he was shady?" he asked after about a minute, eyes narrowed with equal parts confusion and suspicion.

I shrugged. "Who's to say?" I took another drink. "But I definitely think it's weird for an adult to want to be friends with a little kid."

Amanuma bristled. "I'm _not_ just a little kid."

"I agree," I was quick to assure him. "You're not 'just' anything. But you _are_ 11, and that makes you a little kid—and there's nothing wrong with that." The agitation in his eyes dimmed somewhat, though confusion remained in its wake. "The problem isn't with you. The problem is that adults should be hanging out with other adults in their spare time, not befriending random kids on the street." Yet another shrug. "If an adult can't make friends with people their own age, that's worth noticing."

It took a minute, but eventually he saw my point. "I mean. I guess?" He slumped a little in his seat. "Just…"

"Just what?"

"Why?" He peered up at me from beneath his mop of light brown hair. "Why are you telling me this?"

Amanuma, for all the machinations of fate that hinged upon him, was still just exactly what he was: a kid. A regular, ordinary kid. And he had never looked more like one than he did in that moment. A smile pulled at my lips, though I held it mostly at bay. Didn't want Amanuma to think I was patronizing him.

"Yusuke has a nickname for me," I said, shrugging again. "Calls me an 'albatross.'" I held out my hands on either side of my, hands flapping, but he didn't laugh at the silly posture. "I like to take care of people, sort of shield them under my wings."

Amanuma's head tilted to the side. "I don't get it."

I sighed and let my hands fall. Reaching for a napkin, I gestured for him to lean toward me. When he did, I blotted the dot of whipped cream off his face.

"It means I'm an _onee-san_ ," I said, "and that means I have to watch out for you."

For a second, he didn't get it—but then his cheeks went pink. He batted my hand away and ducked his face to the floor and wouldn't look at me. He didn't say anything, sitting utterly still across from me. I'd begun to fear I'd overstepped, maybe pushed a bit too hard, when his chin lifted just the slightest fraction.

"I thought you didn't like me very much," he said.

He said it in a voice like the hinge of a toy chest in need of grease, or maybe a kitten in need of warmth—squeaking and tiny, desperate and small, in want of attention as much as it was affection. My heart almost imploded at the sound, and it was all I could do to sigh and wince.

"I wasn't the warmest toward you the night we met, was I?" I muttered. "I'm sorry, Amanuma. That was rude of me. Will you forgive me?"

His chin jerked up. He looked startled—startled I acknowledged my behavior, and even more startled I apologized, probably. Wasn't often kids received apologies. I'd lived too many childhoods to not have learned that lesson.

"I'd like to be friends, if you're game," I said, and I stretched out a hand.

He hesitated. Watched the hand as if waiting for me to think better of the offer and retract it, get up from the table and walk away.

I didn't walk away.

Eventually, he took the hand.

"I'm game," Amanuma said, and though his voice still sounded small, that squeaking desperation had eased.

I grinned at him. "Well, alrighty then. So." I sat back in my seat, drained the rest of my hot chocolate, and set the cup to onto the table with a clatter. "Before the rest of them get here and start telling fart jokes, why don't we play catchup. Tell me about yourself."

The direct question had him all shy again, I think, or maybe he'd remembered I was a girl. He fidgeted and looked away with a stammer of, "I don't know what to say."

"Oh, y'know. Just start with the basics." I affected a breezy tone and counted options on my fingers. "Hopes, fears, deep dark secrets. That sort of thing." When he didn't reply I leaned forward until I caught his eye, at which point I gave him my most charming smile. "Dreams for the future, perhaps?"

I think he tried to look away, but the eye contact held him fast. There's something about eye contact that makes the rest of the world drop away sometimes, drowns out everything but that frozen moment in time shared between two people—and under my gaze Amanuma froze. His mouth worked. He swallowed.

"I—I wish I had more friends," he whispered.

And for a moment the world fell away for me, too, at such a vulnerable admission—but over his shoulder through the window I saw bright smudges of blue and green, and the world rushed back in to greet me. I smelled cocoa and carpet and burned electronics, heard the bells and pings of arcade games, felt the cold air against my skin as the doors swung open and two teenage boys walked inside.

"I think your wish might be coming true," I said, and I pointed at Yusuke and Kuwabara.

Amanuma ran to meet them when they called his name, eyes like fireworks against his freckled skin. Watching him bolt in their direction, happy and excited, made me feel… well. Happy and excited, I supposed, his emotions a mirror of my own. He wanted so little in life. Hopefully we could give it to him—and hopefully that asshole Sensui would have a harder time getting claws into him now. Rising, I gathered up mine and Amanuma's abandoned cocoa cups and threw them away, wiping down our table with a napkin and pushing in our chairs before heading over to join the boys. Yusuke had Amanuma in a headlock, ruffling the kid's hair and teasing him about something, and I was about to make a snarky comment when I noticed him.

"Hey, Kuwabara?" I said.

He flinched, coming back to himself as if the sound of his name had scared him—but then he swung his face back toward the arcade doors again, staring out them with the same frown he'd been wearing earlier. I peered out the doors, too, but saw nothing but sidewalk. A few people meandered down it, but I didn't see any demons (not that I was capable of seeing such, but still).

"What are you looking at?" I asked, and when he did not reply, I waved a hand in front of his face. "Hey. Earth to Kuwabara. You with us?"

He flinched again. "Huh?" Saw it was me and smiled. "Oh, yeah. Sorry."

"You OK?"

"Yeah, fine. It's nothin'." He grinned. "Just seein' things, that's all."

Hands alit on my sleeve before I could press for details. "Keiko, Keiko! Can you show me those combos on the Sailor V game now?"

It was Amanuma, of course, hanging on my arm and giving me puppy eyes. "Sure thing, kiddo," I said, helpless to resist those eyes and his sudden use of my given name, and I let him pull me into the arcade.

* * *

As the air grew colder and the seasons changed, Yusuke resumed his cases for Spirit World.

Nothing major like the rescue of Yukina or the assault on the castle of the Saint Beasts, of course. These were the small cases of before, rogue spirits and minor demons making trouble for the mundane humans who could not see them or defend themselves from supernatural chicanery. Nothing Yusuke couldn't handle, of course, especially with Botan at his side providing assistance and the wealth of knowledge she'd accumulated during years as a ferry girl. The pair of them greeted each new case eagerly (though with much kvetching on Yusuke's part), every assignment given by Ayame tackled with precision and efficiency… if not a little property damage.

This was Yusuke, after all. His methods were, in a word, unorthodox.

I rarely helped out with the missions. My role was to deliver the dossiers and intel, not to fight the ghosts and demons I couldn't even see. Every week I met with Ayame to collect mission briefings from her and to update her on the statuses of the various charges placed under my care, and every week went much the same way in light of this. She'd give me the paperwork, I'd give her mine in return, and we'd part ways without incident—much the same as it had been before Yukina's rescue.

I had been worried about things changing after that mission, truth be told. My trip with Hiei hadn't exactly been sanctioned by Spirit World. Frankly I'd wondered if Ayame knew about the trip, because surely Spirit World would be mad if they found out I'd interfered, but one snide comment (delivered with her trademark subtle smile) was all Ayame said on the matter.

"You're looking well, these days," she'd said, out of the blue during one of our meetings.

To which I'd replied with a very articulate, "Hmm?"

And she'd said, "Perhaps that fresh mountain air did you some good, after all."

And she gave me her best smirky-smirk and yeah, she _definitely_ knew I went up to the mountains with Hiei, though why she wasn't mad about it I couldn't really say.

Not that I minded, of course. I was still doing research into Hiruko (and Spirit World-slash-mythology of the world at large by extension) so I really didn't need Spirit World on my case just then. Lying low was top priority, so far as I was concerned.

One day in early December, I woke up per my usual routine and looked at my month-at-a-glance calendar, scanning the color-coded days and the litany of appointments, due dates, and times marked in colorful inks across the boxes representing each day of the week. The days were all marked and coded for ease of reference—a "Keiko-ism" I'd picked up in this life and from Keiko's brain, because I sure as hell hadn't been quite so organized in my former one. I'd been an absolute train wreck when it came to keeping track of appointments in my past. Now, though, Keiko's color coding made keeping up with my appointments easy. Purple days were Hiei parole days; yellow represented _aikido_ ; green delineated a meeting with Kurama; red marked a meeting with Ayame. Today, it seemed, was a red day. I was to meet Ayame before school in that clearing in the woods, where she might just give me a new file-folder containing Yusuke's newest case. Normal. A very normal day, marked like so many others.

The day after it, however?

It was quite unlike any of the others.

It was outlined in heavy black ink, for one thing, edges like a grave dug deep into dark soil. I knew, even without looking, that it was the only day like it in the entire calendar. I'd marked it down when I got the calendar fresh at the beginning of the year, carefully embossing the edges of the date with that heavy darkness.

I'd been waiting for that day for an entire year.

Ayame seemed quite unconcerned, however, even when I brought it up.

"So, uh… auspicious week, huh?" I said as she handed me the latest case file.

One finely arched brow lifted. "What are you talking about?" she said.

I stared at her—and realized she had no idea. "Never mind," I said, stuffing the file under my coat.

Ayame watched me leave the clearing without a word, puzzlement etched into her porcelain face like scrimshaw.

It felt odd, to me, that she didn't seem to realize what tomorrow was. Was this just not a big deal to her? I went to the grocery store after school and wondered if I was the only one who remembered, perusing the baking aisle with a scowl. Chocolate, corn syrup, gelatin… as I tried to recall recipes I'd seen on Pinterest 15 years prior, I hoped that I wasn't making this damn cake for nothing, and that I wasn't going to make a damn fool out of myself for no reason.

But we'd see soon enough, wouldn't we?

After dropping my stuff off at home, I headed for Yusuke's apartment with the case file. Botan greeted me at the door like she usually did, because Yusuke was too lazy to get off his ass and stop playing Dragon Quest long enough to answer the dang doorbell. He lay on the floor of his bedroom with controller in hand, sprawled out on his stomach like a crawling starfish; I stepped over him and sat crosslegged on his bed, passing the folder to Botan when she sat next to me. She scanned its contents and let out a giggle.

"Ooh, Yusuke," she said, "you're going to _love_ this!"

He eyed her askance before heaving a dramatic sigh and pausing his game, flopping down next to her on the bed so he could peer over her shoulder at the case. His eyes bugged out of his skull a second later. "No way! Those are real?" he yelled, snatching the folder from her.

I frowned and leaned backward, around Botan, so I could see the apparently real _whatevers_ , but Yusuke jerked away and stuck out his tongue. "Are what real?" I asked, annoyed.

Botan grabbed the file back and held it out to me. "Tsuchinokos," she said—but she didn't need to.

I recognized the illustration of the small, flat, snakelike creature with the pointed tail at the bottom of the page on sight. Hard not to. I'd spent quite a lot of time dealing with those annoying little fuckers during a certain trip to the past with a certain friend of mine not too long prior, though Yusuke and Botan did not need to know that.

Keep a straight face, girl. Keep a straight face.

While I tried very, _very_ hard not to look like one of those viral dog videos (you know the ones—the dog who tears apart the couch and then looks super guilty about it while hiding in a corner) Botan explained that a couple of mischievous tsuchinokos, or Japanese snake cryptids, were causing a ruckus at a campground south of the city, and Yusuke would need to catch them and release them somewhere in the wilderness. Genkai's temple was a safe bet, though we should probably call and ask permission first.

"These aren't spiritual beings, Keiko, though they _can_ talk," Botan said, and at that her eyes lit up. "Say! You could help us with this case if you'd like!"

"I'll pass, thanks," I was quick to say, and when Botan looked disappointed I barely felt badly at all—and when Yusuke said something about getting a move on and heading for that campground, I felt relieved at our visit getting cut short. No sense chancing my bad poker face giving me away. I walked with Botan and Yusuke out of the apartment complex and down the street to the corner, but as we were about to part ways I put a hand on Yusuke's arms.

"Would you mind swinging by my place after school tomorrow?" I asked. "Need to talk to you about something."

While Yusuke frowned, Botan asked, "Is everything all right, Keiko?"

"Everything's hunky dory, Botan." I smiled up at Yusuke. "Just have a little something to give him, that's all."

His frown vanished. "Give me? Am I getting a present?"

"May-be."

"Heh, all right!" He chucked my arm with his fist. "You buried the lede on that one, Keiko. I'll be there if I'm getting a present!" But his eyes narrowed when something occurred to him. "Though what's the occasion?"

So even Yusuke had forgotten, it seemed. Shrugging after a moment's stunned pause, I decided to keep him in suspense. "You'll see when you get there, I guess."

"Heh." He tossed his hair, grinning. "You're lucky I like surprises, Grandma."

Botan glowered at him. "He means 'thank you.' And I'll be sure he doesn't forget to stop by, Keiko, whatever this is about."

And that told me Botan had forgotten, too—which meant I was probably making a big deal out of nothing.

… but that's just who I am as a person, I guess, and I really shouldn't have been surprised.

* * *

Yusuke showed up late the next day, as I thought he would, and I greeted him at the door carrying a white cardboard box and two forks. He knew what that meant, eyes brightening at the sight. "Have I ever mentioned I love it when you bake?" he said.

"On occasion." I jerked my head toward the stairs. "Our spot?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

I'd baked the cake the night before, after he'd run off to capture and relocate the rogue tsuchinokos, and my 15-year-old-Pinterest-inspired cake venture had turned out exactly as planned—good thing, too, because I'd had a very particular vision for this cake, not that Yusuke knew that. We climbed out my bedroom window and got settled on the roof, a spare comforter from the hall closet draped around us for warmth in the cold night air. We had enough light to see by thanks to my bedroom window and one of the building's nearby exterior lights, and before us stretched the lights of the city like a field of fallen stars. Very pretty scenery, as always, though I hoped the contents of the cake box would be the true star tonight.

Yusuke emitted a gleeful chuckle as he reached for the box in my hands, but I held it out of his reach with a tut.

"Not so fast," I said. "There's an occasion, remember?"

"Right, right," he grumbled. "Well, get to it, I'm hungry."

"Right. OK." I put the cake on my knees and sat up straight, centering myself and clearing my throat. Looking Yusuke in the eye, I asked: "Do you know what today is?"

He thought about it. "Thursday?"

"… it's Tuesday. "

"Oh. Uh." He snapped his fingers. "Arbor Day."

" _Hell_ no."

"The 7th?"

"It's Tuesday, December 3, with no holidays to speak of."

Yusuke threw up his hands with a wordless cry of frustration. "Then what's the freaking occasion?" he groused. "Seriously, Keiko, you drag me all the way up here and then you dangle cake in front of me and then you—"

"One year ago today, you were hit by a car."

Yusuke stilled, hands still aloft. I waited a beat, letting the words sink in as a chill breeze gusted past. It ruffled Yusuke's hair, disturbing the gelled mass like the hand of a doting father.

"One year ago today, you were hit by car, and you died," I repeated with utter gravity—and I let my eyes go misty.

I told him: "It was the best damn day of my life."

Yusuke didn't move for a second—and then he was on his knees, staring at me with mouth agape. "It was _what?!"_ he yodeled, hands flexing like he wanted to wrap them around my neck.

"You heard me," I said, affecting a dreamy sigh. "Best damn day of my life." I leaned back on an elbow and gazed skyward, reminiscing. "No more Yusuke to deal with, I thought? No more chasing around that loser, making sure he turns in his homework on time?" At that I let myself get a little worked up, member of a gospel choir singing praises to the lord. "Goodness gracious, great balls of fire, praise Jesus, hallelujah! Truly, my life begins this day!" Settling down again, I rolled my eyes. "And sure, your mom was having a breakdown on the floor next to me while I celebrated, but that was a small price to pay for freedom."

Yusuke turned redder and redder with every word I spoke, and when I stopped talking he snatched the cake box off my lap and wrenched it open. "Keiko, you asshole, this cake had better have an apology written in— _why the fuck is this cake shaped like a goddamn coffin?!"_

And with that, I absolutely lost it.

Yusuke stared at the cake in abject shock, jaw hanging loose, eyes moving between the coffin-shaped cake and the cackling puddle-person I'd become in horrified turns. It was impossible for me to keep a straight face when I could see the mirror-glazed cake made to look like the glossy wood grain of a mahogany coffin sitting innocently in its box—and oh, Yusuke's _face!_ He had not been expecting this, and his complete lack of comprehension was absolutely delicious. Helplessly I lay on the roof's cold shingles, giggling until tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, every breath hitching in my chest until my diaphragm began to bounce and spasm with helpless hiccups.

"Really, Keiko? _Really?_ " he said, utterly deadpan once he recovered a little. "A coffin?"

I could do nothing more than lay there and laugh-cry. Yusuke rolled his eyes. Looked a little more closely at the cake. Did a double-take and squinted.

"Wait. Does this say 'Happy Death Day' on it?" he said. He stared at me as if I'd sprouted a second head resembling Steve Buscemi. "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It's—it's the exact opposite of a birthday. It's a death day," I said, eyes streaming, words almost unintelligible for my hiccups. "So I thought—so I thought, for a death day, a coffin-shaped cake—"

But I couldn't talk for laughing, and Yusuke was glaring at me so hard I thought I might burst into flames, and I started laughing harder. He grumbled and grabbed a fork, taking a bite directly from the center of the cake.

"Don't pull a muscle, Grandma," he said as I kept giggling. Another bite, bigger this time. "Well, if I'm going to be insulted, I might as well eat cake at the same time." A third bite, cheeks packed to bursting with dark chocolate sponge, crumbs dotting his chin like the stubble of a beard. "Can't believe I came all this way just so you could play a stupid prank like this…"

The laughter in my chest—it died.

"You know why I don't get mad when you call me 'grandma?'" I said.

I didn't sit up when I said it. I just lay there, sprawled on the roof atop that ratty old comforter we'd pulled down from the hall closet, tears leaving cold tracks on my stinging cheeks. Yusuke looked me over with a frown, cheeks squirrel-like in their fullness. "Hm?" he said, shoveling down another bite.

"It's because if I'm your grandma, that means I'm family."

Yusuke—fork halfway to his mouth—put down the cake.

"We have fun fucking with each other, Yusuke," I said. My voice sounded as soft as chocolate cake in the winter dark, sweet and rich even to my ears as I smiled. "And I know you think I'm kidding, but the day you died really was the best day of my life."

He glared again. "That's _not_ comforting, you old hag."

"It was the best day of my life because that night you came to me in a dream and said you were _coming back_." My smile didn't widen, but it deepened, and that isn't the same thing. "How could it possibly count as a bad day, in light of that?"

Yusuke stared at me. He looked away, turning his face from mine. Took another bite of cake. "Don't say such mushy crap," he said, voice thick—though from cake or emotion, I can't say for sure. He held the spare fork in my direction. "Eat, so you'll stop talking."

It was as close to a 'thanks' as I'd probably get, and I didn't want to push my luck, so I took the fork and scooted close, wrapping the comforter around us as the wind tried to knock us off the roof. A big bite of cake found its way into my mouth, moist and rich and delicious, buttercream holding together layers of sponge enveloped in fondant, more buttercream, and mirror glaze. I chewed and swallowed, pointing at the cake with my fork all the while.

"Damn," I said through my mostly full mouth. "I did _good_."

"You did, actually," Yusuke grudgingly admitted. His voice turned wicked. "I'm not saving any for Botan."

"Heh. I made an extra cake because I knew you'd say that."

He blinked at me. "You _didn't_."

"I _did."_

"Damn. You know me too well." His lips quirked. "But I guess that's family for you." And then he turned beet red and spun away from me atop the roof's slick shingles. "So. Uh. What'd you say today's date was?"

"The third."

"November?"

"December, you absolute walnut."

"Hey, _you're_ the walnut." I couldn't see what he was doing, but the comforter shifted and I heard an odd scraping sound coming from Yusuke's other side, just out of sight. "You said today's Tuesday, but I definitely died on a Monday." He shot me a baleful look over his shoulder. "I'd remember. I _hate_ Mondays."

And thus I found myself gearing up to explain how the Gregorian calendar works, breathing deep both to calm my nerves and to fuel what was sure to be a very long rant. "Yeah, but the day of the week shifts every year and stuff, so even if you died on a Monday that doesn't mean that this year the third will be on a—what the _hell_ are you doing?"

A long, loud screeching noise had interrupted my lecture, like nails on a chalkboard only worse. I set the coffin-cake aside and rose to my knees, leaning against Yusuke's back so I could peer over his shoulder at—at whatever it was he was doing, because I really wasn't sure. He had clutched the metal fork I'd given him to eat cake with in his hand and was digging it into the roof, scratching away at it in short, hard strokes. He moved to block his handiwork before I could view it, though, brushing the comforter across it with a glare.

"I'm commensurating," he informed me.

"… do you mean _commemorating_?"

"Yeah, that."

"But what are you—?"

He shrugged, pushing me off of him with a growl. "Just gimme a minute, jeez! You'll see!"

I did as he asked, watching as he hunched and pulled the comforter over his head to shield his efforts from the world. After about a minute I slowly reached for the cake and started munching. It took about three minutes of various scratchings and scrapings and frustrated mutterings for him to finish, and then he burst forth from beneath the blanket with a triumphant bellow of "Tah-dah!", face brick red from heat and exertion. I was on my knees again in seconds, cake quite forgotten, bracing my hands on his shoulders for purchase as I squinted down at what he'd carved into the shingles with his dessert fork.

Yusuke, it turns out, had written his own epitaph.

> **RIP Urameshi Yusuke**
> 
> **March 26 1977 - Dec. 3 1990**
> 
> **survived by his Grandma**
> 
> **badasses till the bitter end**

I stared at it in silence until Yusuke covered my hand with his own and squeezed. He had cake on his chin and lint in his disheveled hair and in that moment he had never looked quite so alive. My zombie boy, the closest thing to a brother I had ever had, my _Yusuke_ —he looked up me with his most insouciant of grins, probably unaware of just how happy I was to celebrate his death day with minor property damage and a cake shaped like a goddamn coffin, because it was in Yusuke's nature not to realize his worth until his visited his own funeral. Or in this case, his Death Day celebration, coffin-shaped cake and all.

"Happy Death Day to me, right?" he said, squeezing my hand again.

I pressed my face into his neck and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

"Happy Death Day to you, buddy," I said against his skin—and he was kind enough to let me hold him like that for just a little while.

And then he squirmed out of my arms like a feral cat and smeared cake across my nose, because he's _Yusuke_ , and I would take him in no other fashion or form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to work through lunch a lot this week and lost crucial writing time as a result. When I post late, I usually always mention it on my Tumblr, so follow me there for news when the chapters seem delayed. Thanks!
> 
> Next time on Lucky Child: Kurama makes a surprising request and NQK has to be on her best behavior. MYSTERIOUS. Stay tuned as we cover all the small scenes and fill up the months between now and the Dark Tournament…
> 
> ALSO: I started a new fanfic for the revered anime series Cowboy Bebop, which is my VERY CLOSE SECOND FAVORITE ANIME SERIES after YYH (it's my all-time favorite in terms of animation style/quality, music, and writing, but YYH has that nostalgia factor that gives it an edge). Anyway, turns out the CB fandom is… uh… desolate? Desiccated? Decimated? There are a handful of active authors, even fewer readers, so if you feel compelled to check out that story, it would be reeeaaally coooool. LOL. I'm quite in love with the story's premise and I'm excited to delve deeper into it, so if you're looking for a story that combines action with science fiction, romance, jazz and blues, humor, and a whole lot of angst (BECAUSE IT'S MEEEEE, ahem) then you might like it.
> 
> And if you haven't seen Cowboy Bebop itself… you should. You really, really should. It's a classic for a reason. I'd like to think the fic is readable without having seen the show, but IDK if that's true, so go give Bebop a watch. You'll be glad you did, whether or not you read my fic notwithstanding.
> 
> Many effusive thanks to all of you who came out and reviewed last week. YOU DA BEST. Churning out chapters every week is a ton of fun, and it's super gratifying to know you're out there reading. Writing can get lonely, truth be told, but you make this process anything but. Till next time, and thanks so much again: MageKing17, Dreese5581, Bastet the Writing Cat, brawltogethernow, Unctuous, Atsuyuri-sama, dartuche, Lala the Fox, vinlala, gloss my eyes, Not Quite a Morning Person, Tactile, Eternalevecho, Sdelacruz, Just 2 Dream of You, Masked Trickster, Nollyn, BiblioMatsuri. You're seriously all so great and lovely. Love you.


	71. Life: A Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kurama makes two requests.

Like an echo reverberating through the twists of a winding cavern, past promises came back to haunt me—and in their fulfillment another bit of the portrait that was my life became clear.

If by "clear" you mean "a total goddamn mess." Which I do.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Kagome answered the phone on the second ring and listened to my request in silence. "I mean. Sure, I'll stay home," she said when I fell quiet. I let out a sigh of relief, though I drew in a deeper breath when she asked, "But why don't you want me to come to _aikido_ practice, exactly?"

"It's nothing you did, Kagome, I swear. It's just—" The phone's coiled cord bit into my fist as I gripped it a little tighter. "Kurama expressed interest in attending."

"Oh. _Oh_. Yeah, count me right the hell out, in that case." She knew as well as I did that we best not flirt with fate, gravity in her tone thoroughly appropriate. "So he'll be coming this week?"

"That's the plan." Keeping my voice very carefully casual, I said, "We're getting dinner at his house, first, and then going to the lesson afterward."

For a minute, I thought my plot had worked. "Oh, OK, cool," she said, calm and collected just like I wanted. "That sounds—wait. _Wait_. Wait a minute." And here she paused. Thought about it. And then her tone dropped low and devious, much to my horror. "At _his_ house?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Kagome."

"At. His. House?"

"Keep it together, Kagome."

"At his place of _dwelling?"_ she said, voice climbing high on that final word.

I heaved a massive sigh. "I see where you're going with this and I am going to cut you off right there and say this is perfectly normal, and not at all—"

"That is so _cute!"_ she squealed.

I threw up my hands. "And there it is."

While Kagome launched into a babbling fountain of questions (and suggestions about what I should wear for the occasion) I sat on my bed and lay back against the decorative pillows at its head. She'd blow off steam for a few minutes before coming back down to earth—but me? I was calm, more or less, which might come as a surprise given my usual temperament.

After the recent incident with Amanuma and my near-breakdown, Kurama and I had resumed our weekly parole meetings like we had before Yukina's rescue mission in the mountains. Sense of normalcy felt good, reestablishing a routine forcing my internal mechanisms back into alignment. Kurama had been very careful to ask me about my mental state in the weeks that followed, encouraging me to vent when I needed it—but I hadn't. Needed much venting, I mean. Truth be told, I'd always thought of myself as a volcano, of sorts. Once I blew my top, the pressure abated and left me more or less fine for a while afterward. I'd been sailing along pretty steadily in recent weeks. Had come as quite a surprise to Kurama, I can tell you that much. After the sorry state of my emotions on top of that fire escape, I think he thought I was a woman made of glass, ready to fracture at the slightest provocation.

Which is probably why he approached the subject of meeting his mother with such hesitance.

He asked while walking me home from a parole meeting at the Lindy-hop venue, where we'd listened to that wonderful swing music played by a live blues band. He knew I'd be in a good mood after that, sweaty and abuzz with endorphins after dancing, lively and invigorated by the cold December air. Few flowers bloomed this time of year, of course, but I could almost smell the Viscaria that had once grown outside the café as we walked home side by side, hands jammed in pockets for warmth, breath puffing into clouds before us.

"Kei," he'd said. "I hate to ask—but I need a favor."

I didn't break stride. "Sure. Anything."

"Would you come to dinner with me this Tuesday?"

He spoke with care, like perhaps he'd rehearsed the words ahead of time, only that didn't make sense. Kurama knew my schedule. He wouldn't make this mistake. Brow lifting, I looked at him askance and said, "Sorry, Kurama. I have my—"

" _Aikido_ lessons. I know." So he hadn't forgotten, then. He smiled, expression colored with the barest tinges of regret and—was that embarrassment, maybe? Hard to tell. "This is a favor in two parts, truth be told."

Something about his hesitance caught my feet, dragged them to a halt at his side. We stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and faced each other, a few people behind us grumbling as they were forced to dodge around. Kurama paid them no mind. I tried to do the same.

Kurama said, "I'd like for us to get dinner, and then I'd like to join you for your _aikido_ lesson."

"… oh." It only took me a minute to remember, and to grumble, "I did say I'd take you to one of those at some point, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." A smile crossed his lips. "And my mother is becoming more and more curious about who I am spending so much of my time with."

"Your mother—oh." I started. " _Oh_. So this is a 'meet the parents' dinner."

He shrugged, but with the kind of precision one usually reserves for sashimi knife work. "I've met your family. It seems only fair you meet mine."

More of that precise speech, syllables clipped and refined. I shifted from foot to foot. Kurama watched, vigilant, probably looking for a signal I was about to turn tail and run or maybe have a panic attack. Whichever came first.

Instead I just thought about it for a minute, and then I nodded. "Yeah. Yup. That tracks." I took my hands from my pockets and rubbed them together with a resounding smack. "OK, cool. Let's meet Minamino-mom." I paused. Grinned. "Heh. Mina-mama." And then I frowned. "Mi-mama-no? Mama-mino?"

Kurama looked positively mystified. I put a hand to my chin, considered my options, and made a decision.

"Mama-mino, for sure," I said. "That's best. So would you prefer this week or next week or what?" A beat. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He'd been staring with eyes most buggy; when I called him out, he shoved said eyeballs back into his face (metaphorically speaking) and coughed into a fist. Now it was his turn to shift from foot to foot while I watched, Kurama for once the bug under glass instead of me.

"Given your temperament, I thought there would be some…" Another delicate cough; a shifting of the eyes, a sly pull at the corner of his mouth. "'Resistance' isn't the word."

"Is 'nerves' the word?" I cheerfully supplied.

"I was going to say 'outright and abject panic,' but I suppose 'nerves' does preserve your dignity."

My eyes rolled of their own accord. "Ha ha, very funny. But nope, no nerves."

Kurama frowned, disbelief a black mark between his knit brows, but I just grinned and fell back into stride. He took up his place at my side within a moment, watching as I tucked my hands behind my neck and tangled my fingers in the hair at my nape.

"Honestly? I was wondering when I'd meet her," I said. "So I guess I've already done my worrying, and it was a long time ago." My lips quirked. "Though I am nervous about making a first impression, of course. Your mom's a sweetheart."

His lips quirked, too. "Of course you already know that."

"I didn't even need to cheat," I said, beaming, and in a fit of whimsy I reached up to gently pinch Kurama's cheek. With syrupy sweetness I intoned, "She raised such a sweet boy, didn't she?"

Kurama batted my hand away and rolled his eyes—but I'd like to think he looked pleased at the compliment.

Too bad I was the only person (besides his mom, of course) taking part in the upcoming Tuesday festivities who felt that way about Kurama. In the present, I sighed into the phone hard enough to send feedback puffing down the line. Kagome whined a little at the static; I apologized and kept on talking.

"I'm more worried about Kurama meeting Hideki-sensei than I am about meeting Kurama's mom, to be honest," I said. "Hideki isn't a fan of demons." Understatement of epic proportions, that. "I'm going to have to call and warn him first, make sure he's on good behavior."

"Oh god. Can you imagine, though?" Kagome said, equal parts horrified and entranced. "Those two getting into a knuckle-dust? I'd pay good money to see that fight."

"Well, in that case, want to sit in on the phone call to Hideki?"

An excited squeal preceded her proclamation of, "You bet I do!"

All truth told, I'm not sure if I wanted Kagome to eavesdrop on my conversation with Hideki to soothe her desire to see him fight, or to soothe my own nerves regarding the conversation about to go down—a conversation that did not promise anything pretty. I'd broached the topic of bringing Kurama to a lesson before, back when I was still wearing my cast and Hideki had taught me to throw knives, and he had been… "less than enthusiastic" is a euphemism for "utterly opposed," and I'm going to use it liberally here. He had been _less than enthusiastic_ about the prospect; a near screaming match had transpired, in point of fact, and I had every expectation of a repeat performance of that event as I punched in his number and initiated the Keiko-Kagome-Hideki conference call.

Hideki answered on the second ring, as grumpy as usual. "What?" he said, like I'd interrupted him in the middle of a task of extreme importance and he resented it utterly.

But I didn't let that throw me; he always answered calls this way. "Hideki-sensei? It's me."

A pause. "Yukimura," he said, tone a fraction less hostile this time. "What is it?"

I took a deep breath. "May I bring a guest to this week's lesson?"

I expected the hostility to return with a growl and a snarl—but instead he sighed. He sounded tired, not aggressive, when he muttered, "We talked about this."

"I know."

"And you haven't changed your mind."

"No."

He didn't reply right away. I resisted the urge to peel the phone from my face and stare at it in confusion. Back when I'd asked to bring Kurama to lessons, Hideki had been appalled at the idea of me running around with demons—even demons living human lives. He'd said he trusted me to make my own decisions, yes, but he'd run afoul of too many bloodthirsty demons in his days fighting alongside Kuroko Sanada to trust them, even with me to vouch for them. The idea of associating with one of my demon friends put a foul taste in his mouth, he'd said, and the idea of teaching one fighting techniques it could possibly use on humans made that taste intensify.

… only now he wasn't yelling. He wasn't telling me I was stupid for trusting a demon, or giving me battle tactics and tips on how to handle the demons in my life. He just sat there quiet on the phone line, inscrutable.

I broke first, of course. Of course.

"I'll say what I said before, Hideki-sensei," I said. I squared my shoulders, even though he couldn't see, because the boost in posture injected a measure of confidence into my voice that I figured I could use just then. "This demon friend of mine, he lives as a human. He intends to die as one, too. And it would make me happy if you met him and saw that for yourself."

"… fine."

"Fine?" That time I couldn't resist peeling the phone away and giving it a shocked look, though I crammed at back against my cheek a second later. _"Fine?"_

"Did I stutter?" Hideki growled.

"N-no. But—"

"Don't be late." He did not try to disguise the sneer in his voice when he said, "And tell your… your _friend_ to dress for the occasion."

The line went dead.

A moment of silence followed.

"… well, that was different," Kagome said.

"I—I really thought I'd have to fight harder on that," I said, staring blankly at the Megallica poster above my bed. "The last time was a bloodbath."

"He had time to think about it since said bloodbath, maybe?" Kagome said.

"Maybe," I said.

But in the days leading up to Tuesday, I couldn't help but wonder if Hideki's easy acquiescence betrayed some hidden motive, and if Kurama's visit to my _aikido_ lessons was a good idea at all.

* * *

Hitch the duffel bag a little higher. Hold my Tupperware of tea biscuits a little closer. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Knock on the door.

Kurama—well, _Shuichi_ lived out in the suburbs, in a two-story house with a bit of a yard out front and a large cherry tree with branches skeletal from the winter season. A cute little house, to be sure, manicured evergreens flanking the front door like guards—and I wondered if in times of peril they might be exactly that, knowing Kurama, but as the sun went down over the tops of neighboring houses and a chill wind stripped past, the front door opened, and I didn't have time to ponder.

"Hi, _Shuichi_ ," I said.

His lips twitched at the human name, but he smoothed the expression in a moment. "Hello, Kei." He stepped back. "Please, come in."

The inside of the house was as cute as the outside, all awash in traditional Japanese décor and a cute little entry room complete with a shoe cubby. Beyond lay a Japanese-style living room, featuring a heated _kotatsu_ with quilt, and complete with sliding paper doors and tatami mats. In a nook over in a corner I spotted a small ancestral shrine, incense trailing a single plume of smoke into the air. It smelled of herbs, but also of flowers, floral and pungent but light. A framed portrait of a young man sat at the foot of this shrine; he beamed, thick black hair and glittering black eyes the image of youthful vigor. My eyes caught on it, on the shape of the man's chiseled jaw and the tilt of his long nose. Something in the curve of his smile made me suspect it was Kurama's father, but of course I knew better than to ask.

"Don't be nervous."

I flinched. Kurama had snuck up on me, hovering at my elbow and murmuring nearly in my ear. His hands brushed my shoulders; I shrugged out of my coat, watching as he hung it on a stand near the door. He wore a button-up white shirt and jeans tonight—actual honest to goodness jeans, light wash and with that terrible high waist of the early 90s. Still, he somehow looked good in them, gentle light above the entry hall catching the garnet streaks hiding in his thick hair and coaxing them to brilliance. I flinched again when he caught my eye, a green spark in pale skin speaking of curiosity… and amusement, I think.

"I'm not nervous," I murmured back. I set my duffel bag next to the shoe cubby and tried to straighten my clothes, feeling frumpy next to Kurama's luster. "I'm—"

"You must be Yukimura Keiko."

Shiori stood in the middle of the living room, hands clasped over her stomach, watching me through her dark, liquid eyes like a deer I'd happened upon the middle of some deep woods. Hair worn in a low bun, skin like alabaster, the long neck of a soft swan, she radiated a sense of poise and elegance and gentleness that left me momentarily speechless—as did the odd sense of fragility in the lines of her neck, the curve of her thin fingers, the hollows in her cheeks and the glitter in her eye. She wore a smile, of course, and it touched her eyes and made them so very warm, but I found myself wanting to ask her to sit down, to take it easy. Maybe it was the lack of color in her cheeks, a holdover from her narrowly avoided death and prior illness. Maybe it wasn't. But I was very careful to return her graceful bow with one of my own and try not to show any shock on my face, much though I wanted to take her by the hand and guide her to the nearest chair.

This face—my actions had nearly killed this face, once, no matter how much Kurama liked to deny it.

Something told me that thought would be hard to get out of my head no matter how effective my first impression turned out to be.

"Thank you for coming, Kei-san," she said (and the combination of nickname and 'san' pulled my lips into a smile). "I'm Minamino Shiori, Shuichi's mother." She walked forward, steps light and short and nearly inaudible on the tatami, hovering like a curious bird at the lip separating the shoe hall from the living room. "It's wonderful to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

I shot Kurama a look of dubiousness, though one tempered with a sidelong smile in Shiori's direction—a joke to set the mood. "All good things, I hope. Never know with this guy."

She blinked, then laughed behind her fingers. A pretty laugh. A movie star laugh. No wonder Kurama's human body was so darn good looking, with a bombshell mom like her. She had the looks of an old-timey Japanese movie star.

"Yes. All good things," she said—and then some of her decorousness dropped. She hesitated, then grabbed my hand and squeezed it, eager smile bringing color to her cheeks at last. "I confess I've been dying to meet you. It's not often Shuichi talks about his friends, but he often talks about you, so I feel I've already met you, and—"

Kurama cleared his throat. Shiori cut herself off, ducking her head with a shy smile.

"I'm sorry. I'm getting ahead of myself." She gestured behind her. "Would you like to sit down? Dinner is almost ready."

"Sure," I said, and as I stepped into the living room I remembered my manners. "Oh—these are for you." Shiori took the Tupperware of tea biscuits, crunchy and sweet, from me with a curious smile. I explained, "They go well with both coffee and tea. I wasn't sure what you preferred, so I thought…"

Her smile, the enthusiastic one from before, returned. "I drink tea. And that was very thoughtful of you, Kei-san. I'm sure they'll be delicious." Another bow. "Thank you."

Aw, yeah. Keiko's baking skills score another victory!

We didn't linger in the living room, instead venturing through one of the paper doors and into a traditional Japanese dining room beyond it, one with a low table and seating cushions set upon more tatami. Shiori was something of a chatterbox, explaining she had inherited the house from a very traditional aunt and that she hadn't had the heart to update the architecture beyond the kitchens and bedrooms.

"The back yard is lovely," she said, gesturing for Kurama and me to sit at the dining table already been festooned with flatware and utensils. "Though this time of year it's rather bare. You'll have to come back in spring. My son has a green thumb; did you know that?"

"I've seen some of his handiwork, yes," I said, trying not to look like a cat with a canary in its mouth (Kurama, of course, looked as innocent as a newborn lamb).

She beamed. "Yes. You'll definitely have to come back in spring." Smoothing the front of her dress, she turned toward a door set on swinging hinges and put her hand against it. "I'll be right back, and we'll eat."

"Mother, would you like me to help—" Kurama said, but Shiori shook her head.

"Nonsense, Shuichi. Sit and visit with your friend. I'll be right back," she said, and she left us alone in the dining room.

"Well," I said once the door finished swinging behind her. "Just so you know your mother is the single most adorable person I have ever met in my entire life."

Kurama stared after her with a fond smile. "She is."

"Think the first impression went OK?"

He turned his smile in my direction. "I do."

"Good." I leaned back on my hands, giving my hair a little toss. "Not that I'm surprised. Parents _love_ me."

Kurama shot me a Look that said he didn't doubt that, though he knew exactly why they loved me (I mean, I was closer to their age than they realized) and my parent-impressing expertise wasn't as impressive as I imagined. We both knew better than to discuss this out loud, of course. Shiori was only a room away, and she reappeared in short order carrying a series of dishes balanced on her thin arms. Kurama all but jumped off his cushion to help her bring them in and set out a veritable feast, and both of them scolded me in hilariously identical tones when I tried to lend a hand, too. Kurama took after his mom far more than he realized, I thought as I watched them set the table, and after a quick "itadakimasu" we dug in.

Conversation began slowly, tentatively, after that, the way it always does in a room full of people who wish to impress each other and put their best feet forward. Kurama wanted his mother to like me; I wanted her to like me; I could tell she wanted me to like her, too. The topics of discussion started with formal, surface-level fare: my favorite classes, where I grew up, my hobbies, things like that. Kurama stayed mostly silent, watching the interplay between myself and his mother like an observer of a tennis match, eyes moving back and forth between us in turns.

"Do you have plans for winter break?" Shiori asked as I took a drink of warm miso soup.

"Tentative," I said. "Most years we have a gathering for New Year's Eve—a small party. We didn't last year" (because Yusuke had been freshly hit by a car at the time) "but we're thinking of hosting again this year."

"That sounds nice," Shiori said, almost wistful.

"It is," I agreed. "It was just family friends for a while, but eventually it expanded to some of my other friends and their parents." I shot Kurama a sidelong look, smile tentative. "I was going to invite your son, actually, and you by extension."

She looked surprised, though I wasn't sure why. "How kind of you!" she said, hand spread across her chest.

"Yes, Kei," Kurama agreed—though he narrowed his eyes at me, probably not too happy I'd just invited his mother somewhere without asking first, but hey, she'd nearly died by my own damn hand and deserved to attend a party if she wanted to, so sue me. "How thoughtful of you."

"Shuichi would love to attend, of course," Shiori said (and at that Kurama's head swung toward her so fast he nearly gave me secondhand whiplash). She demurred, though, ducking her chin when she said, "I have New Year's plans of my own, unfortunately, but I will be there in spirit."

That was news to Kurama, apparently. "You have plans, Mother?" he asked, brow lifting.

"Yes." Her cheeks pinked. "Hatanaka-san is taking me out."

Kurama's eyes widened the barest fraction, but he recovered quickly enough to fill me in. "Hatanaka-san is the man my mother has been seeing lately," he said. He did not meet my eyes, idly fiddling with his chopsticks with one hand.

"Oh." I looked to Shiori with a girl-gimme-the-deets expression. "Cute?"

Her blush deepened. "Very cute."

"Nice." I winked and jerked a thumb at Kurama. "We'll gossip when this one's not around."

Maybe being stuck with a (seemingly) teenage boy for fifteen years had made her eager for female companionship or something, but she looked positively tickled by that suggestion, more than I'd expected. "I look forward to it," she said—and at Kurama's somewhat aghast reaction, like he had not counted on his mother and his best school friend somehow becoming buddies in their own right, she giggled behind her hand. "But enough about me. So tell me, Kei-san. What do your parents do?"

I think Kurama didn't want to give me another opportunity to befriend his mom, because he jumped in on my behalf. "Kei's parents own several restaurants around town, and many food trucks as well," he said, tone almost too smoothly casual to be real.

"Yes, the Yukimura Ramen line," Shiori said. "I've eaten there, actually. The food is delicious."

"Kei helps with their marketing efforts," Kurama said, and did mine eyes deceive me or did I detect a bit of pride? "She's been helping with the family business since she was a child."

Shiori looked impressed. "Is that right?"

"Uh. Yes ma'am." I nodded down at my plate. "The meal is absolutely delicious, by the way. You're a wonderful cook."

"You are, Mother," Kurama said, and at his earnest tone I used every last fiber of my willpower to resist teasing him for being such a little mama's boy. The utterly earnest look in his eye, sincere as a wedding vow, helped somewhat. He reached out and covered her hand with his when he said, "I'm glad you're feeling up to cooking again."

But Shiori just laughed. "You say that like it's a recent development. I've been feeling right as rain for some time now." She hesitated. "Kei-san, you know I was ill for many months last year. Shuichi tells me you came to visit while I was in the hospital, but I wasn't feeling well enough to chat at the time."

At first I thought Kurama had told a lie, but then I realized—nope. Just a stretch of the truth. I'd visited the hospital the night she almost died, the night we used the Mirror to save her. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and nodded. "Ah. Yes. That's right."

She gave her son a look of heartfelt pride. "My Shuichi stayed by my side the whole time," she said, sandwiching his hand between both of her own, but the tender mother-son moment turned silly when she shot me a sly smile—and I was struck, suddenly, by the similarity of their features, the shape of their mouths and the way they crooked just so when either of them thought of a wry joke. Shiori wore Kurama's most devious crooked smile when she said, "Although it's no wonder he's glad I'm feeling up to cooking again. I'm afraid my Shuichi isn't the best cook."

A grin spread across my mouth. "Oh really now?"

"Yes." She affected a mournful sigh, though her eyes glittered with suppressed mirth. "He can make soup and cook rice, but…"

"Mother," Kurama chided, eyes shifting about the room at a rapid clip.

"… I'm afraid that is where his expertise ends." Her sigh bore the strain of lamentation. "Poor dear."

Hilarious though it was to see Kurama get teased by his mom (and gratifying as it was to learn Shiori had a sense of humor) I couldn't let this slide. Slowly I turned to Kurama, arms crossing over my chest while he fidgeted in his seat. "Well, well, well. You don't say," I said. "So the great Shuichi has a weakness?" The back of my hand touched my forehead as I pretended to faint. "I'm shocked. Shocked, I say!"

"He is quite good at almost everything, isn't he?" said Shiori.

"Honestly, how do you live with him?" I asked in a tone most rueful. "Him and that _hair?_ "

"I do not know where he gets that hair, and what I wouldn't do for even a modicum of that luster," she sighed.

"Not for nothing, but if you let me near the bathroom, I _will_ be spying on whatever conditioner he uses." I leaned my cheek on my hand, staring at him with a dreamy sigh. "Those _locks_ of his."

Kurama, hands clasped tightly around his mug of tea, afforded the wall ahead of him a tight smile. "I am beginning to suspect this dinner was a mistake," he intoned.

"We're complimenting you, dear," Shiori teased.

"Yeah, we're complimenting you, dear," I said. Kurama scoffed at my repetition of the pet name, but I soldiered on. "You think I'd spy on just anyone's conditioner?"

Kurama took a long sip of his drink. "It would be arrogant of me to assume I am the only friend whose selfcare routine you find of interest."

"Have you _seen_ my friends?" I asked. "Or looked in a mirror lately?"

"Your flattery is noted and also futile."

"Taking the identity of your conditioner to the grave, I see."

"I'm allowed my secrets."

"And am I allowed a peek in your medicine cabinet?" When he remained unmoved, I pasted on my best puppy-dog eyes and a pout that could make a toddler proud. "C'mon, Shuichi, I gotta know." But his stoicism didn't crack, so I reached out and flicked the edge of one glossy lock of hair lying on his chest. It swung back into perfect place, of course, pulling a sigh from my beleaguered mouth. "Such _bounce_. Such _shine_. You could be a spokesperson for something."

His mouth quirked. "I'm afraid my lips are sealed."

I turned up my nose. "Then I guess I won't share my cooking secrets."

That finally got a rise out of him. He set down his mug and looked at the ceiling, amusement hiding in the tilt of his brow. "Shall I propose a trade, in that case? My conditioner for the secrets of decent cooking?"

"Ooh, tempting." I shot Shiori a wink. "Your son might turn into a decent chef yet, Minamino-san."

I think the joke caught her off-guard, or perhaps the whole exchange with her son had caught her as such, because when I looked at her I found her staring—quite open-mouthed, in fact, though as soon as we made eye contact she tried to cover for it, jumping a little in her seat before smoothing her glossy hair. She had nice hair, for the record. Kurama had inherited much of his good genes from his mother, that's for sure, and she didn't take enough credit.

"That he might," she agreed—but then she bit her lip. "Although, Kei-san, I confess I brought up Shuichi's cooking for a reason. Truly, he isn't hopeless—his meals are always nutritious—but he told me you were the one bringing us dinner when I was ill." She allowed me no time to protest, performing a seated bow at the table, deep and long and low. "Thanks to you, I could rest easy knowing he was being cared for and could focus on his school work. I am in your debt."

It was a wholly unwarranted thanks, one that left me speechless—so of course I looked to Kurama for a hint. He just watched from the side, however, saying nothing and revealing nothing in his expression, features schooled into a mask of nigh expressionless scrutiny trained largely on me. Great. So he was doing his Cryptic Tactician Fox Routine™ and would be absolutely no help whatever. Fantastic. I swallowed and carefully folded my hands atop the table. One of my knuckles popped under my clasping fingers; I eased up the pressure and took a cleansing breath.

"I can't take all the credit, I'm afraid," I said, throat tight.

Shiori looked up from her bow with a curious frown. "Oh?"

"No. I only just started school at Meiou last winter, you see. Other girls at school began the meal preparations before I commenced attending. I joined in when those girls noticed that Shuichi and I had become friends." At that I smiled; Shiori should be thanking Amagi and Junko, not me. "They deserve most of the credit."

Shiori processed this. Kurama sat in silence, waiting. I sat in silence, too, wondering how much he'd left out—how much he'd neglected to tell his mother about Amagi and the others, not to mention why. He'd clearly talked me up before tonight, and without merit. Surely Shiori could see that now that I'd explained.

Or not, apparently. Her expression soon cleared, and she favored me with yet another of her earnest smiles. "Even so. Thank you for your help. It was a difficult time made easier for your efforts."

"Well." I shifted in my seat, not sure how to deflect this compliment I didn't deserve. "You're very welcome, I suppose."

And that was good enough for Shiori. She spent the next few minutes refilling plates and letting us eat, making sure I'd had enough rice and vegetables (there were a lot of them; I think Kurama had tipped her off that I didn't eat much meat) before resuming conversation.

"So you said you only recently transferred to Meiou?" she asked.

"That's right."

"Where did you attend before?"

"Sarayashiki Junior High."

She looked impressed again; I felt small and unworthy. "Shuichi mentioned you skipped a grade," she said. "But what prompted the change in schools?"

My hand spasmed around my chopsticks; I took a sharp breath. "Well—um?"

"I'm sorry." Shiori was a sharp one; she read the reaction for what it was, immediately looking to soothe. "I don't mean to pry. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"Oh, it's fine," I said, just as eager to soothe in return. I snuck a look at Kurama, but he was busy studying the composition of the table and did not meet my eyes. Explaining the reason for my school transfer was never easy, but in the end I figured honesty was best. Looking Shiori in the eye, I said: "About a year ago, a friend of mine was hit by a car and it looked like he died." I held up a hand when she blanched. "He didn't, though. Die, I mean. The hospital just made a mistake and nearly cremated him. Which is arguably worse, in my book, but anyway. Um?"

Shiori's eyes had widened a little bit with every word, round as coins and getting rounder. Kurama looked up from his study of the table, staring at me in shock. Something told me he hadn't expected honesty in this matter, but oh well.

"Well, during all of that I was having a rough time coping and my parents thought a change of pace would do me well, so off to Meiou I went." At that point I took a leaf from Kurama's book, pun intended, and left out the part about nearly punching a teacher in the face at what was basically my adopted brother's funeral. Even so, Shiori looked stricken and quite unsure of how to handle my little anecdote, so I gave her an easy grin and threw out a nervous laugh. "My friend is fine, by the way. He's very, very alive, and the hospital paid quite a lot of money for nearly cremating him, which is… nice, I guess? But, yeah." I spread my hands, helpless. "Friend is alive, I'm at Meiou, and… and it's all good."

That ending sounded lame, even to me; I really needed to work on that story's punchline, turn the anecdote into a joke to cut the awkwardness of the whole affair. But since I hadn't polished that story yet, for a minute Shiori did not reply. Probably didn't even know how. Eventually she managed to say, "That's—well." She swallowed. "That's a very interesting story."

"Kei is a very interesting person," Kurama murmured.

His choice to repeat his mother's specific verbiage was not lost on me, given our history with certain words contained therein. I rubbed my forehead, grimacing. "Telling that story makes me look like a complete freakazoid, huh? Sorry about that."

Once again, Shiori was quick to soothe. "It's all right. Truth be told, I have a miraculous recovery story of my own. I haven't perfected talking about it yet, either, and your friend and I would probably get along." Her smile felt as nourishing as chicken soup as she reached for my empty dinner plate. "Would you care for dessert?"

I was as eager for dessert as I was a change in subject, on my feet and grabbing plates in seconds. "Yes—but please, let me help clean up."

She tittered. "If you're sure…"

Kurama tried to help, too, because he's a mama's boy and I will never not believe that to be true, but Shiori shushed his attempts to be helpful and led me from the dining room and into the kitchen—a surprisingly modern room with marble countertops and a large island, with a lovely range and set of stacked ovens my parents would absolutely salivate over. A cake sat under a glass dome on the island, white and yellow frosting piped evenly, but not perfectly. Likely homemade, if I had to guess. Shiori brought down plates and a large serving knife and carefully cut slices, and then she prepared the kettle for more tea. At the sink she paused, however, hands idle on the faucets as she filled the copper drum with water.

"May I ask?" she said, voice somehow clear over the sound of water striking the hollow metal canister. "How did you and my son become friends?"

I blinked, taken aback. "You mean, he didn't—?"

A bitter smile, one that did not sit well on her lovely features. "He's such a private boy," she murmured. "He doesn't tell me much. You're the first friend he's spoken of at length in… Well." She shook her head. "In a very long time, truth be told."

Shiori paused, a long breath expanding her chest in a slow swell. Maybe I'd suffered enough anxiety in my life to know the look when I saw it, but as she pulled the filled kettle from the sink and carried it to the stove, I read in the lines of her brow and in the coiled tension in her eyes a sense of overwhelming nerves. Her fingers shook around the kettle, almost imperceptibly, but the stove's knob rattled as she engaged the burner and blue flame burst to life beneath the teapot.

"I was stunned when he offered to let me meet you," she said. "It's so unusual for him, and I wondered…"

Shiori trailed off. She wandered away from the stove and back to the cake, idly turning one of the plates this way and that. I caught a whiff of lemon from the dessert, vanilla cutting the acidity with its sweet, round scent. She snuck a glance at me, and then another, trying to smile and failing when our eyes met. The plate clattered on the counter under her hand, porcelain ringing against marble like a tiny silver bell.

Words rang in my chest, too.

"I know I talk a lot, and I babble, and I seem pretty gregarious," I said, not quite knowing where I intended to go with that, "but truthfully, I keep to myself most of the time. Make no mistake: I'm an introvert who happens to be good with people, not an extrovert by any means." My turn to smile, confidence rising as I found my rhythm. "Shuichi and I… we made friends the way most people do, I think. We're a lot alike. So in the end—like recognizes like. And we found each other."

Like recognizes like. That old chestnut, back again. Shiori didn't know the history Kurama and I had with that phrase, but she considered my words with gravity regardless, nodding and rolling her lips together in contemplation. Eventually she hung her head, smile tugging the corners of her mouth.

"I see," she said. "My son—he's not accustomed to being understood. He rarely seems fond of anyone, and yet he speaks warmly of you. And you _banter_ with him, even." At that she looked outright surprised, like perhaps she hadn't realized her son was capable of such a thing. "I am happy he has found someone who understands him."

"Me, too."

Another long look, measuring and fond. "He's always been mature for his age. An old soul, I've always said." Her smile deepened. "I sense much the same from you."

Shiori had absolutely no idea how right she was—how achingly, ironically, unequivocally _correct_ her statement was, although she meant it in no way but metaphor. My heart ached, though I dared not let my smile slip.

Kurama was just in the next room, after all.

"My parents own a restaurant. Well, several," I said. "I've been involved in the business most of my life. I think I grew up a little faster than most as a result."

She nodded, accepting this as truth, but then her smile faltered. "I wonder what made my Shuichi—never mind." Shiori shook her head again. "He's never needed anyone to look out for him. Not even me. And that's why I was so happy when he said he'd made a friend." The lines around her eyes deepened. "He's been acting more his age lately, too."

I smirked. "That would be Yusuke's influence more than mine, I think."

"Yes, he's mentioned a Yusuke," she said, jumping on the name with interest. "Do you know him?"

"That's the friend of mine who nearly got cremated, actually. I grew up with him." I could only giggle at Shiori's surprised expression. "If your son is an old soul, Yusuke is a very, very young one. Like, infantile. But if there's anyone who could get Minamino to relax, it's him. And I think he's done a good job."

"And you've helped too, I think," Shiori said.

"Maybe." A happy shrug, bouncing and dismissive. "But as they say, it takes a village."

I wasn't sure I understood her smile, then, pitying as it was, nor why she put her hand on my shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short. You've done more than you know," she said—and then she pulled her hand away as the kettle whistle blew. She reminded me of Kurama again when she donned a flawless mask of good humor, earlier anxiety hidden beneath a cheerful chirp of, "Well, this cake looks delicious, doesn't it? Let's eat!"

The transition between her moods left me dumbstruck—but Kurama had learned from the best, I guess.

Or had Shiori learned that little mask-donning trick from Kurama?

If the former, Kurama had taken the technique and perfected it, because Shiori's cheer didn't last long. We took the cake back to the dining room and tucked in, resuming conversation over tea and dessert, but Shiori only asked me a few questions more before lapsing into silence. Kurama noticed, catching my eye with a frown, but I could do little more than frown back.

Frown, and worry.

Had I said something wrong when we talked in the kitchen?

I bolted my cake fast as a result, and then I did what I did best: I chattered. I chattered long and loud, filling the silence over cake with story after story, just random factoids and observations so we wouldn't sit there in awkward quiet. My parents were testing new menu items, I was excited to start taking German classes come the start of the new semester—and I was almost out of material when, thank my lucky stars, the phone rang in the kitchen. Shiori got up to answer it at once, and as Kurama and I had before, we waited until the door swung shut behind her before speaking.

"What's up with your mom?" I asked Kurama, voice low as I leaned over the table.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he replied.

We traded a long look, urgent but impotent, before the door swung open again.

"Shuichi? It's that classmate of yours, Kaito," Shiori said.

I gave Kurama a deadpan stare. "You and Kaito are on _phone terms_ now?"

Kurama did not look pleased to be on said terms with Kaito. "He's been hounding me for my opinion on a certain paper. One I have no intention of reading." With a flex of lithe muscle he stood. "Be right back."

"Tell him hi for me!"

"No." A wry smirk. "Then he'll want your opinion on the paper, too."

Shiori watched Kurama go while I muttered and rolled my eyes, and once more she proved that no matter where Kurama had come from, he was very much like his mother. As soon as the door stopped swinging behind him, she practically flew to the dining table and sat back down on her cushion, hands braced on either side of her empty dessert plate.

"Kei-san," she said. "While he's gone, may I—oh, _look at me."_ Shiori sat back in her seat, cupping her cheek in her hand, staring at her lap as she shook her head. "Every time he's out of earshot, I accost you. I'm like a schoolgirl fishing for gossip about my own son."

"Hey. I don't mind," I said on reflex. At her relieved look I added, "He's a private person. I don't blame you for trying to get the inside scoop."

And with that, the floodgates opened. She braced herself on the table again, leaning toward me across it, eyes supplicating as they bored into my own. "Keiko—my son. Do you think—?" Once more she shook her head at herself, vocalizing under her breath. "It's silly of me to ask. But… is he happy?" Her eyes flashed, vulnerable but intent. "He would never tell me if he wasn't. Ever since I got sick, he's been perfect—so perfect. But he's a teenager. Teenagers aren't supposed to be perfect." She bit something back. Reconsidered. Added: "I hope you don't take offense to that."

"Oh, I'm a _mess_ ," I said. "No offense taken at all."

She laughed, almost in spite of herself. "Good, good. I just… I worry." And the anguish in her gaze returned. "I worry if something was wrong, he wouldn't say anything. So please, tell me. Is he happy?" Words spilled from her lips in a torrent of justification, an attempt to persuade herself as much as she tried to persuade me. "He has friends now. He's doing well in school. But sometimes I catch him staring into space, and… I just don't know sometimes." Her knuckles pressed against her mouth for a moment, until they turned white. "He's so difficult to read, so secretive. I want to respect his space, but…" She searched my face. "Is he…?"

Is he happy?

That's all she wanted to know.

Not if he was a fox demon. Not if he was actually older than he looked. Not if he had secrets, which she clearly suspected he did. All Shiori wanted, in all the world, was to know if her strange, distant son was happy—and she didn't think she could ask him herself, for whatever reason.

This was the reason for her anxiety, her sudden depression, her distance. She was worried, and she didn't see a way out of her worry until that phone rang and she found herself alone with me, a stranger.

A stranger who'd nearly killed her, once, though she didn't know it.

I knew it wasn't necessarily my business to get involved here, nor to become Shiori's confidante and spy when it came to her son. But the look in her eye, and the way her hand reached blindly across the table as if to capture my own, as if to seek comfort from my fingers—in the way she pulled her hand back at the last second as if she feared she'd overstepped—

My heart broke, and I owed her. I reached out and took Shiori's hand. She gasped a little, startled at the contact, but I held on tight.

"I'm nosey," I said. "If he's not happy, he won't be able to hide it for long. I promise."

The desperation in her face softened. "I admit that's comforting." But then it returned, darker than before. "I admit, there are days when if I didn't know better, I'd say he's…" She looked away. "It doesn't matter."

"No," I said, holding her hand a little tighter. "What is it?"

She hesitated—but like water from a weary dam, the words poured forth. "There are days I think he's seen more than any child his age could," she said, and in her eyes shone the light of great relief even as they swam with sudden tears. "It's the look in his eye—that far-off stare. My father would wear it before his death, when he thought I couldn't see. When he remembered long ago, and forgot the here and now." Air trembled in her swanlike neck. "I know I'm being fanciful, but…"

"You're not," I said, throat turning thick, myself. "You're being honest. And those aren't the same thing."

She required a moment to compose herself, then. From in the kitchen I heard the murmur of Kurama's voice, soft and low as he spoke with our classmate. Shiori blotted her eyes on her sleeve and corrected her posture, squeezing my fingers. They were cold, at least at first, but soon they warmed a little.

"I'm glad for you, Kei," she said. "I'm sure Shuichi is, too."

"Well, he ought to be." I opted for a show of comical bravado and tossed my hair, smirking smugly for her benefit. "Not to brag or anything, but I'm pretty great."

My audacity knocked her for a loop, but she recovered and laughed from deep in her gut—a pretty sound, as pretty as her earlier tinkling giggle. I grinned wider.

"My name might mean 'lucky child,' but c'mon. Let's be real," I continued with more overwrought self-assurance. "He's the lucky on in this scenario. Not to mention all the friends of mine I've introduced to Shuichi are pretty great, too, so." A wink, conspiratorial and full of it. "That boy of yours hit the jackpot."

"Lucky boy, indeed," Shiori said through her laughter. "He's in good hands, I can tell."

"That he is. And I'm not—ah." It felt like the cheesiest thing in the world to say, but I took a deep breath and said it anyway, even if it made heat rise just a little in my cheeks. Looking at my hand clasped around Shiori's, I said: "These hands aren't letting go, I guess you might say."

In return, I felt her fingers lace tighter around my own.

"I appreciate that," she said.

We sat in silence for a moment—a moment that stretched to two, then three, and then Kurama came back through the kitchen door. We pulled our hands apart, but his green eyes missed nothing and fastened intent upon my face. I just grinned, though, sunny and without guile.

"Everything settled?" I said.

"Yes." Sly amusement curled his lips. "He thinks I've read that paper."

"How'd you manage that?"

"I let him talk first. He enjoys doing so, after all."

I eyed Shiori. "He tell you much about Kaito yet?"

"No," she said.

"Oh." I geared up for a comedy routine. "Well, allow me!"

By the time I was finished with my impression of our grumpy, literature-obsessed friend, Shiori was in stitches—and when we left for the night's _aikido_ lesson, the last thing I saw as we walked out the door was a smile on her face, illuminating her dark eyes and alabaster skin like moonlight on still water.

I only hoped that tranquility might last longer than this night, and perhaps our talk, short though it had been, would bring her comfort less ephemeral.

* * *

"So your mom is pretty great."

Kurama nodded, not breaking stride as we walked down the road and away from his house. Lights burned in the windows at our back; doubtless Shiori watched our progress down the street from one of them, but neither of us turned to look. We had a lesson to get to, and Hideki- _sensei_ did not approve of tardiness—not that I thought we'd be late. The wintry air put a quickness in the step, burning at my cheeks and chasing me back indoors.

"She is," Kurama agreed. "I'm glad you think so."

"Mm-hmm. Think she liked me?"

"I do. You were charming."

I fist-pumped, mimicked a crowd going wild with my voice, but Kurama only smiled for a moment at my antics. A look of determination settled across his features, undeniable as the cold chilling my bare nape.

"May I ask—did my mother have much to say while I was gone?" he said.

And of course he asked. I'd called myself nosey, but gotta-know-it-all Kurama took the cake. I shoved my hands in my pockets and nodded. "She did."

He look satisfied. "I had a feeling she would ask questions if I left the two of you alone."

I frowned at him, at that 'told you so' expression on his face. "Well, she cares for you. That's natural for a mom."

"Of course." That too-casual sound crept into his voice again. "What did you talk about?"

"Oh. You know." I shrugged, enjoying having the power for once. "This and that."

Only Kurama didn't seem nearly as excited by my acquisition of leverage. "Kei," he said, my name full of warning in his mouth.

"She expressed herself. I validated her feelings," I said with another shrug. "She asked questions. I answered them in ways that would bring her comfort."

"Spare me no detail," he deadpanned—and wow, sarcasm from _him?_ That was unusual. Dry humor, sure; detached understatement, whatever; but outright sarcasm? That wasn't normal. So why—?

Oh.

My feet stilled beneath me, pulling me to a halt on the empty suburban sidewalk.

"Is that why you brought me to dinner?" I said.

He stopped, too, brow climbing high. "Beg pardon?"

Despite the question in his face, I saw guilt, there, too—mostly admission of it. "It is. Wow." My jaw dropped. "The two of you really are related."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Just—" I started walking again. "You're your mother's son, that's for sure."

Kurama fell into step beside me. "I failed to inherit Shiori's better qualities, I'm afraid."

"Disagree. But I get the sense you'll be stubborn about accepting compliments, so I'll just say you definitely inherited her indirect streak."

"I don't follow."

Once more I stopped, this time with an annoyed huff and a pronounced scowl. "You said you thought she'd ask me questions about you. Did you let us be alone together on purpose?"

"I could not predict Kaito calling," he said, as though I were not particularly bright for making that suggestion.

But I knew Kurama too well. "That's not a 'no,'" I observed.

"Are you suggesting I somehow _planned_ his call?" Kurama said, guileless as a spring day.

"Sure. Dodge my question." I'd never get a straight answer out of him; he knew it, I knew it, and we both knew we could verbally spar until we were blue in the face and this was pointless—and indignation rose up hot in my belly, both at the memory of Shiori's desperate face and at Kurama's mild mask. Stepping back, I spread my arms wide and dipped a frilly bow. "Well, then: Allow me to cut right to it." And with that I looked him dead in the goddamn eye. "You'd much rather play a game of social chess with your own mother than ask her outright what she thinks of you. Instead you sent me to be your spy. And she waited till you left the room to give me the third degree, rather than just talk to you directly herself." I looked him up and down with a low, appraising whistle. "You're quite the pair, I gotta say."

Kurama bore my analysis with composure, though a subtle twitch at the corner of his eye betrayed him. "Perhaps we're more alike than I thought," he murmured when I was through, "but I didn't invite you here tonight merely to use you as my spy. I wanted you to meet her." He stepped toward me when I scoffed, gaze focused. "Sincerely, Kei. You are both important to me."

"Yeah. Well." I shifted my weight a few times, swiping my hand over my mouth and avoiding his gaze—trying not to smile all the while. Damn jerk and his sweet talk. With a sigh I finally admitted, "That makes me feel a little better… but you did suspect I'd get you some dirt on her, didn't you."

It wasn't a question and I didn't bother phrasing it as such. Kurama knew better than to deny it, too, so he just smiled. "Maybe a little," he said.

I slugged his shoulder, triumphant. "Knew it. OK, then." I took a deep breath. Told him: "She suspects you're not happy."

Kurama stilled.

Whatever he'd expected me to say, that wasn't it.

"Your mother thinks you're a study in contrast, really," I continued. "She understands you're a private person, but she wishes you'd let her in. She said it's not often you're understood, and it worries her. She said you behave too perfectly for a teenager, and that that behavior doesn't make sense."

Kurama's feet moved under him, squaring up as though he meant to launch forward, or perhaps flee backward into the night. I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure if I should keep going or quit while I was ahead—but the urgency in his eyes did not leave room for hesitation.

"She said sometimes you carry a look in your eye that reminds her of her father, when he was an old man, when he looked back on the past and forgot to live in the present," I said, soft as the cold night breeze rustling Kurama's hair. "She called you an old soul, not knowing how right she is. Your mother is confused by you—and yet, Kurama, she understands you better than she realizes. And this confuses her even more."

Kurama didn't move when I finished. I didn't move, either. I waited for him to react, for him to pass a hand down his face and cover his eyes. "I see," he said from behind that barrier, where I could not reach him, even though he stood no more than an arm's mere length away.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"… I don't know," he admitted.

We stood there for a long time—a long enough time for my watch to beep an alarm, the "get up and go" alarm meant to warn me I was running late. Kurama let his hand drop; I slipped my arm through his, pulling myself into his side as I guided him down the sidewalk. At first he stiffened under my touch, but after a moment he relaxed and I sank a little closer, hand curling around the breadth of his bicep. Our breath mingled in a cloud before us, a ghost preceding our steps through the evening dark.

"Do you ever imagine what it would be like to tell her?" I murmured.

Kurama did not have to ask me what I meant. "No," he replied. But then: "Yes." And then he sighed, breath heavy with emotions I could not name. "I don't know what that kind of world would look like."

"Me neither." We came to a stop at a crosswalk; my temple rested briefly against his shoulder. "But I bet it would be nice."

His reply was almost inaudible. "I'm not so sure."

"She loves you."

The numbers on the crosswalk counter flashed down, descending toward zero one by one. The lit up in red, each flash illuminating the highlights in Kurama's hair. I saw because when I said that, he pulled back, staring at me with mouth parted, stunned. I sighed. Ran my free hand through my hair and cursed.

"Yeah, yeah. People in Japan don't say it much, I know," I grumbled, "but I'm an uncouth American at heart, and I'm going to tell it to you straight. Your mother loves you—and she'll love you no matter the origin of your soul."

The uncertainty in his eyes quieted. "It's not that simple."

"I know," I relented. "It's not that simple—and yet, it is." It was hard not to think of my own parents waiting for me at home at the ramen shop, unware of the truth of my own nature. "You should be honest with the people you care about. I know keeping secrets might keep her safe, but it might bring her some comfort to know that you're…" I stopped. Took a breath. "That she's…"

Words failed me, but Kurama did not look confused. The resignation in his eyes said he understood—understood me completely, words left unspoken no barrier to our shared comprehension.

Like recognizes like, I'd said to him once.

Like recognizes like, I'd repeated to his mother.

And now, a third time, like recognized like in a moment of silence, when words could do nothing but obscure.

The wordless weight of what I meant lingered heavy between us. Eventually the crosswalk timer beeped. Kurama looped his arm through mine again, tugging me once more against his side.

"I was rambling," I muttered. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he muttered back. I heard the smile in his voice, even if I didn't look up to see it. "Our lives are complicated, aren't they?"

"We're teenagers," I said. "Our lives are supposed to be a mess."

Somewhere, out there in the dark, I got the feeling Shiori would be happy about that.

* * *

We changed our clothes in the train station bathrooms—or at least I did. Kurama stuck to his jeans and button-up, eyeing my spandex workout pants and _gi_ shirt with approval while I eyed his ensemble with outright skepticism. "Think you can move in those pants?" I asked, with a pointed glance at their form-fitting contours, but he just laughed and said not to worry about him. Fuckin' mom jeans, but OK, it's your funeral, I'll save my worry.

Hard not to worry, though, when a cantankerous, demon-hating _sensei_ of mine waited in the wings to criticize everything Kurama did wrong, small or large or anything in between, but oh well!

When we reached the warehouse distract housing Hideki's makeshift dojo, I told Kurama to wait outside a minute, which he did without complaint (he needed to tie his shoe, anyway, a handy excuse in case of listening ears). Taking a deep breath, I stood under the flickering floodlight illuminating the warehouse door and steeled myself before hauling it open with a clatter, striding in intent on finding my _sensei_ and telling him on no uncertain terms to be-freaking-have himself, or else.

Hideki beat me to the punch.

I saw him coming at once, walking toward me like a drill sergeant just as soon as the door shut behind my back. I opened my mouth to greet him (and to greet Ezakiya warming up in the corner) but he was on me in moments, hand firm on my elbow to steer me into the nearest corner behind a row of practice dummies, most of whom were missing limbs, patchwork and broken. I whined something about being manhandled but Hideki shushed me as we cloistered away in the shadows like a couple of wannabe ninjas.

"I thought you said your friend was a demon," he said, rounding on me like a scarecrow cursed into gangly life.

"Uh. He is." I looked my teacher up and down, at his wild grey hair and thin, drawn face and thunderous black eyes. "Why—?"

"He's good at hiding it," Hideki grunted. "Too good. I didn't sense him at all." He leaned toward me, narrow eyes wide for effect. "At. All."

"I mean. Yeah? He's very skilled, I guess?" I leaned backward and away, thoroughly put off by Hideki's intensity and proximity and _wait just a goddamn second._ I put up a finger, mouth working around air as I put the pieces together. "Wait, wait, hold up. My friend is still outside."

Hideki scowled. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about my _demon friend_ ," I said, whispering the last words through my clenched teeth. "I left him outside and was coming in to warn you he was here, but if you can't sense him, how did you know he was even here?"

Hideki stared at me like I'd sprouted tentacles from my nose. "Yukimura, your friend isn't outside. He's in here." And with that he leveled a single wiry finger over my shoulder. "Unless you _don't_ know that boy over there?"

Nonplussed, I stared at him.

Flabbergasted, I turned around.

That's when I spotted him.

And that's about the same time he spotted me, too.

He stood in the center of the training mat doing stretches, clad in a school gym uniform in lieu of a martial arts uniform. He wore no shoes, and his short blonde hair glittered in the fitful lighting of the dingy warehouse. Blue eyes lit up bright when they spotted me; one hand raised in greeting, and when his voice called my name across the dojo's cavernous interior, my stomach dropped into the pits of my hollow heels.

"Sorry I didn't call first, Captain," Minato said, "but I was hoping your offer of an _aikido_ lesson still stood."

I didn't—couldn't—say anything.

Behind me, with a shriek of rusted hinges, Kurama opened the warehouse door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you thought meeting Mom might be Kurama's request; kudos to y'all!
> 
> Not feeling great today. Hope you liked this. Many heartfelt thanks to those who took the time to leave a comment last week. This chapter is for you: Eternalevecho, musiquemer, activelyapathetic, atsuyrui-sama, Just 2 Dream of You, drmsqnc, MageKing17, Not Quite a Morning Person, Unctuous, Vinlala, Toki Mirage, Nomyriad, Maskes Trickster!


	72. Surprises Are Overrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Captain deals with the surprises she's been gifted.

Relatively speaking, this wasn't the worst thing that could've happened at an _aikido_ lesson.

It could've been Kurama who'd shown up unannounced, you see, not asking ahead of time and giving me ample opportunity to tell Kagome to skip lessons. Imagine the clash of canons had _that_ come to pass. Or perhaps a demon could've attacked and murdered us all one night without Kurama there, taking revenge on Hideki, former friend of a former Spirit Detective. Or, hell, _Yusuke_ could've gotten curious and followed me to practice and then blown up in Hideki's face, maybe, prompting a too-early meeting with Kuroko Sanada herself or something equally unexpected—but instead it was Minato standing before me on the mat, barefoot and wearing a school gym uniform, confusedly staring as the color drained from my astonished face and my mind went absolutely blank.

None of those worst case scenarios occurred to me in the moment I saw Minato, however.

In the moment, his presence felt like the end of the goddamn world—and thus only the feeblest of protests found its way out of my horrified mouth.

"Oh," I said. "Oh _no."_

Minato, standing with ankles together and back ramrod straight, frowned. "Are you all right, Captain?" he said.

Hideki and Kurama spoke as one: "Captain?"

That's when the demon and demon hunter finally saw each other.

Kurama had entered the room on silent feet, with only the squeal of the door's hinges to give his entrance away. Hideki had ignored him in favor of watching my interaction with Minato, grey eyes as observant as a hawk's—but as soon as Kurama spoke I saw Hideki turn, and from the corner of my eye I saw the two of them bristle, an electric current of tension you could almost taste spiking between them on the dusty air. With enormous difficulty I tore my eyes from Minato, dread pooling hot and leaden in my stomach as understanding dawned on Hideki's face. _This_ was the demon, he realized as he looked Kurama up and down, the barest of sneers curling his upper lip. _This_ was the demon, not the young blonde boy from whom he could not sense demonic energy, and suddenly it all made sense. I don't know if he meant to do it on purpose (though Hideki rarely did anything accidentally) but he took a quick step forward and put himself between me and Kurama, shoulders squared as he stared the demon down.

Kurama, to his credit, didn't move a muscle as Hideki took stock of his gleaming red hair and brilliant green eyes, hands lax and loose at his sides—but in the delicate lines of his porcelain features I read tension like stretched piano wire, lips a thin slash as he glanced for a moment in my direction.

Then his eyes traveled to the center of the warehouse, toward Minato.

Maybe it's something in all of us Switcheroo people, an ability born into in all of the individuals swapped into bodies of fictional characters—but the second Minato's eyes locked with Kurama, I saw in them that he knew precisely who Kurama was. He _knew_. Recognition sparked like a flame, a blue-hot flame like the fire at the heart of a kiln, and his eyes widened. He took a step back, the unflappable Minato flapped for once in his impressive life. Perhaps he meant to mimic me. Perhaps he didn't. But his lips moved, then stilled, and then he swallowed.

"Oh," he said. "Oh _no."_

Kurama scowled. "Is this a friend of yours, Kei?"

My name broke the spell cast over me; I could breathe again, a great, hitching breath that sent adrenaline skittering up my back in a thrumming burst. "Uh—yeah, actually," I said. "He is."

And then I hesitated—because which of these smoldering disaster-fires was I supposed to put out first?

My feet decided before my brain could catch up. They moved, marching me stoutly across the warehouse and onto the practice mat, plastic sheeting crunching beneath the weight of my heavy winter boots. My mouth ran, too, as I threw open my arms and gave Minato a wide grin.

"Hey, Minato. I wasn't expecting you!" And I enveloped him in a hug (which he greeted with a small sound of surprise) so I could whisper into the shell of his ear, "What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

For a second he didn't move—and then his arms went around me. His face turned, burying itself into the scarf and puffy coat I hadn't yet had time to take off.

"I intended this to be a surprise," he muttered into my neck—and I probably would've been touched by both the gesture and the helplessness in his voice had the situation surrounding it not been so preposterously dire. Irony dripped from every syllable when he added, "I see now that surprises are overrated."

"I'll bet." I released the hug and stood back, tucking hair behind my ear. "Um."

"Um," he repeated, eyes housing the desperate urgency of a runaway freight engine.

I returned the look with one that matched. " _Um_?"

We stared at each other in silence—but I could hear a clock ticking, at least metaphorically, and the longer we stood there like a couple of awkward kids at a middle school dance, the fishier we'd look. I pasted on my very best Keiko Face (bless my Keiko Face; _bless it to hell and back_ ) and smiled sweetly at Minato.

"Well. Y'know what?" I said, still grinning. " _Fuck it._ Play along." And with that I spun on my heel, stepping to the side so I could present Minato like Vanna White presenting a particularly choice prize on Wheel of Fortune. Kurama looked quite bamboozled as I held out my hands and crowed, "Well, everybody, you're in luck tonight! This is my good friend Minato, the one and only! I told him he was welcome here any time he wanted to join us for an _aikido_ session, and he picked tonight to surprise us, which is wonderful!" I wagged a finger at Hideki and Kurama in turn. "So please be nice, both of you."

They exchanged a look, the pair of them, dubious and skeptical and just for a moment forgetting they were maybe supposed to hate each other. I just laughed—but from the other side of the warehouse came the pointed clearing of a throat. Ezakiya stood over by the punching bags that were suspended from the warehouse rafters, arms crossed over his barrel chest, one foot tapping the ground. Clearly the big guy didn't like being ignored.

I smiled at him, sweet as candy. "Don't think I forgot about you, Ezakiya. You play nice, too."

He passed a hand over his buzz cut and frowned, looking between me and Minato. "Am I missing something?"

Another sweet smile. "Just the buttons on your shirt."

He looked down—and indeed, he'd missed a button on his shirt, lapels hanging quite askew. Color flooded his tanned face. "Oh," he said, and he turned around to right the wrong.

Ezakiya (shit, shit I _had_ totally forgotten about Ezakiya!) safely distracted, I turned back to Minato. This time I waved at Kurama and Hideki like Vanna White, hoping he understood the manic intention behind my 1,000-watt smile. "Minato, why don't you introduce yourself to my _sensei_ and my friend?" I said. I jerked my head toward Kurama. "I brought him along tonight, too, as my guest. The more the merrier, right?"

He seemed to get it, that I wanted him to take the lead on his side of the story, to control the narrative of why he had chosen to come here tonight. Nodding, he stepped forward and dipped a bow in greeting. "Right. Hello. I am Aino Minato, friend of the Cap—of Keiko's." He didn't pause at all after the cover, passing it off as a natural stutter. "It is nice to meet you both." A bow specifically at Hideki. "You are her _sensei_ , of course. We met earlier."

Hideki had moved inch by inch out of the shadowy corner and into the light, standing at the edge of the mat with his back to Kurama, who lingered near the door—but although he looked at Minato, the set of his shoulders betrayed where his focus remained. "Hideki," he said, with a perfunctory nod.

"Hideki," Minato repeated. He bowed at Kurama. "And you are…?"

Green eyes flickered my way—and _oh fuck shit-balls_ , now I had to play double-agent with Kurama, too?! He looked at me for confirmation, to see how I wanted to play this, like I didn't have an ulterior motive like protecting the identity of a Sailor Scout as well as another Switcheroo buddy—which I most definitely, definitely did. Kurama expected me to protect his double identity from people he assumed were normal, and he assumed Minato was normal, and that Minato didn't have a double identity to protect… which made me, what, a triple agent? A quadruple agent? Christ on a saint-be-damned cracker, this was ridiculous!

Luckily my Keiko Face held strong, and enough of the "you take the lead" look I'd worn for Minato's benefit lingered in my expression to serve Kurama, too. He gave me the faintest of nods before looking back to Minato.

"Minamino Shuichi," he said, voice as smooth as butter. "I am her classmate at school." And then our alliance appeared to end, because Kurama went fishing. "And you know Keiko through…?"

At which point Minato decided he didn't want to play leader, after all, because his eyes darted straight to me. He wanted me to take the reins, I read in them, and fuck it, that was the last goddamn thing I wanted just then. But like a gift descending from the hand of some great deity, an excuse bloomed in my brain like a hothouse flower, which I plucked and presented with all the forced-cheer ferocity of a beauty pageant contestant wearing three-inch acrylic nails.

"Minato and I are study buddies!" I declared. I looped an arm around his shoulders and grinned. "He's going to be my German tutor this semester. I picked it for my elective, _remember_ , Minamino?"

His expression eased a little. "I remember," Kurama said.

"And I figured I'd need a tutor since German is difficult and the school hooked me up with a native speaker." Ruffling Minato's hair, I tipped the room at large the merriest of winks. "You didn't think he got this beautiful blonde hair by being all Japanese, did you?"

And at that Kurama laughed, low and amused. "I suppose not," he said.

"Right, right, of course not!" I beamed down at Minato and hoped he had the good sense to keep playing along, dammit, because we were somehow not totally crashing and burning just yet and the fact that he hadn't reacted or given the game away yet was a miracle. "Anyway, Minato and I thought we'd get to know each other before the semester started through _aikido_. He expressed interest, I take lesson, ipso facto here we are." I paused. Regarded the ceiling for a moment. Said: "That was the wrong Latin phrase to use in that context but I'm blowing right past it because I'm not taking Latin, I'm taking German, so fuck it." Clasping Minato's shoulders, I looked him dead in the eye and sincerely intoned, "I am _very_ excited to start my German lessons next semester, Minato, you have no idea."

For a moment he just blinked at me. "I—ah." He swallowed. "I'm excited, too."

"Good." I clapped my hands together and turned to Hideki. "Well, no time like the present to get started. What's on the menu tonight, _sensei_?"

His deadpan stare could've melted stone. "Warm-ups," he grunted. "Show them the ropes… Captain."

I almost barfed at the name. "Heh. Sure." Suppressing another nervous giggle, I motioned for Kurama and Minato to follow me and did my best Botan impression when I said, "This way, everyone."

I had to double back and take off my coat and boots, of course, but soon enough I had Minato, Kurama, and also Ezakiya doing the series of sprints, stretches, and conditioning techniques Hideki favored. Did my very best Richard Simmons impression all the while, enthusiasm dialed to eleven, cheeks on fire from smiling so much—even in the midst of running grueling wind sprints, which I hated. I barely had time to marvel at Kurama's lithe running form, at the way he went through the warmup without breaking a sweat and with a kind of preternatural grace Ezakiya observed with his jaw dropped and Hideki watched through narrow, unhappy eyes from the edge of the practice mat (Minato, meanwhile, appeared utterly focused on his own tasks and did not notice). Probably OK that I didn't watch Kurama too closely, though. Would've made me feel self-conscious, him being even more graceful than me.

Still, doing wind sprints and feeling vaguely inferior was preferable to standing around and talking, even if Kurama seemed to take my explanation regarding Minato's presence in stride. Who knew, though? His poker face was unmatched, and I did not react well under pressure. Obviously he had no reason to suspect Minato was from a work of fiction the same way we were, but he probably had some inkling this whole thing had made me feel awkward as hell. Only question now was what did he suspect, and what would he ask me when we got a minute alone—not to mention what would Hideki do when we entered the same situation?

I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

Fortunately for my nerves, physical activity and working up a sweat helped calm me down a little, or at least helped me channel some of my nervous energy into productive behaviors. Unfortunately for me, the warmup ended all too soon when Hideki called for us to settle in to practice _katas_ and _aikido_ form. Kurama sidled up to me with small smile.

"It's been some time since I fought hand to hand," he said, sounding subtly embarrassed.

I did my best to sound breezy. "Think you can keep up?"

Kurama might have winked, or perhaps he just blinked a little sloppily, though Kurama isn't the type to do anything halfway. "We'll see, won't we, Captain?" he said.

My back stiffened. A nervous chuckle squeaked out from between my clenched teeth.

"You do accrue the oddest of nicknames." His head tilted the barest inch to the side, in Minato's direction. "Your friend seems _interesting_."

When in doubt, make a joke. "There's that word again," I said, rolling my eyes, and I called upon a subject change to save me. "Cut the chit-chat. Let's get started."

Easier said than done, though. I'd never had to teach anyone _aikido_ before and wasn't quite sure how to do so aside from showing them the basics. Ezakiya and I were well past the basics, after all, but I'd heard it said you never attained true mastery over anything until you were able to teach it to others. My eyes cut to Hideki on reflex—but it seemed my ascension to _sensei_ -hood was to be saved for another night, because just then he walked onto the mat and stood between me and Kurama.

Kurama's shoulders straightened an iota, a rope pulled taut between two fists.

"You," Hideki said, looking first at me before nodding at Minato. "Go with him." My teacher turned to Kurama, fists balling at his sides. "I'll handle this one."

'This one' lifted his chin, green eyes imperious and hard as they stared down the length of his nose at Hideki. Minato appeared at my side, frowning, and then Ezakiya (who stood off a few feet looking pitiably confused) cleared his throat again.

"What about me?" he said.

One pitiless silver eye turned his way. "More sprints," Hideki grunted.

"Awwww," lamented Eza, but he had no choice but to obey and trudged wearily away to do as his _sensei_ bade.

Poor Ezakiya. He had no fucking clue what was going on, that sweet summer child, and he was not better off for his ignorance. I would've felt sorry for him had I not been so distracted with everything else. As it stands, though, I grabbed Minato by the elbow and dragged him off toward the punching bags without a backward glance. Sorry, Ezakiya.

As soon as Minato and I were off in our own little corner, I put my back to the rest of the warehouse and mouthed at him, totally bug eyed, "Oh my fucking _god_."

Minato took a deep, purposeful breath as if to calm himself, but all he said was, "We should begin."

That was all we dared do just then, because we couldn't attract suspicion—especially since I snuck a glance at Hideki and Kurama over my shoulder and saw they'd found a distant corner of their own, over by the practice dummies, where they stood murmuring at each other so quietly I couldn't make out the words. Hideki had his back to me, but Kurama faced in my direction. He wore his politest of smiles, the one he wore for teachers and our classmates at school—the one I instantly recognized as a mask, as fake as if he'd carved himself a facsimile of ivory, worn to conceal an expression far darker than the bland smile adorning his fair lips.

A shiver coursed down my back at the sight.

Please, Kurama. Please, Hideki. Keep your tempers in check and let this night pass without incident, _please_ …

So as not to arouse suspicion, I dove into teaching Minato the basics as best as I was able, guiding him through the most fundamental ideals and principles of _aikido_ as I knew them. Some of it I had to explain verbally, but other parts I demonstrated through showing him isolated moves—select throws and grapples, how to use an opponent's weight and momentum against them, that sort of thing. It's impossible to sum up any one martial art in a single lesson, of course, but Minato seemed to understand that this wasn't a martial art meant to utterly destroy an opponent, but rather one that prioritized the wellbeing of its practitioners over pain and dismemberment, defense over offense.

And then words became superfluous, and we just had to fight it out.

Well. We had to play-fight it out, I guess.

Hideki had gloves and strike-pads on hand; Minato donned the former while I wore the latter, and to get a feel for his fighting ability I had him lob punches and hits at my covered hands. Sometimes I'd strike back, encourage him to use an _aikido_ maneuver to divert my strike, but mostly I was just trying to get a sense of what he might be capable of and of how quickly he might pick up techniques.

And also to cover the fact that I wanted so desperately to talk to him, of course.

Minato was shorter than me, reach not quite as long as mine, but he struck fast and hard like a biting snake at the pads on my hands and forearms, the shock of the blows reverberating through the material and into my joints. He kept his feet active under his body, weight constantly shifting and moving to accommodate for his change in stance and center of gravity—a sign he'd done this before, I surmised. The fact that he could keep up a conversation while sparring said something about his skill level as well.

"Minato, I'm so sorry," I hissed as I parried one of his punches.

He shook his head, dancing back on his active feet. "I should have called ahead. Surprising you was stupid of me." A punch flew with greater force, the impact like bees buzzing in my wrists. Minato bared his teeth. "I _never_ should have tried to—"

" _No._ It was sweet. You were being—" Words failed as I ducked under a swing of his arm. "Don't be sorry. It's a coincidence." At that I had to smirk, roll my eyes and laugh. "Story of my fucking life."

That got a smile out of him, wry though it might have been. "Sounds like it," Minato said.

In truth, his gesture of showing up to surprise me would have been welcomed any other night—welcomed with open arms, because it showed an effort on his part to adapt to his canon, and that was a good thing. It was indeed sweet of him to try to be friendly with Kagome and I. Just a shame this was the night he'd picked to make that attempt, and I didn't want him walking away from this too burned to try again on a better day.

Not that I had the time to explain that in the short, stolen snippets between palm strikes and punches. I hoped he got the idea, though.

"Are you actually taking German, or was that a clever cover story?"

He muttered the inquiry at such low volume and between such a particularly rapid series of punches, I almost didn't hear him. I countered the flurry of blows and spun, putting myself on his other side and throwing back up my guard.

"I'm actually taking it," I admitted as Minato reoriented himself. I cracked a smile. "Want to actually be my tutor?"

"If you actually need one." He paused, feet stilling underneath him. For a moment he hesitated, but then he asked, almost under his breath: "Are you taking it on my account?"

"That was a factor," I admitted.

"… I see."

I couldn't read his expression, even though his brow his knit and his lips pursed. "I wasn't going to tell you until I'd learned a little of the language," I told him. "Ironically, I intended it to be a surprise."

At last something recognizable registered in his face: shock, followed by amusement. "Well. Don't feel too bad, in that case." A smile ghosted the corners of his mouth as the lines between his eyes smoothed. "Surprises are overrated, or so I hear."

"Wise words," I said, hand dropping to my hip. "Who said them, again?"

I giggled, Minato chuckled, and for a moment we just stood there looking at each other—and call me crazy, but I think the absurdity of the situation had rendered us both a little slap-happy, because even the stoic Minato covered his mouth with his hand and tried very, very hard not to crack up. I stifled a laugh of my own with the sparring pad, wondering if my face reflected the urgent, desperate humor bubbling in my chest—but Minato's blue eyes caught on something over my shoulder. His fists shot up and his feet squared beneath him.

A glance behind me revealed Hideki looking in our direction, scowling, and his critical grey gaze put the fear of wind sprints into my heart. Ezakiya about to keel over in the corner helped, too. We resumed practice at once, circling each other and trading blows until Hideki looked away—back at Kurama, who hadn't moved since I last checked in. He and Hideki still stood off in their corner conferring in low voices. It was hard not to want to wander close and eavesdrop, but something told me neither demon nor demon hunter would allow that to occur.

"To be honest, I'm glad you're here," I whispered to Minato as he threw a punch.

Blonde eyebrows shot up like bullets. "You're kidding."

"No." I jerked my head toward the pair chatting in the corner. "Without an audience, those two might start throwing punches. You and Eza are helpful."

Minato shrugged, bouncing from foot to foot. "Seems I didn't ruin everything."

"Truth." My eyes rolled again. "God, this is a mess." I dodged a sweep of his leg, fluidly bending around the arc of the blow. "On the plus side, at least you're not the powder keg that is Kagome."

Another lift of his eyebrows, questioning.

"She and Kurama met in the past. Your canon doesn't intersect like that."

Minato grunted in affirmation. "Most he could learn is that there are more switched characters." He looked unnerved, then. "Or that the Scouts are real."

"Right," I said. "Dunno if the consequences of either would be too bad, but…"

He grimaced. "Best not tempt it."

"Yeah."

Sparring with Minato, getting a moment alone with him and physically exerting myself in the process, had cleared my head of my at least some of my earlier panic. This whole incident was shocking, sure, and we indeed danced on a high-flying tightrope wire of intersecting canons—but unless Minato transformed into Sailor V in front of the occupants of my _sensei's_ dojo (a feat he had no reason to perform), in the end the consequences of his presence here tonight weren't necessarily huge; it had just taken me a while to calm down enough to realize it. Kurama wanted to keep his own secret identity a secret, so I was pretty sure he'd stay on good behavior and not show off his powers in full view of everyone here, which meant we'd have no reason to drag Minato into the world of Yu Yu Hakusho—given Kurama had no idea Minato was in-the-know about it already and whatnot. Furthermore, Hideki probably now thought Minato was just a normal kid as well, my sketchy behavior notwithstanding. Kurama likely didn't sense anything particularly odd about Minato, either, apart from my aforementioned odd reaction to seeing him unexpectedly. Sure, maybe Kurama and Hideki had seen Sailor V on the news, but given V's cloaking tech, I doubted either one of them would suspect that superhero in a Sailor Suit could possibly be my German tutor Minato.

And even if they _did_ suspect?

"What would the consequences be?" I muttered out loud. Minato caught my eye and frowned. I added, "Practically, I mean? Of the YYH crew knowing about the… SM crew."

It took Minato a minute to puzzle through my use of acronyms, but soon he figured it out. He lobbed another volley my way, which I narrowly avoided. "Demons trying to steal the ISC," he said—and I took that to mean the Imperial Silver Crystal.

I cut my eyes toward Kurama. "He wouldn't do that."

Minato nodded, but he said, "Others might."

"True." I thought about that, about the chaos that might ensue if a demon hungry for power stole the Crystal so many Sailor Moon villains sought to make their own—but I shrugged, because canon afforded some minor protections. "It'd be useless to them, though."

"I hope so," said Minato, darkness brewing in his bright eyes, "but these canons have never mixed. Who's to say?"

He had a point. The Crystal responded to Usagi and her emotions, and it was unlikely a demon could therefore wield it—but without any canon to support that idea, we were working on theories and nothing more. I opened my mouth to say as much, reiterate the need to keep my connection to the world of Sailor Moon a secret (or at least not give anyone reason to think I was _friends_ with a Scout, aside from that one time V rescued Botan and I from a horde of infected teachers) but before I could, a shout rang up.

"That's _enough!"_ Kurama said.

I turned on my heel with a gasp.

Kurama and Hideki stood across from one another, still over in their secluded corner, only something about the scene had changed, though I wasn't precisely sure how or why at first glance. They hadn't moved much, standing in about the same places as before, and Hideki still slouched with hands in his pockets as he stared Kurama down. They were just about the same height, about the same build, neither one of them more imposing than the other at face value… only somehow, now Kurama looked _menacing_. It was like the shadows behind him had darkened, the broken practice dummies like an army of shambling corpses at his back, his green eye spots of eerie flame against the dark backdrop. Kurama's earlier calm mask had broken, falling away to reveal a face of thunderous, cold fury matched by the fists coiled at his sides and the iron set of his broad shoulders. Somehow I got the sense, as a shiver crawled and snaked up the length of my back, that if there had been plants about, they would have writhed around Kurama's feet like dogs baying for the taste of blood.

Hideki didn't even look impressed.

Minato and I stared, both open-mouthed with horrified wonder, and even Ezakiya froze mid-sprint to watch as Hideki took a step forward, right up in Kurama's face, and muttered something none of us could here. Kurama bared his teeth at that, eyes flashing like aurora borealis—but then, as if sensing our attention, shutters closed behind his eyes. He stepped back, away from Hideki, and passed a hand through the thicket of his hair.

"That's enough," Kurama repeated (softly this time), and he stepped around Hideki and walked away. The shadows behind him lightened into mere gray, tension in the air dissipating like mist in heated sun. Hideki watched him with a frown.

And then Hideki saw us looking.

I tried to turn, pretending I hadn't been staring, but Hideki spotted me too fast. He leveled one long finger in my direction. "You." The finger aimed at Ezakiya. "And you. To the mat. Now."

Ezakiya and I exchanged A Look.

We gulped.

I dropped my gloves, Eza kicked off his running shoes, and we did as we were told.

Minato and Kurama walked to the edge of the mat, watching as Ezakiya and I took up our positions on opposite sides of the red circle inscribed on said mat in paint. Hideki stood on the edge of the circle, too, equidistant between Eza and myself, as he always did whenever any of his pupils squared off. I hunkered down into an at-ready stance as Hideki raised a hand, nerves fluttering in my gut as Eza did the same.

I'd never had an audience for something like this before. Sometimes Kagome or Eza watched while we faced off in various configurations (typically we had a free-for-all, though, all of us against all of us), but never any outsiders like Minato or Kurama. I'd put my back to both of them very much on purpose, trying to pretend they weren't there, but it was tough to ignore the feeling of eyes boring into my nape. My knees trembled, but I concentrated on the adrenaline buzzing in my arms until they stilled. Ugh, performance anxiety. Not now! A bead of sweat slipped down my jaw and over the line of my throat, soaking into the fabric of my _gi_ and out of sight.

Please don't let me fuck up, please don't let me fuck up, please don't let me fuck up, please—

"You two know what to do," Hideki said, hand still upraised. "First to three ring-outs or tap-outs wins." The hand came down, a knife slicing air. "Begin."

I tensed on reflex, preparing for Ezakiya to make his customary charge forward—but it never came.

Instead, something… something _funny_ happened.

Eza didn't move.

It wasn't like him at all, to not come straight at me. He was a big dude, our Ezakiya. All brawn, long reach, but not very fast, he tended to make a straight charge at his opponent and use his momentum to knock the opposition off balance. I knew far better than to get within arm's reach, knew better than to make the first move myself and let him get me in a grapple. If he got a hold on me, I was _finished_ , because grapples were his specialty and impossible to break with my lesser strength. No, when fighting someone like Ezakiya, I had to use his own momentum against him, count on my speed, flexibility, and ingenuity to give me a one-up. Typically I'd wait for his charge, dodge out of the way, and then strike at his weak spots when he wasn't prepared to defend. He was stronger than me, but I was faster and cleverer than him, and we both knew how we each stacked up.

But Ezakiya had learned a thing or two since the last time we fought, it seemed, because he didn't charge.

And since I knew that getting close would give him a chance to grab me, I didn't move, either. I didn't dare strike first. He was on guard and at the ready to defend—too ready for me to chance an attack.

Thus… we stared at each other.

Neither of us moved.

I waited. He waited. We locked eyes and just stood there in our respective stances, each waiting for the other to make a move and strike first.

But neither of us did so.

I think we must have stood there, utterly motionless, for nearly a minute and a half before I figured out what was going on—and judging from the look of confusion on Eza's face, I figured it out first. Barely daring to believe what I suspected, I shifted my weight slowly onto my back foot, as if preparing to make a mad dash forward.

At once, with all the speed of unconscious thought, he raised his arms as if to block a strike.

My lips curled of their own accord.

I'm only a little bit ashamed to admit I played him like a fiddle, then, fucking with him for the sheer fun of it. I slid my foot to the right, watching as he copied the motion and angled his body as if to intercept a potential blow. I slid back, then forward, watching as he mimicked the moves to accommodate for how I might strike—and then I tipped him a wink and put a hand on my hip, joint cocking with a saucy bounce.

"Wanna dance, big guy?" I quipped.

Ezakiya blinked. "Huh?" he said—but when I feinted forward and he flinched, the lightbulb went off. His broad face screwed up tight. "Wait." His eyes shot wide. "Oh."

I feinted again. This time he grinned and made a feint of his own, which I reacted to the same way he had. I giggled. He giggled. I made a T-shape with my hands, and when Eza nodded I turned toward Hideki and thrust my hand into the air.

"Uh. Sensei?" I said.

He looked less than amused, practically glaring. "What?"

"I don't think this is going to work."

His eyes bored into me like the gaze of a fish on ice at a supermarket. "Explain."

"I, uh… I know what he'll do." I jerked a thumb at Ezakiya. "And he knows what I'll do."

"And she knows what I'll do if she does what I knows she'll do," Ezakiya oh-so-helpfully chimed in.

"Which means I won't do what he thinks I'll do," I said.

"But that means I won't do what _she_ thinks I'll do," said Eza.

"Which means neither of us is going to make the first move, because whoever goes first will lose." I scratched the back of my neck, hoping I'd gotten this right and hadn't totally overthought it. "I think we've fought each other too many times."

Hideki's lips twitched, with a smile or a rebuke I couldn't say. "Do you, now?"

"Yeah. If I get within grabbing distance, I'm finished. Eza's too strong. But he can't come after me because I'll outrun him, trip him up, strike when he's off guard. So we're just going to circle each other until—"

"Until I get hungry and go home," Ezakiya mournfully intoned.

I suppressed a laugh. "Yeah, for real though. This has basically become a war of attrition. Whoever breaks and acts first loses."

Hideki stared at me—and then he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing, I looked at Ezakiya, but he just shrugged. Seems he didn't know, either.

"I was afraid of this," Hideki muttered. "It happens in small classes. You learn to read each other. You need variety in opponents to grow in your craft."

"I'm sorry, sensei," I said, though I wasn't quite sure why I was apologizing.

"I'm sorry, too," Ezakiya echoed.

Hideki glared at us both. "No. My fault for not finding rivals for you to fight." But then a light sparked behind his steely eyes, which swung away from us and toward the edge of the mat. "You."

Minato started. "Me?" he said.

"Get in there," Hideki said.

Minato blinked twice. Looked at the mat. Looked at Hideki. "Get in…?"

Hideki nodded once, curt and swift. "You and 'the Captain' are about the same size." Lips pulled back across his teeth. "Should make for a decent match."

No one spoke.

My heart thudded inside my eardrums.

The air felt very, very cold against my skin—and then sweat broke out across my forehead like a spray of bullets from a machine gun as my teacher's intention sank home.

As my teacher's _very very bad idea_ sank like an anchor through deep, dark water.

"Sensei," I blurted, hands coming up as if to ward off a blow. "He hasn't studied _aikido_ before. I don't think it's a good—"

"Oh, never fear. He's studied martial arts, all right," Hideki said, totally unaware that Minato's previous and probably extensive training was exactly what I was afraid of. He looked Minato up and down with a sweep of critical eye. "You've studied martial arts,  haven't you, kid?"

Minato looked at me, as if asking if he could answer honestly—but he drew in a breath and spoke before I could tell him no, to lie, _don't you dare answer that fucking question with the truth, Minato, or I swear to Christ I'll fucking—_

"Yes, sir," Minato said. "I have."

Hideki looked satisfied. "What disciplines?"

His back straightened; his heels came together, little blonde boy standing at full attention, and for a moment something about him seemed poised, and proud, and powerful. "Brazilian jiu-jitsu supplemented by Krav Maga," Minato said, words as automatic as a microwave timer.

"Interesting." Hideki grinned outright. "Let's see how you fare against _her."_

And of course, he punctuated those words by looking straight at me—because the world fucking hates me, and like so many of the goddamn surprises I'd been gifted that night, this one I hadn't counted on receiving in the slightest.

What was it Minato had said earlier?

Oh, yeah.

Surprises were overrated—this one very much included.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this short? Yes. But did I have my bank info stolen and all of my money cleaned out by thieves this week? Also yes. Do I therefore deserve a break? I most certainly believe so.
> 
> … FUCK IT, ENOUGH WITH THE UNDERSTATEMENT, I AM UTTERLY BROKE AND IT'S NOT EVEN MY FAULT AND MY EMOTIONS ARE BEYOND RECKONING. 
> 
> If I turn out my pockets right now, all you'll find in them are a few fortune cookie prophecies, a hungry moth, and the faded scent of distant dreams. The theft follows a series of migraine days, a bunch of crap at work last week, mounting bills, and I'm so utterly emotionally exhausted that the level of FUCKERY the universe has decided to dump into my lap has become… hilarious. Like, it's too funny to make me angry or upset anymore. I'm just sitting here giggling hysterically into my hands, hoping they refund everything and my case goes through without a hitch. Someone asked me to make a Ko-fi account once a while back and I was like "nah, I feel weird profiting off of fic" and I still stand by that, but dammit do I resent my own principles in this moment.
> 
> Speaking of principles, or a pronounced lack of them: Whoever it was in Kansas who went on a shopping spree with my fucking money can go sit on a cactus. FUCK. YOU.
> 
> … so, to sum up: It's a short chapter because I'm going to bed now and I don't intend to get out of said bed until Monday morning because FUCK IT.
> 
> Your comments last week certainly boosted my spirits, even if you didn't know you were boosting said spirits at the time. So very many thanks to all those who chimed in. Your comments were little pips of light in an otherwise HELLACIOUS week. I'd say I'm indebted to the following people for their time and kindness, but I'm actually literally in debt right now so that turn of phrase is too painful to use offhand. Instead I'll just said "thank you" to the following: Bastet the Writing Cat, Vinlala, Mage King 17, theshadowlessnuance, Han, everlastingice_277, Unctuous, activelyapathetic, Eternalevecho, Kuramag33, Not Quite a Morning Person, Nama, SchizoCherri, musiquemer, drmsqnc, Just 2 Dream of You, D_Ravenheart, TheInterim_VectorChronos. Bless all of you, and may you never have your bank accounts gutted by thieves two days before your rent, car payment, and car insurance payments are all due.
> 
> TIME FOR BED.
> 
> G'NIGHT.
> 
> (Also for the record the martial arts Minato said he studied are often what people in the Navy SEALS study, so it's likely his branch of the German military probably use the same? IDK, it's what my research turned up; thought I'd mention.)


	73. Old Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK wants a fair fight, but doesn't exactly get one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this from my phone at 1:30am after spending all day and all last night on a film set, so if it feels uneven, WELL THAT'S PROBABLY WHY LOL. 3 hours of sleep, omg, with no end to the production in sight. Time to go hibernate as soon as this is done.

 

Because leaving them open afforded me a constant reminder of the horrific situation in which I had become so regrettably embroiled, I shut my eyes. I grit my teeth. Counted backwards from ten, but every number turned into a swear word. I squeezed my eyes tighter. Saw stars sparking behind black lids, felt blood flood my head until my skull threatened to burst.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—_

"Yukimura." Hideki's dry voice scratched against my ears like sandpaper. "What are you doing?"

I forced a smile. "Seeing how many times I can say "fuck" in my head in ten seconds." I paused for the allotted amount of time. Declared: "19."

"That's rather a lot," Kurama observed.

"My rates are impressive."

"Why so nervous?" Hideki asked.

I almost snapped at him, berated him for not seeing the obvious—but Hideki had no way of knowing that he had just signed my damn death warrant. He had no way to know that I, a former copy editor, was about to face off with a former German Navy SEAL, and that I, a present day schoolgirl, was about to go toe to toe with a present day Sailor Scout. A Scout in civilian form, but still. The mismatch between Minato and I was so wild as to be absurd, too utterly and completely farcical as to be believed. Even discounting his status as a Scout, this was a fight I was 100% destined to lose, and probably violently. Minato had more experience than I did by an embarrassingly wide margin. I was a bit bigger than him, with longer arms and legs, but there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he could hand my ass to me if he tried.

Simply put, this former copyeditor was outgunned and she knew it—but I couldn't exactly tell Hideki that. Instead I pasted on a smile and brushed my bangs out of my face, hoping I didn't look as vomitus as I felt.

"Oh. You know. Minato and I are just new friends, is all," I said, shrugging. "I don't want either of us taking this fight personally."

At that, Minato's blonde brows pulled together above his luminous blue eyes. My words sounded like an excuse at face value, and they were supposed to be exactly that—but as soon as I spoke them I realized my words ranger truer than expected. I was a creature of pride. So was Minato. I had no intention of throwing the match or going easy on Minato, because if I did, I got the feeling I'd get  _massacred_. I had to give it all I had or else risk getting straight up murdered, but perhaps more pressingly, my friendship with Minato was tenuous at best, budding and new and uncertain. If I somehow managed to do a good job, get the upper hand, would this former soldier take kindly to that? The soldier I knew in my first life had never reacted kindly to being challenged, let alone bested. And would I be able to be trust him again if he broke my femur or something equally horrific? Hopefully being forced to trade blows didn't get in the way of our developing friendship's growth…

But Minato looked less concerned by these worries. His head inclined, lips thinning as he smiled. "I assure you, I will leave emotion out of it."

"Right, right. Of course you will," I said, waving a hand. "But, just so you know—I'm actually sort of a pacifist, right? Like, I would never get violent with a person in an argument or outside the ring or unless they threatened me physically, and—"

Hideki glowered. "You're babbling, Yukimura."

"Yeah, so what,  _sensei?"_ I snapped, but before he could make me run sprints for that slight I went right back to babbling, hands raised pleadingly in Minato's direction. "Point being, Minato, I'm sorry in advance for anything I do in the ring, and it's absolutely nothing personal. Right?"

Minato nodded, sharp and stoic. "Of course."

"Good. Good. Great!" My head bobbed so hard I thought it might fall off. "Let's keep it clean and keep it sportsmanlike. I won't insult you by asking you to go easy on me, either." I affected the sunniest, most chipper grin imaginable, though it barely covered the twitch developing in my upper lip. "If we're gonna fight, it's gotta be  _fair_ , ya feeling me?"

He opened his mouth to speak, to agree—but then he stopped. His eyes widened. He bit back his words, as well as the edge of his bottom lip. Minato's eyes traveled up and down my face, as if noticing something about me for the first time.

Before I could ask what was wrong, Hideki took one sharp step in our direction.

"Enough talk," he said. "I want to see what this Krav Maga of his looks like."

"Sure," I said, but I held up my fingers and gave them a spirited wiggle. "Though if you'll let me wrap my hands, first?"

Hideki rolled his eyes. "Fine. You get ready too, Minato."

Minto nodded. I gave a salute and said, "Be right back!"

The trouble in Minato's eyes, that look like a foundation unsettled in the wake of a tectonic shift, didn't clear as I skipped off toward my duffel bag by the door, but I put my back to him and tried not to think about it as I fetched a roll of athletic tape and began taping up my fingers and wrists, supporting and reinforcing them for stability, protection, and power. I'd done it a hundred times, holding the tape between forefinger and thumb and then layering the strips of fabric over and under my fingers, around and atop my wrist, over and over again in an unending swirl—but the soothing, repetitive motion only calmed the shake in my hands the barest bit. It did nothing to soothe the tremble building in my legging-clad knees—because no matter how hard I concentrated on the winding pattern of the tape, one thought would not budge from my frantic brain.

_I was about to fight a goddamn Navy SEAL!_

Well. Technically Minato was something else, the German version of a SEAL, but I hadn't been able to remember the exact spelling of his station well enough to look it up at the library (my faulty recollection of his German title hadn't translated well into Japanese, and  _goddammit I missed Google_ ). SEALs were Minato's American equivalent, and they were certified badasses. Me, meanwhile? I was a former copyeditor, one who'd had a physical disability and no fighting prowess to speak of.

A tremor made its way up my arm, lodging under my breast, worming into my now erratic breathing. I tucked the last bit of wrapping into place, shut my eyes, and centered myself, conscious corrections coaxing my muscles back into mere neutrality. Start at the top of the head. Relax the scalp. Move into the face. Relax the muscles between my eyes. Neck, shoulders, abdomen…

"Are you all right?"

The voice in my ear scattered my concentration and pulled my muscles taut again, undoing all my hard work in a whispered instant. I flinched and cursed when I found Kurama at my side. He stood in my shadow, green eyes aglow with concern. I swore again.

"Hey. Fine," I said when he repeated the query, though my quavering voice betrayed me. "Nerves."

Kurama looked askance, over at Minato (the boy did stretches on the mat, limbs lithe and limber). "He's fast," Kurama said, studying him, "but you're stronger."

I suppressed a derisive snort. "Think so?"

"Yes." I detected no deceit as he traced the length of my arm with his eyes. "Use your reach to your advantage."

My lips curled. "So I'm the Ezakiya in this fight, huh?"

"Perhaps." He frowned. "Are you really that nervous?"

Pride wanted me to make a joke, shrug the question off with a show of bravado—but Kurama's inquisitive, worried expression slid under my skin like a razor. "Yes," I admitted, chin close to my chest. "I am."

His frown deepened. "He's just a boy."

To everyone in the room but me, that was true. But again, there was so much I couldn't say. I licked my lips, debating how to word my reply. Eventually I looked down at my hands and settled on: "Minato has been studying his form of martial arts for a long time. Most of his life. He's not one to be underestimated." Seemed neutral enough, and accurate in its own way.

Kurama nodded, just once. "I see." And he looked to Minato again. "I don't know anything about Krav Maga. But jiu-jitsu is a study of grappling. Avoid being caught." His eyes narrowed, stare intensifying as if he tried to read weaknesses and strengths in the curve of the kid's muscles. I got the sense that's exactly what he was doing, looking for weaknesses, trying to give me an edge in this fight—trying to help me.

But I really, really didn't want to talk about the fight. Anything but the fight would be better.

"What were you and Hideki talking about?" I blurted.

Kurama's attention snapped back to me, brow shooting up like a slash of dark red ink. I tucked my hair behind my ear, unnerved.

"You raised your voice earlier," I said. "It's not like you."

Kurama said nothing, merely looked at me—but then he shut his eyes. Drew in a deep breath. Exhaled long and slow.

"Later," he said.

Before I could dig in, Hideki called my name.

Every step across the warehouse echoed like a funerary bell, but Kurama offered me a smile and walked at my side over to the practice mat. He joined Ezakiya at the edge of the mat as Minato and I stood opposite one another across the red circle, Hideki midway between us with hands deep in his pockets.

I offered Minato a hesitant smile.

He did not return it.

My heart turned a somersault inside my chest.

"I'll explain the rules for the newcomer's benefit," Hideki said, voice devoid of emotion. "If you remain pinned for a ten-count, it's an out. If you're knocked out of the ring, it's an out. And if you say uncle, it's an out, too. First to three typically wins." At that he smirked. "But we'll see how long either of you last, given there aren't any other rules but those."

I breathed deep, weight shifting from foot to foot. "Ready, Minato?"

"Yes." He nodded. "Are you?"

"Of course," I said, brightly—perhaps too brightly, especially considering the hammering beneath my ribs. "Let's do it."

Hideki raised his hand.

"Begin," he said.

And he brought his hand down, fast.

Unlike the fight with Ezakiya, Minato and I had no preconceived notions as to how the other might initiate a fight—and thus we began to circle one another, a slow circuit made around the ring like magnets of the same pole, until Minato decided he'd had enough stalling. He launched across the ring as though springs powered his flight, striking hard and fast with a series of punches and a spinning kick I managed to dodge wholesale, relying on the fluidity of  _aikido_  training to avoid contact. We danced backward toward the edge of the ring, and when he aimed a wide punch at my torso I ducked under his arm and spun behind him, backpedaling across the ring to put distance between us once again.

He turned to face me—with a smile on his lips, small and satisfied. Happy he hadn't hit me. Pleased by what he saw. Not truly fighting me, then. Just feeling me out, testing the waters of what I could dodge successfully. Smart way to start, even if it might chip at his energy reserves.

I should probably return the favor.

Minato wasn't one for dodging, I saw when I decided to put my own little test into play and go on the offensive. Rather than lean out of the way of a punch, he deflected it with the flat of his arm, catching a fist and tossing it aside. A waste of energy, if you ask me, but it knocked off the flow of my attack the slightest bit, recovery between strikes delayed thanks to interference in momentum and trajectory. I half expected him to try and get me in a grapple at that close range, given jiu-jitsu's status as a grappling art—but he didn't, and when I put him close to the boundary line he tossed aside my punch and darted behind my back, putting distance between us once again so we could circle like a pair of snarling wolves.

This time, I didn't see the point in dancing around. I didn't wait, didn't let him try to feel out my abilities again. If he wanted a taste, I'd let him have it. I pushed off my back leg with a grunt and flew at him from across the ring, aiming a solid palm-strike at his chest. Not at full speed or power, mind you, even if it was a fast blow, sharp and forceful and direct—direct enough to dodge, perhaps, or deflect if he was so inclined, and it would leave my arm extended if he wanted to put me in a grapple. Not the smartest of moves, necessarily, but one that would certainly get this party started.

Minato looked down. He eyes alit on my hand. They moved, tracing the path of the blow through the air, and at his sides his hands moved. They began to rise, to come up to grab, to deflect, to  _something_.

His face spasmed.

His hands stopped moving.

My blow connected.

Flat palm on unguarded sternum sounded like a beavertail against water, loud and angry and booming in the quiet warehouse. Minato staggered with a grunt and a wheeze, stumbling backward over the red line painted on the mat. He didn't fall, catching his balance with hand on chest, panting—and I just stood there, too, posed with hand outstretched, body in a lunge position, staring wide-eyed as Ezakiya let out a raucous cheer and Hideki called a point in my favor. I barely heard either of them, though.

… why the hell didn't Minato defend?

And why was he  _smiling_ , nodding at me like I'd done well, when really he'd just handed me that point?

In fact, he put his hands together and clapped three times. "Good job, Captain," he said, teeth showing between his spread lips. "You did—"

"Don't gimme that bullshit." The words slipped out almost of their own accord; on the sidelines, Ezakiya fell abruptly silent. Minato's eyes widened. "What the  _hell_  are you doing?" I asked.

He put a hand to his chest again, positioning himself once again at the edge of the ring. "Catching my breath," he said, as though it should be obvious.

I glared. "You just stood there and took that."

But he shook his head. "You caught me off guard."

"No, I didn't," I said, and when Minato only shrugged I gnashed me teeth. "You totally saw—"

Apparently Hideki wasn't keen on mid-fight banter, however, because before I could get going, he raised his hand and brought it down. "Fight!"

Minato didn't wait for me to find my footing. He came at me as soon as Hideki's voice stopped ringing in the cavernous room, springs back on his heels as he soared toward me over the mat. If he'd been suffering from stage fright before, freezing up when the going got tough, he'd shaken it off after a nice warmup. He left no space for talking, no time for thinking, coming at me with a furious series of blows that had me dodging and deflecting at top speed, instinct taking over in a desperate fit to keep up with his assault. One particularly keen punch knocked me off-balance, and he followed it up with a spinning leg sweep aimed at my side. I didn't have my feet under me and therefore couldn't dodge, Minto's kick successfully sending me stumbling to the mat. However, the blow didn't actually hurt too much—and not just because Hideki had taught me well how to angle myself, how to aim my own body at strikes and have them make contact in places where I was less weak.

No. The kick didn't hurt for very different reasons—ones I wasn't in control of in the slightest.

I hit the mat on my side, immediately scrambling back up and facing Minato with hands raised to fend off another attack, fully expecting him to take advantage of the opening he'd created and put me in a hold—but he stayed back. He waited for me to regain my footing, hands held almost politely at rest at his sides.

_Politely?_

"Minato." His name came out of my mouth evenly, almost robotically, as I stared at him across the ring. "What are you doing?"

He put up his fists. "I'm fighting," he said—but that wasn't true. That wasn't true at all. It was just lip service, just a line fed to me to keep me happy, as manufactured as that civil smile adorning his young face.

I knew the truth, though, deep in my gut.

That sweeping kick of his hadn't hurt because I'd softened the blow.

It hadn't hurt because it was just plain  _soft_ —and it had absolutely no reason to be.

My teeth ground together, bone on bone buzzing in my ears. "Fighting?" I repeated. "No, you're fucking not." I spread my hands, opening myself to him. "Stop pulling punches and hit me."

He looked affronted. "I'm not pulling—"

"You hit the strike pads  _twice as hard_  as you just hit me, and you know it."

At my claim his features twisted, eyes darkening with a pang of guilt—and although he smoothed the look away within an instant, it was all the admission I needed. I'd caught his kicks earlier, back when I'd worn the strike pads, and they had been a helluva lot meaner than the one he'd only moments ago thrown my way.

So it was true, then.

That horrible, burgeoning suspicion rising hot and fast inside my disbelieving brain—it was fucking  _true?_

My lips curled back over my teeth, and when the English words slipped free of my mouth, they were accented. They were accented the way they only became accented when I was well and truly pissed, a low Texas twang creeping into my voice like a rattlesnake through a cactus briar.

"Aw,  _hell_  naw," I spat, and with more ferocity than I think I knew I possessed, I flung myself at Minato's startled face.

I'm utterly and completely proud of the fact that I gave him a run for his money, then, calling on every last ounce of Hideki's training to send Minato in a blind panic of deflected and dodged attacks, grunts of discomfort when my strikes hit home, his eyes huge pools of frantic blue beneath his short blonde hair and I punched, kicked, and slashed my way through his defenses, anger and the sting of wounded pride spurring me forward like a spur to a horse's flank. He did far more defending than he did fighting back, though, even when my hectic assault left me momentarily vulnerable to counterattacks I fucking  _know_  he spotted—and that just made my hackles rise higher, his refusal to attack me the way I attacked him more painful than any physical blow he probably could've delivered, and that just made me even more furious. I chased him across the mat, pushing him back and back until his heel slid near the red circle of the sparring ring, but just as I aimed for a strike to his shoulder that would send him spinning over the edge, he dodged under my arm danced away on nimble feet. I was spinning on my heel before he even got away, snatching at the back of his uniform, but he was too fast an evaded my grip by a hair's breadth.

"Get back here, asshole!" I snarled at him, and once more I gave chase—only by the time I pushed him to the boundary of the ring yet again, I had concocted a different plan of attack.

Minato, it seemed, was well and truly set on just defending, on not attacking me even in those moments my guard was at its weakest. I waited until I'd pushed him near the edge yet again, and this time when he dodged away to avoid a ring-out, I didn't give chase. Instead I affected a ragged breath, a wheezing pant as if to signal I was tired, and I intentionally left my back to him for a moment longer than was necessary—for a moment that bled into two, then three, more than enough for him to recognize as an opportunity to shove me over the red line and out of the arena, scoring him a point.

Only the shove never came.

I waited one beat, and then another, and then I turned.

Minato stood in the center of the sparring mat, politely (fucking  _politely!_ ) waiting for me to face me. He had that military posture, all ramrod spine and hands at his sides, stoic and formal and  _civil_.

It infuriated me. That gentlemanly expression, so neutral and full oh-dear-me, allow-me-to-wait-for-you-to-catch-up patience—it was horrible. My fists balled up, tension and fury vibrating up my arms like a swarm of wasps.

"You sorry son of a—I knew it. I fucking knew it." And I leveled a finger at him. "You're going easy on me!  _J'accuse!_ "

Minato held up his hands, but that look of shadowy guilt touched his features again. "No, I'm—"

"I was wide open and you didn't take the shot, Minato," I snapped. "I'm not an idiot."

He pulled back as if stunned. "You were testing me?"

"Yup," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "And you failed. Big fat F, right across your forehead." Before he could debate his failing grade, I marched over to him and threw open my arms, presenting myself to him with a lovely Vanna White flourish. "C'mon, Minato. Look. I'm wide open. Not even  _trying_  to defend." I slapped my chest with an open palm. "So hit me. Go one. Do it!"

He drew in a breath. Said: "No."

I stared at him. "What do you mean, no?"

"Just—just no." He looked almost sick, taking a step backward. "I won't do it."

"You won't—you won't hit me? But this is a goddamn fight!" The absurdity of his refusal refused to compute, rattling around inside my head like a loose puzzle piece lost in the innards of a racecar engine, totally out of place and on the verge of shaking loose whatever internal mechanisms holding me so tenuously together. I threw up my hands and scoffed. "This is a fight, dammit! Minato! You're supposed to—"

"Not like this!" he snapped. "I will not hit a defenseless—"

He stopped talking.

To be perfectly honest, if anyone else in the room was talking just then, I couldn't hear them. The world narrowed down to that single slice of existence threaded between Minato and myself, vibrating with a kind of tension I'm not sure I'd ever felt before. His chin tucked to his chest, blue eyes roving across the warehouse in an attempt to look anywhere but at me. I stared at him, wordless, unable to comprehend what he'd been about to say—but when he swallowed, and looked up at the ceiling with a curse, I came back to myself with a jolt.

"You won't hit a what, Minato?" I said. When he didn't reply, merely looked at the floor, I said, "Hit a defenseless  _what?_ " And when once more he avoided the question, I pinched the bridge of my nose and muttered. "I don't fucking believe this."

"What is going on out there?" Hideki called from the sidelines, voice rattling with dry impatience.

I didn't reply right away. Too lost in thought, because as far as I could see it, there were only two explanations for Minato's behavior just now—and I wasn't a fan of either of them. The first option was that he was reticent to hit me because he didn't think I could handle it, wasn't a good enough fighter to defend myself and take the pain of what it would feel like if he actually tried to attack me. He'd felt me out earlier, and he'd determined I wasn't worthy of his full strength. But the thing was, I wasn't sure that could be the case. He'd had trouble keeping up with me when I went all out, had housed legit panic in his eyes, made true sounds of pain when I hit. If he'd been leery of hitting me due to a presumed lack of skills  _at first_ , surely I'd proven him wrong with my fighting at least to some extent. Surely he should've gotten over his hesitation to fight back at least a little. He knew I was no wilting flower—which left only one option I could see.

And it was the option that made my blood absolutely  _boil_.

I took a deep breath, drew myself up, and looked Minato dead in his bright blue eyes.

"Minato isn't giving me his best because he doesn't want to hit a girl," I deadpanned.

He reacted immediately, teeth bared behind curling lips. "That's not true," he said—but he flinched when he said it, like I'd gotten just the littlest bit too close to the truth, and that was all the confirmation I needed. I tossed my hair and harrumphed.

"So that patronizing look on your face when I scored a ring-out was because you're  _just so proud of me?_ " I snarked.

Minato bared his teeth even more. His fists came up. "Defend yourself," he said.

Mine came up, too. "Now we're talking."

Now, look—before you put my head on a pike, I didn't want to think badly of Minato. I didn't want to think of him as the kind of macho-military-man with a misplaced chivalrous streak who treated women like glass, but the evidence here was tough to ignore. And hey, it's totally possible I was being prejudicial after my experience with men in the military (my ex, the one who'd done the opposite of pulling his punches with me when he was mad, had used every last one of his military anecdotes to justify his feelings of masculine superiority)—but I had the sinking suspicion I was right about this, and I wasn't happy about it. And I have  _never_  been the kind of woman who lets this kind of thing go unchallenged, even if (and in most cases,  _especially_  if) the man being a jerkwaffle is a friend of mine.

My friends can, and should, do better. Sorry not sorry.

We fought again, running at each other at top speed, and at first I thought Minato might have gotten over himself and his sudden inability to treat me like an equal—but when he finally did land a blow to my shoulder, it wasn't delivered with nearly the same level of power he'd used on the strike pads. The pain glanced off the edge of my joint, barely sinking in, as if at the last second he'd maybe angled the punch just outside my center mass—and at that spark of disappointing main, I sort of lost it. With a shriek my temper blew its top, a kettle boiling to the point of explosion, and a scream to match tore out of my throat when I grabbed Minato's arm as he threw a punch. His face blurred, mouth a big round O in his shocked face as I twisted my body and hefted him over my shoulder, tossing him to the practice mat on his back with a heavy thud. I followed his trajectory to the floor, crouching on one knee above his head, staring straight into his stunned face with hands planted on either side of his thin neck.

I leveled a finger at his face and said, "You listen here, and you listen good."

Minato—not even winded, I noticed—swallowed.

"You come at me one hundred," I said (although "one hundred" came out "a hunnerd," English thick with the accent of my past life), "or you don't come at me at all. Cause if you don't come at me a hundred, I'll put you on  _the fucking ground_ , you understand me?" The finger in his face shook, both with emotion and for emphasis. "I am not second class and I will not tolerate this disrespect. You got that, Minato?  _Huh?_ "

He didn't reply. He just lay there, stricken, staring up at me in utter shock. My mouth curled of its own accord.

"Fine. Don't say nothin,'" I said—and I grinned at him. "Just get up and beat my ass… if you even can, that is."

I'm not sure what it was about that particular goad that got to him, but his eyes narrowed almost immediately, a low growl building in his chest as I smirked—and before I could even think to get away, Minato's arm lashed out, hand fisting into the cloth atop my shoulder. Next thing I knew he used me as leverage to pull himself upright, in the same motion spinning up and around behind me, pulling my arm high up over my head and locking it between his shoulder and his neck. I yelped, the stretch of his jiu-jitsu hold pulling at my arm like a torture device; the pain only worsened when he shoved a knee into my back, foot pressing into the back of my knee to keep my pinned very carefully in place. He looped his other arm tight around my throat as the first stayed tight in the fabric of my shirt, exerting just enough force against my windpipe to make breathing horribly difficult, but not impossible.

Even as my eyes watered, my lungs burned, and my back and shoulder screamed to be released, a distant part of my brain recognized this for what it was: a truly impressive show of dexterity, and a testament to Minato's true ability.

Fucking  _finally_.

"That's—more like it!" I said, every word a battle from my tortured lungs. I tugged at the arm around my neck, but it did not budge.

"I don't care that you're a woman!" Minato growled in my ear.

"Good!" I choked out. "Because—most of the villains V faces—ugh!"

I choked, unable to talk for the arm around my throat and that pesky knee in my back, but the mention of V caught Minato's attention. He loosened his grip on me the barest fraction, allowing me to get a deep breath of cold warehouse air that stank of sawdust and sweat—and as he did, my top shifted around my shoulders and chest, loosening just the barest fraction. Minato had more of a grip on it than he did on me.

"What?" Minato said. "What did you say?"

"I said," I said, taking another deep breath, feeling that shift around my shoulders again, "most of the villains you face won't be men."

I couldn't see his face, but his voice held all the uncertainty in the world. "They won't be—" he said, waiting for me to finish the sentence for him.

I did no such thing.

Call it dirty fighting if you want, but I'd take any advantage I could get. I'd distracted Minato just enough for his grip to go slack, so when I flexed his hold on me broke like a wax seal under a hammer (Kurama had been right; I  _was_  strong, Minato's youth affording me an edge in the muscles department). He immediately reapplied pressure, of course, but that single moment of freedom had been more than enough for me to reclaim a little wiggle room within his iron grasp. Like a sausage out of casing wrapped far too tight, I slid down and out of my shirt and free of Minato's arms, leaving him grasping the empty shell of my  _aikido_  top—but I snagged the end of my sleeve as I went, stripping the garment inside out and wrapping it around his elbow with a swift twist of my wrist. He made a strangled sound of surprise as I shot to my feet, momentum and the slingshot of my shirt carrying him over and up and sending him sprawling onto his back, a horrendous thud preceding a gasp as breath left his lungs in one great burst.

A moment of silence followed, one punctuated by only Minato's ragged breathing. I stood over him in nothing but my leggings and sports bra and dusted my hands, prim as you please, before bending at the waist and carefully extricating my shirt from his tangled limbs.

When I turned around, shrugging into the shirt and grabbing for its dangling belt, I found Kurama, Ezakiya, and Hideki all staring at me quite open mouthed from the sidelines.

My cheeks colored. Words bubbled on my tongue unbidden.

"And may that be a lesson to never underestimate the phrase 'hit like a girl.' Because make no mistake, everyone." I cinched my belt tight. "It's a goddamn compliment."

Minato propped himself up on his elbows, squinting up at me. I smiled and offered him a hand.

He hesitated.

He took it.

"I won't break if you fight me," I said as I hauled him to his feet.

For a second, he looked uncertain—but then something behind his eyes went hard, and at that sight a spike of fear threaded through my gut. He released my hand and stepped back, lips firm under his resolute eyes.

"I know," Minato said.

I banished the fear with a grin. "Good." Turned to Hideki. "Sensei?"

My teacher looked oddly smirky when he raised his hand over his head. "Finally," he muttered, and then his voice pitched loud. "Ready? Begin!"

This time, Minato fought me for real.

There could be no doubt of his ferocity, of his intention to give me his best. I felt that from the moment the fight began. The air turned rigid, adrenaline so thick I could smell it. He came at me as an equal, this time trusting me to keep up, to defend myself, and it took every ounce of my training to not wind up a Keiko-flavored stain on the sparring mat. His punches whistled when they cut the air, the blowback of them slapping against my cheeks and drying out my eyes, kicks slamming into my ribs instead of just glancing off—the way they had when we fought when I wore strike pads. Even as my eyes watered and I idly lamented how many bruises would form before tomorrow, a smile cut my features, one that widened when I managed to duck under a punch and toss my arms around his waist. We went down onto the mat in a tangle, and it was only when I put him in a hold and he reversed it within seconds that I remembered Kurama's warning: Don't let him grapple you.

Well, shit.

I'd been so happy to have a real fight, I'd lost sight of strategy.

But that was OK. Nothing was unsalvageable. I bucked and rolled, locking my legs around Minato's knees and trying to knock him off balance. He stumbled and let go of me, trying to get for a better hold, but I lunged forward with arms outstretched, aiming for his neck—

His arm flew up to block me, elbow rising fast and hard at my face.

_Crunch_.

A firework of hot, iron-scented pain blossomed across my nose; I was on my feet and reeling in a second, stumbling away from him with a yelp, clutching at my face. "Are you all right?" I heard Minato call after me. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, bouncing from foot to foot as I turned back in his direction. He stared with eyes wide, I saw once I opened my own to grin at him, scrambling to his feet with hands outstretched, mouth parted in horror. Which made no sense because this fight was going  _great_.

"Are you kidding?" I bounced on my heels, shaking out my hands to psyche myself back up. "I'm fantastic. That's what I'm talking about, Minato—you came at me one hundred and it was  _awesome!"_  I put up my dukes and threw a mock punch into the empty air. "Now c'mere you little shit, you're totally gonna pay for—"

"Yukimura,  _stop._ "

And I did stop, because Hideki's barked command left no room at all for argument—at least not right away. I blinked at him and frowned as he marched toward me across the mat. "What? Why?"

"You need to stop," he repeated.

" _Sensei_ , I'm—" But as I opened my mouth to talk, something trickled across my tongue. I licked my lip, tasting something salty and warm, and then I did it again, and again—and oh. Oh  _shit_. Wait a second. I swiped a thumb across my mouth.

My thumb came away quite bloody.

The blood-faucet that was my nose began leaking in earnest, then, dripping down my chin and onto my  _gi_. I stood there without understanding for a minute, hands raised and idle near my face, and then I looked at my hands and at Hideki and back to my hands again. "Oh. Oh no. Shit shit shit—" I threw back my head, blinking at the lights above. "I'm bleeding!"

"You noticed," Hideki observed. He grabbed my wrist, shoved my hand toward my face. "Apply pressure."

"I am so sorry!" Minato said from somewhere to my right.

I flapped a hand in the direction of his voice and pressed my other hand to my nose, though it hurt like the absolute dickens (emphasis on ick). "Nah, nah, that was  _amazing_ , Minato—oh shit, oh shit, it's going down my throat!" I coughed and gagged, blood hacking up to fill my mouth. "Bad news bears, bad news bears!"

Hideki grabbed my head in both hands and pulled it down, face parallel to the floor. "Lean forward with a bloody nose, not back."

And then Kurama was there, hovering at my elbow. "Let me see," he commanded.

Hideki released a low growl, though. "Out of the way."

"Uh. Is she OK?" Ezakiya asked, voice distant and worried.

"I am  _so sorry!"_  Minato said again.

"Stop apologizing," I said, words gummy with blood (not to mention I'd stopped being able to breathe through my nose sometime in the previous thirty seconds). Head bowed like this, held still by Hideki's weathered hands, all I could see were the bare feet and shoes gathered around me on the mat, everyone standing in a knot to stare at the bleeding Keiko. Blood hit the mat in tiny droplets, brown against blue plastic. "Minato, I wanted you to hit me and you fucking did and it was great, I  _loved_  it." I fought against Hideki's hands to look at him, swirling my free hand around my face with a wink. "Just don't aim for the moneymaker next time.  _Ouchies._ "

"You loved it?" Kurama repeated, aghast.

"I loved it," I confirmed. "We scored a victory for feminism today!"

Kurama only sounded more scandalized when he said, "A victory for  _feminism?"_

"Yup." Once again I grinned, though with my bloody teeth I probably looked quite ghoulish. "Equality, yo!"

Hideki didn't let me bask in this glory for long. "You're remarkably chipper for someone bleeding like a stuck pig," he said, utterly unimpressed by my shenanigans.

"Eh, a little blood ain't scary," I said, but as blood once more filled my mouth, I grit my teeth and whimpered, "but please, make it stop?"

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Hideki said, and I could practically hear his eyes rolling in every syllable.

#

Hideki took me outside under the guise of getting a first aid kit, but in truth he had me sit atop a random shipping crate in the shadow of another warehouse so he could heal me with rei-ki. Thank my lucky stars for his glowing hands. He got the bleeding to stop within moments, light of his power cool and soothing against my flushed skin.

"So how'd I do?" I asked once we settled in, and once he'd healed the worst of the damage. Blood had stopped leaking into my throat, though I sensed I'd develop a wicked stomachache from ingesting so much of my own fluids.

Hideki shrugged. "You didn't totally embarrass me."

That was a compliment, coming from him. I thrust a fist into the air. "Score."

But then he launched into a brutal critique of my fighting that night, and my victory died an abrupt death.

I listened to his critique, of course, but I'll admit with only half an ear. It was the usual stuff, the normal weaknesses we'd been working to combat, though this time he had a lot to say about controlling my emotions in battle and not giving in to anger when it came calling. I was just pleased I'd been able to keep up with Minato at all—though I suspected he was a little out of practice when it came to hand to hand combat. After all, it was preposterous to think I could keep up with a SEAL, even one who hadn't seen combat in 13 years. He'd been doing more fighting as Sailor V than as a civilian, after all. Maybe he'd been exclusively fighting as V. Was he out of practice relying on his non-Sailor-skills? Yeah, I'd be willing to bet he was. That was probably the only reason I'd been able to keep up at all, truth be told, and I'd do well to remember that. He'd bested me by the end of the night and hadn't been giving it his all for the first two thirds of it. It wouldn't do to get a swelled head or overestimate myself based on just this fight. And judging from all Hideki had to say about my performance, I still had an infinite amount to learn.

"—of you."

Hideki stood six inches away with his hands nearly touching my face, but still I somehow missed what he'd said. "Hmm?" I said, trying not to look too guilty.

He glowered. "I said I'm proud of you."

That rendered me mute fore entirely different reasons. "Uh.  _What?_ "

More glowering. "Do I really need to say it three times?"

"Oh. Um. No. I heard. And thank you. I just—" I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, shy all of a sudden. "What brought that on?"

Hideki passed the tips of his fingers from right to left, top to bottom, a plus sign across my aching nose. The glare of the silver pouring from his hands obscured his eyes, but still I read the slightest smirk in then.

"You were right. He  _was_  underestimating you. And you wouldn't accept that," Hideki said. "Even if he outclassed you, you wouldn't accept anything but his all. You respect yourself enough to demand equal treatment… even if you ended up a bloody mess for your efforts." At that he flicked the tip of my nose, impassive when I yelped. "Don't let that pride get you killed someday, girl."

"I'll try my best," I said, eyes streaming. Shaking off the pain, I rubbed my blood-caked but now mostly pain-free nose and said, "Can I ask you something?"

Hideki lifted a brow and tucked his hands into his pockets.

"What were you and Minamino talking about earlier?"

I thought he might shrug me off and avoid the topic, but instead he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "You, mostly."

"Oh,  _god._ " I gave him A Look. "You didn't give him a shovel talk, did you?"

"A  _what_  talk?"

I mimed swinging a shovel, then pretended to hold it up and shake it in Hideki's face. "Hurt her and I'll bury your body so deep using this here shovel that they'll never find you!"

Hideki's lips hiked at the corner. "That's about the size of it, actually."

"Oh. Well, then." I thought about it, because I hadn't been expecting a yes. I held up two fingers, taking them down one after the other. "One. I'm touched. Two. There was  _absolutely no need_ —"

"If you're going to consort with demons despite all my best attempts to warn you off, said demons need to know who they'll answer to if you wind up dead," he said, voice flat like a pancake under a steamroller. It was his turn to give me A Look, this one rather solemn. "I'm not going to chase them away. It's your life. You can make your own choices." And then another of his roguish smirks chased the gravity away. "But I put the fear of god in him, that's for sure."

"Did you?" I said, unconvinced. "He's not easily scared."

"Maybe." Hideki shrugged again. "Maybe not."

"Definitely 'maybe not.' So why'd he yell?"

Hideki shrugged a third time. "Why, indeed."

"… must you be so evasive? It's just that he's not the type to lose his cool, is all."

"Maybe you don't know him very well."

"I doubt that." I studied him, trying to glean clues from his face. "What  _exactly_  did you say to him?"

"Hmmph." His hands shoved deeper into his pockets, shoulders hunching in a pronounced slouch. "You wanna know, ask him."

"But he's so  _evasive_  and  _vague_  and  _mysterious_ ," I whined. "He'll just evade my questions. You gotta tell me." But when he didn't comply to my wishes, I heaved a dramatic sigh. "You're a spoilsport, you know that?"

Hideki smirked. "That's what  _senseis_  are for. Now let's go." And with that, he walked away toward the warehouse—though as I hopped off the shipping crate to follow, he looked at me over his shoulder. Gestured at his nose. "Oh—don't clean up much. Don't want Minato knowing I can heal with my hands."

"Right," I said. Joke was on Hideki, obviously. Minato knew everything already.

Oblivious, Hideki reached for the door. At the last second he thought better of it, though, pulling back his hand. "I think we're done for the night, anyway," he said. "See you next week?"

"Yeah." I bowed. "Thank you,  _sensei_ , for abiding both of my guests tonight."

"Harrumph," he said, very eloquently, and without another word he walked off into the December dark.

Because standing outside in the cold was a Bad Idea, and because I hadn't put my coat on earlier for fear of getting it all bloody, I booked it back indoors as soon as Hideki turned the corner around a nearby building and out of sight. Kurama caught my eye as the door swung shut behind me; he sat over by the practice dummies lacing up his shoes, but I shook my head when he started to stand. He settled back into place, watching me carefully as I crossed the warehouse and approached my other guest.

Minato had stashed his stuff by the punching bags; he pretended not to notice when I drew near, though he couldn't ignore me when I pointedly cleared my throat. "Hey. Can we talk?" I said when I caught his eye.

He met my smile with a hesitant one of his own, and an equally hesitant utterance of, "Yes." His eyes flickered to my nose, down to my bloodstained  _gi_ , and back up again as we stole off into the corner, away from prying ears and eyes. "I'm sorry, Captain. I didn't mean to—"

"No.  _I'm_  sorry."

Minato didn't appear to have been expecting that, because he blinked and fell quite quiet. I rubbed the back of my neck, teeth worrying my lower lip as I pondered how to phrase this.

"I, uh. I got a little heated," I settled on eventually.

"Heated?" Minato said.

"Well, yeah." More neck scratching as I avoided Minato's eyes, gazing at the floor as my cheeks flushed. "I said not to take the match personally, and there I went, taking it personally." I forced a laugh. "Talk about hypocritical, me flinging accusations the way I did. I definitely overreacted."

But Minato didn't laugh with me. Instead his gaze drifted to the floor before slowly climbing back up to my face, lingering on my bloody nose before he met my eyes.

"No," he said, voice low and quiet. "You were right." A regretful smile crossed his mouth. "I  _was_  going easy on you, at first."

Frankly, I wasn't sure if I liked being right about that, so I decided to breeze past it. Waving a dismissive hand, I said, "And I overreacted, let my pride—"

"No." The word came out sharp, perhaps sharper than he intended, because he modulated his tone and dropped his speech to nearly a whisper. "I'm not used to fighting women. It's true. The Frogmen of my military unit were just that—all men. And in this life I have only fought gangsters, thugs, Yakuza. More men." He shook his head, short blond hair gleaming in the warehouse's harsh lights. "You told me not to go easy, and I hadn't been planning on it—but then you said you wanted a fair fight. And I didn't think a fight between us could be that, given who I am. Given who you are." At that he spoke in an outright whisper. "My father was a chivalrous man. He taught me to be one, too. It is not a lesson I would soon forget."

That look on his face—that look of defeated nostalgia, eyes downcast and weary, yet full of a damned affection for someone who no longer existed—pulled my heart into knots. We did not easily forget the lessons of our past lives. We did not forget the ingrained habits of the lives we'd lived, even if those habits did not suit us here—because to forget them would be to forget where we came from.

We did not remember our names. To forget where we came from, too, would be too terrible to bear.

"I understand," I said, because I did. "Old habits are hard to break. But on the battlefield, there's not really a place for worrying about where people came from, and who they are today. I don't think I have to tell you that a soldier is a soldier, no matter who they are."

"Of course," he said, with a perfunctory nod. "But you are my friend, or getting there, and I worried about that, too." He didn't linger on that admission, although he did react to it with flushing cheeks. He added before I could get mushy, "And it wasn't just your gender. I worried I outranked you in terms of training."

"Well, duh! You  _do_  outrank me," I said. "You were a soldier. I was a proofreader. Our fight was a mismatch made in hell."

"But I should have at least given you a shot before dismissing you, trusted that you could handle yourself—because you're right," Minato said. "I  _won't_  always be facing men in this life. Until now it's been Yakuza thugs, but soon…"

I grimaced. So did he. "Soon it'll be Queen Beryl."

Minato nodded. "I wasn't aware I even had this hesitation inside of me. But I do." He eyed my bloody nose. Dryly remarked, "Or I  _did_ , rather."

"Need to punch me in the face some more and work through it?" I offered, chipper and bright and cheery.

He paled. "I'd rather not."

"Thanks; I appreciate that." I mock-shoved his shoulder, grinning my ghoulish and bloody grin. "And honestly, man, you do outrank me, if not in training then in… well." Shielding my hand with my torso, I mimed holding it up in the air as I whispered, "Moon prism power!" When Minato snorted, I just beamed. "I was shaking before we started."

His eyes widened. "You were?"

"Like a leaf in a gale. But then I felt like you were babying me and I just got mad."

"The anger didn't do you any disservice. You fought well." A hasty addition took the form of: "And I'm not just saying that to patronize."

I grinned. "You'd better not, or I'll drop your ass to the mat again."

That got him to laugh. "It was a clever move, what you did with your shirt."

"Thank you. My old burlesque buddies would've been proud."

"Burlesque?" He looked intrigued. "I sense a story or two."

"Try a dozen."

"We'll have to get coffee." He sobered quickly. "I'm serious, though. You can fight. But we didn't have a proper matchup, did we, Captain?"

"No," I said. "We did not."

"We will, though. Eventually." A true smile lit his eyes up, the blue of a vast ocean, unfathomable and deep. "And I promise not to hold back."

"And I'll hold you to it," I told him.

But I got the feeling I wouldn't have to, because Minato was the kind of man who would always keep his word—in this life, in the time before, and maybe even in the next.

* * *

Minato declined my offer of walking him to the train station on the grounds I'd miss my train if I escorted him to his—understandable, though naturally the side of me that worries constantly wondered if he was trying to beat a swift retreat. The smile he shot me over his shoulder, however, assuaged my fears, as did the polite bow he gave to Kurama as we parted.

"It was good to meet you," he said, composure perfectly in place. I admired Minato for that. He could stare the fox demon in the face and not even flinch. "I hope we get a chance to get to know one another next time."

"As do I," Kurama replied, returning the bow. "Kei hasn't mentioned you before. You're quite mysterious."

I flushed, of course, but Minato just laughed. "She's mysterious, herself." But even Minato, cool as he is, knew better than to linger and let Kurama question him. "See you soon, Keiko," he said, and then he was gone.

Kurama and I walked to the station together after that, bundled back up in our coats for the long trek home. If he wanted to interrogate me about Minato (not sure why he would; the tutor angle was perfectly plausible, after all) he refrained, because I pulled a bottle of water from my bag and wetted a handkerchief, blotting blood from my face and neck as best as I was able. When we entered a more populated area of town, I made faces at the few passersby who spotted us, grinning at them and giggling when they gaped and power-walked away from the girl covered in blood. Kurama laughed behind his hand, the trickster in him clearly pleased.

"So," I said when my face felt mostly clean. I shoved the gory handkerchief in my bag. "What did you think of my lessons?"

"Hideki is a capable teacher," he said, reply smooth and instantaneous. "Your skills reflect well of his abilities."

I have him no small degree of side-eye. "Thank you. Though that sounded a little rehearsed."

He ignored me, smile pleasant and bland. "And the maneuver with the shirt—"

My face caught fire; I buried it in my hands to put out the sudden flames. "Oh, god."

"—was clever," he said, a teasing gleam in his eye. "I was impressed."

"Yeah. Well." It took every ounce of my self-control to stare straight ahead and recall my Art of War. "Opportunities multiply as they are seized."

"Indeed." He eyed me askance, small smile playing across his lips. "Your fighting reflects your broader personality, by the way."

Not sure if I liked where this was headed, I said, "I don't follow."

"Even fighting, you're helpful," he said. "Nurturing, even."

I flapped my hands by my shoulders, fast and small like a hummingbird. "Ca-caw! The albatross never sleeps." Shoving my hands back in my pockets, I favored Kurama with a scowl. "Don't tell Yusuke. He'd make fun of me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Kurama said. "The aim was to beat Minato, but in the end you helped him overcome a mental block. Even in the midst of battle, your goal was not to hurt, but to help."

"Oh god." My face caught fire again. "You  _noticed_  all of that?"

"Difficult not to, though I couldn't hear your reconciliation. It seems you parted on good terms, however."

"We did." I passed a hand over my face, rubbing at the last bits of dried blood in the crevices of my nose until they flaked away. "Honestly, I'm embarrassed. I got so mad at him when he wouldn't just haul off and hit me. I felt silly, getting so heated, but it pissed me off." At that I threw up my hands, hoping my earlier explanation (that Minato had been studying martial arts his whole life) validated everything I needed to get off my chest. "I know he was just worried about hurting me, but I'm not made of glass. I won't break. And he knows that. Or hopefully he learned tonight, at least."

"I don't think you gave him the option of remaining unaware," Kurama said. "You're forceful with your opinions when you have the mind to be."

"That I am." I kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk without really seeing it. "My old mom used to tell me that's why I'd end up alone."

Kurama started. "End up alone?"

"Oh. Uh. Never mind." Subject change, stat. "Tell me. You and Hideki had it out?"

And then it was his turn to be evasive, face trained carefully forward. "You might say that," he murmured.

I rolled my eyes. "I already got the vague and mysterious act from Hideki, so if you could just cut to the chase, that'd be great for me, mmkay?"

The sarcasm didn't make him laugh like I had hoped it would. It just made his eyes go hooded, his steps take on a brisk quality I had to double-time to keep up with. I nearly didn't hear him when he murmured, "As you wish," but I heard him loud and clear when he spoke up clearly, loudly, and dispassionately, as if delivering an address to a crowd. "He threatened my life if I hurt you. I assured him I wouldn't."

The confession, while not surprising, certainly wasn't gratifying. "So why'd you blow up?" I asked. "A threat of death isn't usually enough, I would think."

He shook his head. "I did not appreciate his insinuations. But I assured him—"

"No. The order's wrong."

Kurama stopped walking. I did, too, nerves building in my belly like steam in a kettle. I hadn't meant to interrupt him, but my brain had made a connection and my mouth had wanted the connection known—even if it meant Kurama staring me down like a lion, green eyes incandescent in the light of the streetlamp overhead. Deep breath in, deep breath out, I dug my fingernail into my cuticle and picked at it in the depths of my pocket, out of Kurama's line of critical sight. No sense letting him know how nervous he made me.

"The last thing you said to Hideki was 'enough,'" I said. "You didn't assure him of anything after that. The conversation ended with 'enough.'" I searched his face, his delicate jaw, tracing the lines of the garnet hair framing his pale features. "So what did he say that got to you?"

Kurama measured his tone like a volatile chemical, careful of a reaction. "I don't want to come between you and your teacher."

"I'm a big girl," I reminded him, and I wondered how many dudes I'd have to convince of this tonight; so far we were a solid three for three. Men, am I right? Flexing, trying to make light of it, I said, "I'm not made of glass and I won't break. I can make my own decisions. So just tell me."

He didn't tell me—not right away at least, but Kurama is never one to do something without giving it ample forethought. He stared off into the sky above my head without speaking, lost in thought. We stood there under that streetlamp, its light keeping back the dark but doing nothing or the winter cold, until I had to wrap my arms around myself with a shiver. The motion seemed to break him from his trance; his gaze alit on me, distant but determined.

"I don't belong in this world, or so he claims," Kurama said. Though he spoke with his usual silken intonation, the barest undercurrent of tension, of pain, snagged the words at the edges like thorns. "He insinuated I do not deserve this life I stole, and that I ought to give it up." He paused a beat, shoulders tensing. "He said demons have no place in Human World."

If we had still been walking, I surely would've frozen stiff, and not just at the unintentionally cruel thing Hideki had said to Kurama. Kurama hid it well, his poker face even better than mine, but I knew him and could hear the ragged tenor to his words. I knew what his pauses meant. I hadn't told Hideki everything about Kurama (mostly the he was living as a human and had a human body, through reasons and methods I'd left vague) but he'd managed to touch on some of the insecurities Kurama liked to forget he harbored. And Hideki had thrown them right into his face.

My heart just about broke.

"He's never met a demon like you before," I said, knowing my words didn't have the power to make it better, but trying all the same. "Just the ones he had to round up with the first Detective." I touched Kurama's arm, trying to convey comfort. "I'm sure if he really knew, though…"

He smile, albeit thinly. "Old habits."

"Old habits," I agreed. Something told me it was best not to linger on this subject. I shook myself and asked, "So, the blowup? Is that was caused it?"

"No." At that he looked almost annoyed. "He said I should stop pretending to be what I am not—for your sake."

"Mine?" I pulled back with a scowl. "What's that even mean?"

Kurama hesitated. I thought he might divert, tell me to go ask Hideki or something, but instead he sighed. Squared his feet and faced me. Seemed to debate something, and then make a grim decision.

"Kei," Kurama said. "Are we friends?"

The sheer absurdity of the statement rendered me momentarily mute, but I detected no trickery in Kurama's face—just sincerity, incongruous as it felt. "What the hell kind of question is that?" I said when I found my voice again.

"An honest one," he said. "So tell me: Are we friends?"

"Well, what the hell do you think?  _Of course_  we're friends." I huffed and turned away, hands balling into fists inside my pockets. "Pretty damn good ones, too, hence my  _extreme_  consternation."

"I see." Kurama looked pleased with himself, although the look dissolved into solemnity again when he breathed deeply. His next words were delivered with that same clipped tone he'd used before, a speech he'd been rehearsing in his head for hours: "Hideki thinks I am using you to have what he calls the 'full human experience.' His exact words were that I am using my pretty face to lure in a young girl with a soft heart." At that he eyed me up and down, the barest flicker of amusement lightening his expression. "He knows about your caring nature, your compulsion to care for others, as well as I do."

I thought about it. Realized with mounting horror what was going on. "Aw, man," I lamented. "He thinks I'm trying to mother the emo demon, doesn't he?"

The amusement flickered more brightly. "That's one way of putting it. In any case, he thinks I want to experience all humanity has to offer—including young love." And at that he outright chuckled, concealing his mouth behind his hand—but he had that gleam in his eye, that traitorously playful sparkle that said he expected me to blush atomic again. "He thinks I'm trying to seduce you."

"Gee." I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled at the light overhead, internally gleeful I wasn't playing into his hand. "I wonder where he got that idea."

Kurama blinked, hand dropping. "Beg pardon?"

"Kuroko, the former Detective, had the same suspicion." A heavy roll of my eyes conveyed just how annoying this was. "Either you're too pretty for your own good, or they've been colluding."

Kurama regarded the light above, too. "I don't know which I find more disconcerting."

"Me neither." I passed my hand through my hair with a sigh. "So. Aside from the seduction accusation, what else did he say?"

He shrugged. "More of the same. He thinks if I decide said human experience is not for me, I will cast you aside with no regard to your feelings like so much unwanted garbage. That is why he wishes I would abandon my charade, as he calls it. He does not want to see you hurt."

"Hmmph. That's sweet of him."

At that he looked rather shocked. "Sweet?"

I shrugged, that time. "He's looking out for me. It's annoying, sure, but… sweet." Although I had to give the absent Hideki a look of disdain, too. "But as I've said a hundred times tonight, I don't need to be babied. I told him so when he was healing me. If you meet again, I'd like to think he'll play nicer. But we'll see."

Kurama didn't seem all that concerned about Hideki's treatment of him, however. "You don't think I'm using you?" he said instead, surprised.

I frowned. "Why the hell would I think that?"

"I just—" He paused. Thought about it. Admitted: "I was worried you might believe him."

It was almost comical, the look of open concern he wore, but I tried not to laugh at him. Something told me his pride wouldn't react kindly, and we'd had enough prideful reacts for one night. I just shook my head and snorted. "Seriously, Kurama?"

One red brow shot up.

"You let me meet your  _mother_."

I didn't need to explain the importance of that, and what it meant, to Kurama. He knew full well what that introduction had implied, even if Hideki did not. Still, Kurama didn't reply to my simple reasoning right away. He threaded his hand through his hair, strands tangling around his long, dexterous fingers and against his palm like spidersilk.

"Yes," he said, voice soft and low. "I suppose I did."

I smiled. "Then that's all the proof I need."

And it was.

Hideki, and anyone else who questioned my relationships with the demons whom I'd come to call my friends, would just have to take my word for it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Minato. Recently it occurred to me that he stressed needing to protect the Scouts in earlier chapters, rather than fight alongside them as comrades. That influenced this chapter. Part of his initial reluctance to become friends with Kag and Kei might have been because he first saw them as more people he would need to care for, which would be exhausting, hence his initial resistance before they proved themselves useful with their knowledge of Sailor Moon. I imagine he came from a very traditional, old-world household with rather strict gender roles, and his time in the military reinforced that—or rather, just made it so he never really had to give fighting women much thought, and this is the first he's really had to wrestle with the idea. Pun intended.
> 
> Minato has very distant parents in this life who didn't dictate how he was raised or force him to be something he wasn't. He was born in this life and was like, "I don't care what character's body I was born in, I am who I am and that's who I'm going to be." Documents updated, name updated to Minato, BOOM, he's living his best life from the start. His old-life chivalrous streak would remain intact, given this. I hope I handled this believably and w/ sensitivity. If I didn't, then let me know, because I think you probably know me well enough to know by now that I'd want to fix it. At least I hope that's how I come across, haaaaa. XD
> 
> About NQK in the fight scene: If I thought he was going easy on me because I'm a girl, I'd FLIP OUT. It's something I'm sensitive to. So much for keeping emotion out of the fight, indeed. My raging feminist pride would make an issue out of this, LOL.
> 
> I'm getting last week's fraud handled, but Friday night as I was writing I got an alert on my phone that someone tried and failed to gain access to my online banking account (they had the password and username but not access to a security item). Someone appears to be trying to hack that account. This so close on the heels of the fraud has me a complete nervous wreck. I feel like I'm under attack with no way to defend myself. It's suuuuuuuuuper not cool.
> 
> As of this exact moment I'm literally dragging myself into bed after a weekend spent on a film set. Wrote a script Friday night from 7 PM to 3 AM, filmed today, have to turn it in Sunday. Yay, 48 Hour Film Fest. Functioning on 3 hours of sleep. Nothing short of a miracle I got this done, but here we are. I literally wrote the final line today between takes on the set. MANY THANKS to all those who left comments last week, because y'all really did help me stay sane during my financial crisis: ToriLilo, Unctuous, Eternalevecho, cosmoqueen, curaga, Everlastingice_277, theshadowlessnuance, musiquemer, vinlala, gerbilfriend, actively apathetic, Masked Trickster, Roses Universe, atsuyuri-sama, D_Ravenheart, MageKing17, Linnadhiel, shrilaraune, rosesandlion, and junebird. 
> 
> A big thanks especially to Tewdrig, too, who reviewed a METRIC TON of chapters recently and completely made my day. Days. They're awesome, is what I'm saying, as are all of you. ❤
> 
> I'm one sleepy screen writer and script supervisor. SO TIRED. Night. Zzzzzzz.


	74. Red vs. White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK throws a party and might actually be a demon, IDK, she certainly has a laugh befitting one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultural Notes: New Year's is a MAJOR event in Japan, apparently. One of their biggest holidays. Some terms that come up this chapter: Kadomatsuare decorative trees placed near the door of a home after Christmas, left up until Jan. 7. Osechi-ryōri is the collective name of the various foods served on New Year's, served in a special box called a jubako box (basically a fancier bento). Ozōniis soup with mochi in it; it's a New Year's dish. Fukuwaraiis a game like "pin the tail on the donkey" only you stick facial features onto a big face while blindfolded instead of a tail onto a donkey's ass. Hanetsuki is a game in which you hit a shuttlecock back and forth with racquets and try to keep it in the air. In Japan you send postcards out to friends and family in honor of the New Year; it's briefly mentioned in this chapter. Kōhaku Uta Gassenis a signing competition, red team v. white team, hosted every year in Japan on New Year's Eve. It's very popular and watched by most everyone (sort of like the Times Square Ball Drop for Americans). I think that's everything.

Wrapped in a thick down blanket, I slept—but only barely. Every movement of my foot stirred the comforter, summoned an inkling of winter cold beneath the covers and against my frozen toes, and with it came the dusty scent of dry desert air. Cold pressed against the bay windows above my bed as thickly as the late night darkness. When a hand alit on my back and the mattress dipped beneath my Nana's weight, I awoke in an instant. I'd been expecting her, luxuriating in the warmth of my bed, reveling in the cozy pajamas insulating me from the chilly air outside. Her hand felt even warmer than the sheets, wrinkled skin even softer, too.

"Wake up, sweet girl," Nana said. She pressed her other hand to Cousin Jason's forehead, where he lay on the pull-out mattress on the floor on the floor. "You too, sweet boy. It's almost time."

I hopped up, but Jason was harder to persuade. Nana took him by the hand as I led the way down the dark hall and into the bright kitchen, pure white tile scrubbed to mirrored sheen. More darkness pressed at the windows here, threatened to strangle the orchids growing in the planter box by the sink, but the brass chandelier above the kitchen table kept the gloom at bay. Through the archway into the living room the TV murmured, a glittering sphere atop its pole slowly descending toward a dancing, undulating crowd. I eyed the ticking red timer above the ball as Nana poured three flutes of sparkling apple juice and set them on the counter. Only two minutes to go, the timer told me.

"Shoes," Nana murmured. "Everyone, find your shoes."

Jason didn't move. He rubbed his eyes, blinking slowly as Nana helped him put his sneakers on—but even when tired, his eyes lingered on me. He saw me watching the Times Square footage and stared at it, too, not understanding why but mimicking me anyway. Nana chuckled and draped jackets around our shoulders, hustling us out the door with the champagne flutes held in a clinking bundle in her hand.

She lived at the top of a hill back then, way above the Riverwalk, highest house on Washington Street—one of the highest houses in town, truth told. Her back porch faced south, toward the river, overlooking the tops of swaying pecan trees and the crooked tilt of the neighbor's pueblo-style house. Jason swayed on his little legs, bleary and shivering as Nana made him hold his apple juice. A stray mesquite pod snapped under my foot when I stepped on it. I sniffed my juice when she handed it to me, nose wrinkling as bubbles teased my sinuses.

Though I longed to take a sip, I refrained—because just then, Nana glanced at her watch and smiled.

"You ready?" she said. She crouched between me and Jason, spry (we were only children then, eight and five years old respectively, her knees not yet gripped by arthritis). Arm around each of our shoulders, holding us warm and close in the dry December cold, Nana began to whisper. "Ten, nine…"

"Eight," I said.

"S-seven?" Jason mumbled, looking at me askance for help, and I gave him a proud nod.

"Six. Five. Four," said Nana.

"Three, two, one," I finished.

And together the three of us declared (though Jason made his declaration through a yawn): "Happy New Year!"

Then we drank our juice at last, and to the south the sky came alive with rainbow fire.

Their sparkle a complement to the bubbles on my tongue, fireworks shot up from the Riverwalk bridge a few blocks over, our vantage point the best in town and unknown to anyone but us. Our secret New Year's spot, tradition sacred as church but not nearly so stifling to my young eyes. From inside the house came the clamor of the Times Square ball drop, raucous and rousing and revelatory. Jason started at the booms and pops echoing through the clear west Texas air, sleep clearing from his bright blue eyes, but Nana's hand on his shoulder calmed any anxiety brewing in their depths. Soon he began to sway again; Nana tutted and scooped him up, carrying him back inside with a call of my name over her shoulder.

I didn't follow her inside right away. I waited a moment longer, watching bottle rockets and fire flowers fill the night's sky, blotting out the stars with their own insistent light.

"Happy New Year," I said to myself and to the fireworks—and then Nana called me back inside, and I climbed into my nice, warm bed to start off the New Year.

The next day Nana made me eat a whole bowl of black-eyed peas and collard greens ("It's a tradition; for luck," she said) but since she had let me see the fireworks at midnight, I only complained a little.

* * *

The day of our New Year's party, Mom woke me up at the crack of dawn.

We cleaned, first, because it was tradition, and because that's how my mother had spent New Year's Eve with her family when she was a little girl. Dad helped us purify the house from top to bottom in preparation for the New Year, and when Mom deemed the house appropriately spotless, we headed for the kitchen to prepare the _osechi-ryōri._

Unlike the New Year's food of my past, the _osechi-ryōri_ did not contain any black-eyed peas or collard greens. Rather, this traditional meal came packed in special _jubako_ boxes arranged in neat towers, containers filled to the brim with traditional foods symbolizing wealth, prosperity, and all the other things one would ideally like to have in the New Year—many of them pickled, harkening to a time when Japan lived without refrigeration. Mom and Dad and I had been making these boxes together on New Year's Eve since I was a little girl, but this year the crowd promised to be bigger; we had our work cut out for us. We stewed buckwheat noodles and steamed enough mochi and fried enough prawns to feed an army, prepping an enormous vat of delicious _ozōni_ to serve when guests arrived. When we finished and stepped back to survey our work, I was pleased to note it looked absolutely delicious, air perfumed with the scents of a promising New Year.

I just hoped I'd planned everything OK, and that this would be enough.

We'd decorated the house and set up the game area on the restaurant floor the night before, just to make it easier on ourselves the day of. It had felt a little odd, decorating for the occasion—mostly because we hadn't done it the year before and Dad had misplaced the _kadomatsu_ and _fukuwarai_ set sometime in the interim. Yusuke's death and the subsequent skipping of our usual New Year's activity had thrown a wrench in the works a bit. All truth told, I hadn't been sure we'd resume this tradition this year—and if we did, I certainly didn't expect the party to be large.

But then my mother had happened, and she had insisted.

"Yusuke was comatose through New Year's last year," she said when she broached the subject of our annual party. "We should the start off his first full year of consciousness with a bang, don't you think?"

I'd been sitting at the restaurant's bar and only paying half attention, nose buried in my winter break homework. "If you say so, Mom," I said, stuffing a fried dumpling into my mouth.

"I _do_ say so. And you've made so many new friends this year, too, and we skipped your birthday this year given all the hubbub over Yusuke. It's about time we had a party." She counted on her fingers as she said, "You can invite Yusuke, Kuwabara, Minamino, the girls from Sarayashiki Junior High—oh, and those nice girls who came over for cooking lessons, too." She smiled at me sidelong, primly brushing of the front of her apron. "We could even invite that young man who always wears black who comes by for dinner on Thursdays. You know. The one you think I don't know about?"

I nearly did a spit-take at that last comment, but Mom breezed past it with party plans and no sign of wanting to interrogate me about Hiei, and I felt I had no choice but to comply lest I incur her wrath—or worse, her curiosity.

Once I got over the shock of her proposal, it made sense that Yusuke's resurrection would prompt the resurrection of this party. Back when we were kids, my mom had started throwing the party for the combined Yukimura and Urameshi households mostly as a way of keeping an eye on Yusuke on New Year's Eve without making it seem like babysitting (to the independent Yusuke) or charity (to the stubborn Atsuko). She also used her family's New Year's Eve cleaning tradition as an excuse to clean Yusuke's apartment, teaching him how to hold a broom and dustpan as she tidied up the Urameshi house. The event helped keep Atsuko close to home, too, free booze enticing her to stay nearby instead of wandering too far afield drunk. With Yusuke gone, my parents hadn't seen the need for a party (Atsuko had just stayed home in a tanked stupor that year) but with him back, it was time to revamp old traditions. At my mother's request I made invitations and sent them to all pertinent parties—the core crowd of Yusuke and Atsuko, Kuwabara and his family, Kurama, and Botan. I tried to get away with just inviting them, but Mom insisted I include the slightly outer circle she'd originally asked for: namely Eimi and Michiko, Junko and Amagi. Still a small group, even if a bit bigger than usual, and with this number I felt comfortable indeed.

And then the guest list had expanded even further, quite accidentally and entirely thanks to my big mouth.

The panicked phone call from Amanuma came midway through December, just as I was putting together invitations for the party in the first place (and writing all my traditional New Year's postcards, to boot). I knocked a few of them off my desk when answering the phone, cursing as they fell to the carpet with a whuff, but I forgot about them the second I held the receiver to my ear. Amanuma didn't even bother greeting me. He babbled too fast to follow, voice cracking with frantic worry—and with a sniffle here and there, like a wire inside him might snap and I might find myself with a crying kid on my hands. Not ideal. Best cut this looming breakdown off at the pass. I sat on my bed and tangled the phone's cord around my hand, foot propped up on my swivel chair, shoulders tight and jaw clenched.

"Hey, hey kiddo, slow down," I said, cutting through the jabber. "Take a deep breath for me, OK?"

"Oh—okay," he said, doing as asked with a gasp.

"Good. One more."

He did as told.

"And one more?"

Another deep breath, this one holding steady at last. On his exhale I heard relief; he'd finally calmed, it seemed, and a good thing, too, because he'd been nigh unintelligible before.

"That's better," I said. "Now tell me what's wrong." A thought occurred; I asked: "Do you need an ambulance?"

"N-no. Nothing like that," he said. "Just—you were _right_ , Keiko. You were _right_."

That desperate emphasis of his had me sitting up straighter. "Right about what?"

"My friend—my adult friend. He _is_ shady."

And my back turned to steel and plywood, all tension and no give. The cord bit into my hand when I gripped it tight. "What'd he do?" I asked, thought immediately leaping to the dreaded Chapter Black. "Amanuma, what did he—?"

"Nothing bad," he was quick to assure me. "He wanted to see me and I was excited to see him since I hadn't heard from him in, like, _forever_ , but he started talking about how he wanted to… how he wanted to change the world? And how he needed my help to do it." A note of resolve colored his voice when he said: "I'm just a kid. I'm smart and I'm awesome, but I'm a kid." And the resolve faded into uncertainty again. "He should be asking a grown-up instead of me, right?"

"Right, kiddo," I said. "He should."

A relieved sigh. "That's what I thought."

His relief didn't carry over to me, however, because there was no way Sensui would take that kind of rejection lying down. "So what did you do?" I asked, clutching at the phone.

"I told him that."

I blinked. "You told him—?"

"I told him what you said," Amanuma said, like it was just that simple (and to him I suppose it was). "I told him that he should ask a grownup and that I'm just a kid and that it's weird he wants the help of a gradeschooler and that he wanted to hang out with me so much. And he said I was different than other kids. Special, even. But…"

"But you know better than to fall for that," I said, gently.

A long pause followed. I thought the line had gone dead, but soon Amanuma sighed.

"Yeah," he said in a small, sad voice. "I do." And in a stronger voice that quavered at the edges, he said: "I said we can't be friends anymore."

It was the quaver that told me how brave he was being, standing up for himself this way. It had been no small feat, no offhand decision he'd made on a whim. Sensui had targeted the boy when he was lonely, after all. To Amanuma, Sensui had been a symbol of companionship. Of hope. Of acceptance.

And now Amanuma had rejected that symbol wholesale.

That took courage I couldn't begin to name.

"You did the right thing," I said. "I know it sucks. But you did the right thing, I promise."

"I know I did." And I detected no hesitation in his voice at all, especially when he said, "Because when I said that, he looked scary, and he got up and walked away. I mean, he looked _scary_ , nee-san." I heard him shudder through the phone. "It was awful, the way he looked at me. No real friend would look at me like that."

I almost shuddered, too. Anime Sensui had had some teeth on his stare. I'd hate to think what the genuine article might be capable of.

"That's right—no real friend would do that," I said. "I'm proud of you."

"You're _what?"_

"I proud of you for standing up for yourself." Through the line he made a noise of pleased, strangled surprise; I grinned. "Sounds like you did great."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I did. Um." He hesitated. Said in a rush: "Think I can came hang out with you and Yusuke this week?"

I looked at the invitations on my desk, half complete and time sensitive. "Um—?"

"Oh. It's OK," he said, disappointment obvious. "I don't need—"

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them: "You free on New Year's Eve, kiddo?"

And that's how Amanuma got invited to my New Year's Eve soiree.

Like I said: Entirely my fault, all thanks to my big mouth.

After we cleaned the house and cooked, my family went upstairs to bathe and get dressed. Mom bought me a nice new dress for the occasion, frilly and sweet and not at all my style, a high-necked red dress with buttons up the front, patterned in flowers with enormous puffy sleeves (damn you, Yoshihiro Togashi, and your terrible but accurate depiction of early 90s fashion). The necklace Minato had given me clashed with the outfit horribly, but the chocking neckline with its ruffled and buttoned collar hid the bauble from view; small favor, I decided, but a welcome one. Mom dried my hair and styled it with an enormous bow on top, emo-punk bangs tucked neatly off to one side under a headband for the sake of decorum. The bow in particular made me feel a bit silly, but it made my mother happy so I was willing to put up with the indignity for a night for her sake.

"You look so cute," she said, sighing as I twirled for her in the poofy skirt. "You're always wearing Yusuke's cast-off clothes and whatever he's grown out of recently. This is much better."

She had a point, so long as she wasn't including the horrible bow in her assessment, but I digress.

While Mom went off to get ready, herself, I headed up to my room to relax a little before the party started—if by "relax" you mean "pace restlessly from one end of the room to the other," which I did. It was tough to sit still. I kept looking at the clock, watching it tick closer and closer to 8 PM, and when it hit 7:15 I collapsed onto my bed with my face in my pillow. I was nervous, not that anyone should blame me. This was the first time a lot of the friends would mix, a variety of different social groups colliding at long last. And of course I'd prepped everyone to be on good behavior, warning Yusuke and Kuwabara and Botan to not call Kurama by that name and all that jazz—but would it be enough? I just hoped everything went to plan…

But of course, I had no such luck, and said luck showed itself before the party even started.

Half an hour before the party's official 8 PM start time, there came a knock at the door. "Sweetheart?" Mom called through the panel. "One of your friends is here."

I sat up in bed and stared at the door, nonplussed. Yusuke was incapable of being on time, Kurama was too polite to be early, Kuwabara and the girls were all probably too cool to be on time to a party—Amanuma, maybe? Sighing, I said "be right down" and smoothed my dress in the mirror by my closet before padding downstairs in my socks. Mom led the way, escorting me onto the main restaurant floor all awash with New Year's decorations, where a young man in a tweed coat with elbow patches and a pair of black slacks waited by the buffet table. He turned when he heard us coming, raising one hand in curt greeting. Curly black hair glimmered above a smattering of freckles and the glare of thick half-moon glasses. "Hello," he said, adjusting said glasses with his middle finger. "I'm the first one here, I take it."

"Kaito!" I scurried over to him, caught halfway between a smile and a frown. "Hey, man. You're early."

"As is my custom," he replied. "Is that a problem?"

"No, just—I wasn't expecting anyone so soon. And people are usually late to parties, that's all."

For some reason, Kaito scowled. "The article I consulted did not deem tardiness to be acceptable party etiquette."

I stared at him. "You consulted a book for party manners."

"A magazine," he corrected. "It was most informative." A long pause, and a lightbulb went off behind his bespectacled eyes. "Ah. I see now. 'Fashionably late' is an English idiom, isn't it?"

"Yup."

"I should have known." A thin smile, but a genuine one. "Oh well. Spilled milk and all that." He thrust out his hands. "I brought this. I hope it is acceptable."

He brandished a melon at me, the fancy kind you only buy on special occasions (though not the type that costs hundreds of bucks, because he was just a kid with pocket money no matter how hard he pretended otherwise), wrapped in fancy department store paper and tied with an enormous ribbon—a very traditional gift, most likely one recommended by that magazine of his. I took it from him with a bow and a giggle, unable to keep back an observation of, "You don't go to parties often, do you?"

He arched a brow. "My lack of popularity is amusing to you, is it?"

"Hey, I haven't been invited to a party in years, so I can't throw stones." Tucking the melon under my arm, I gestured for him to follow me. "Well, come in, early bird, but be warned. When you show up early, you wind up having to help out in the kitchen."

"Harrumph. I dislike standing idle, anyway. Idle minds are the first to go to waste." As we came to a stop in the kitchen doorway, he caught my mother's eye as she bent over a pot of steaming noodles. "With what matter may I be of assistance, Yukimura-san?"

Mom looked at him, startled by his formal demeanor and the methodical way he'd begun to roll up his sleeves. She looked at me. "Uh…?"

"Oh boy." I stepped forward to make the proper introductions. "Mom, this is Kaito Yuu. He's that author friend I told you about."

Her face brightened at once. "Oh. Well, that explains a lot, now doesn't it?" She reached across the kitchen and under the island in the middle, hefting a serving platter of fried prawns. "If you could help me carry these to the warmer in the dining room—"

"Happy to," said Kaito.

Watching Kaito interact with my mom and dad was just the littlest bit hilarious. My parents seemed a bit off-put by Kaito's odd, pointed remarks about workplace efficiency and maximizing labor output as he helped us set out the food and make a bowl of punch, but the subtle twitch at the corner of Dad's mouth and the amused sparkle in Mom's eye told me they found him funny, if not a little weird. As Kaito chatted Mom's ear off about the effect of citric acid on plastic byproducts, Dad pulled me aside by the elbow and whispered, "I don't know where you keep finding these boys of yours, but that one's hilarious."

"Ask him about literature and wait till he gets going. He's fantastic." I nudged him in the ribs. "Oh. Have you picked a team yet?"

"No. Has your mother?"

"Not to my knowledge. Figured we'd draw lots when everyone gets here."

"Good plan." His turn to nudge me, a knowing grin on his bearded face. "You sticking with Red this year?"

"You know it," I said, grinning back.

"That's my girl. Which reminds me." He eyed Mom askance and angled himself away from her, shielding his hands with his torso. "I got what you asked for."

With all the sketchy secrecy of a drug dealer trying to pass along a dime bag of green within eyesight of a beat cop, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a box covered in velvet with a minute gold catch on the front—the box that had housed the bracelet he'd given Mom for her birthday the year prior, I think. This he handed to me with a secretive flourish and another guilty glance at my mother. I beamed at him (on the sly, of course), took the box, and peeked inside. Cackled like the Wicked Witch after dropping a house on someone. Dad shushed me; I stifled the laughter with my fist.

"God bless the foreign marketplace," I whispered at him. "Bless it."

Dad tutted. "You won't be saying that if White wins."

"I have faith in Team Red, father of mine," I said, and I stowed the jewelry box in my pocket before Mom could see what we were up to.

With Kaito's help, we finished setting out the food just as the clock struck 8 PM. We'd moved the TV from upstairs earlier and set it in the middle of the dining room, channel tuned to NHK and the _Kōhaku Uta Gassen_ pre-show, and just as we settled in to wait for the other guests I heard the restaurant's front doors rattle open. Leave it to Kurama to get here precisely on time, of course. He stepped inside the restaurant and spotted us, smiling as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the pegs by the door, and then he paused to take off his outdoor shoes and put on indoor slippers.

Kaito, sitting next to me at one of the many dining tables, leaned in close to mutter, "You invited _him?_ "

I swatted his arm as I stood up. "Stop pretending like you two aren't friends."

"Debatable," Kaito said, shoving his glasses up his nose. "Highly, highly debatable."

"Your _face_ is debatable."

Kaito looked quite appalled. "Yukimura, he is my _nemesis_."

"Nemesis, shem-e-sis." I walked away. "Minamino, welcome!"

"Thank you for having me," the aforementioned said as he crossed the restaurant. He dipped a bow to my mother and father, lock of bloody hair falling over the shoulder of his crisp white shirt. "Yukimura-sans. Thank you for having me this evening. You have rescued me from a night of boredom, and I am quite grateful as a result."

"Oh, that's right. You would've spent tonight alone," I said. "Your mom had plans, didn't she?"

"She did." His smile was beatific, almost angelic. "She has been seeing someone and is spending the evening with him."

My mother put her hands to her cheeks. "How romantic!" she said. "A date on New Year's Eve!"

"Indeed." His smile widened. "I'm wondering if there's a proposal on the horizon, actually."

"Wouldn't that be so lovely!" Mom said with a delighted gasp. She touched Dad's knee, bouncing a little in her seat. "We'll have to have her and her fiancé over for dinner." She beamed at Kurama, utterly delighted. "I've been wanting to meet your lovely mother for so long now, anyway—it would be a perfect excuse."

"I'll let her know," Kurama said, and he looked rather pleased, himself. "She'll no doubt be honored by the invitation."

Before Mom could really dive in and nail down Shiori's schedule (and judging by the eager look on her face, she wanted to do just that) the door opened again and emitted both a chilly December breeze and a few adults, employees from the restaurant my parents had invited to balance out the adult-to-kid ratio of this party. As my parents rose to greet them, I mused that the gathering had really expanded outward this year, and not just for me.

Kaito looked Kurama up and down, one brow climbing high across his forehead. "As insufferably charming as ever, Minamino."

"Hello to you too, Kaito," said Kurama, pleasant as a warm spring day.

"A proposal." I dug an elbow into Kurama's arm a few times. "You dog. You didn't tell me!"

"I have no evidence. Just a feeling. We shall see, though." But his smile belied his demure words, knowing and secretive despite his claim to no evidence. "Who else are we expecting this evening?"

"Oh, the usual. Yusuke and Kuwabara and their families, Botan, Amagi and Junko from school, my friends Eimi and Michiko from my old school because there were way too many dudes on the guest list and we needed some girls," I said. "Oh, and Amanuma."

He nodded—and then he smiled a smile I wasn't quite sure I liked. "He's about your friend Minato's age," Kurama said. "They might get along."

I had prepared myself in case he asked after my absent friend, and I didn't miss a beat. "Minato can't make it, unfortunately, but he sends his regards," I said, looking appropriately sad all the while.

The truth, though? I'd invited Minato, but we'd mutually decided it was best not to tempt fate and let him encounter Kurama again so soon. The guest list was a careful blend of people in the Core Group and Outliers like Junko, Eimi, and Kaito—people I wanted in my life, ones I didn't want to offend by not inviting to this party, but people who didn't know about the supernatural (yet, anyway). Amagi had one foot in the door and Kaito would join us eventually, but not so soon. Best Minato stay away for the time being, lie low until I could integrate him more organically… if we ever decided to integrate him into my life at all.

Not that Kaito or Kurama knew about any of that, of course. Kaito's face screwed up, snub nose wrinkling under the bridge of his glasses. "Who's Minato?" he asked.

"Kei's new German tutor," Kurama said.

Kaito's glasses swung my way. "You're taking German?"

"I tested out of English," I said, shrugging.

"Really. I wasn't aware." And yet being left out of the loop had him looking quite elated. "But if that's the case, I have a copy of Milton's _Paradise Lost_ and I'm unconvinced that the translation we're using in class is up to snuff. If you would be so kind as to look over—"

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing—oh hey Amanuma, what's up?"

Amanuma chose that moment to make a very opportune entrance, saving me from a night of studying in the nick of goddamn time. The poor thing had been standing in the doorway looking lost, unnoticed amid the gaggle of adults still chatting near the coatrack, and when he heard my voice his face lit up. He kicked off his shoes, threw his coat down, and scampered over to us with an enormous grin on his small face.

"Nee-san!" he said, skidding to a halt in his socks on the wooden floor. "There you are!"

"Hey, kiddo," I said. "You make it in OK?"

"Yeah. Only a couple of drunk people on the train." He snickered. "I sent them the wrong way when they asked for directions back to Mushiyori."

It probably wasn't great of me to guffaw at the cheek of that, but I did anyway. "Nice one! Here, let me make introductions." I gestured at the appropriate parties and hoped to hell this wasn't about to go south. "Minamino, you know Amanuma. Amanuma, this is my friend Kaito Yuu from school."

"Nice to see you again, Amanuma," said Kurama with a warm smile.

"Pleased to meet you," Kaito concurred. His chin lifted, lips thinning somewhat. "If I'd known anyone else was coming from Mushiyori, I would've met them at the station."

Amanuma blinked. "You're from Mushiyori, too?"

"Yes."

Kurama looked at Kaito sidelong, brow knit. "Really? I wasn't aware of that."

At that Kaito smirked. "Maybe you're not as observant as you think you are."

"And you go to Meiou?" Amanuma said, ignoring the obvious needling playing out before him. He let out a bright laugh. "Your commute to school must be awful!"

But Kaito just shrugged. "I use the train ride for study time. It's not so bad."

"I mean, I guess so," said Amanuma, but he looked less than convinced. He laced his fingers together and tucked his hands behind his head, favoring Kaito up and down. "Didn't expect to meet anyone from my hometown. You any good at video games?"

Kaito shrugged again. "I'd like to think so."

"What kinds?" Amanuma asked.

"A true combatant never reveals his hand early," Kaito said—but rather than look offended, Amanuma just started to grin, and he let out a mischievous giggle that had the rest of us smiling, too.

"Oh, yeah," he said, "we are so gonna hit up the arcade. And I won't have to travel so far this time, either!" His bright eyes swung toward Kurama. "Say Minamino, did you—?"

As the kid began interrogated Kurama about a recent game they'd played, wondering whether or not Kurama had reached a certain level yet, Kaito took a brisk step to stand at my elbow. "A little young, isn't he?" he said, eyeing the kid over.

"You know me," I said, voice low. "Always taking people under my wing."

"Right. That is your modus operandi." He tilted his head at Amanuma. "Shall I make nice, in that case?"

"You'd like the kid if you got to know him," I said—because I got the sense it was true, and Amanuma deserved to make a few new friends after his recent breakup with Sensui. Kaito could fit the bill just fine. "He's smart as hell and could give you a run for your money at any game in the book. Still growing up a little, but aren't we all?"

Kaito looked pensive. "I suppose it would be nice to have a challenge at the arcade from time to time."

"Thought so." I put a hand between his shoulder blades and gave him a gentle shove. "Go make friends!"

"Fine," he said, "but you owe me that translation check when this is all said and done."

I got the sense he'd hold me to that promise whether he actually made friends with Amanuma or not—so it was a good thing I was a Milton fan. Suppressing a smile, I watched as Kaito joined the others and entered the conversation, taking advantage of their distraction to slip away toward the kitchen. So Amanuma, Kaito, and Kurama were here, which left Yusuke and Atsuko, Botan, the Kuwabara family, the girls from both of my schools… I needed to check on the food again, make sure it was ready to serve and that we'd made enough, do one last sweep for quality control and—

"Keiko, honey?"

I flinched and froze in the kitchen doorway, but it was only Dad striding down the stairs holding a piece of paper in his fist. He ran up and shoved it at me, then followed it up with a roll of tape.

"I forgot to put the closed notice earlier," he said, eyes roving over the kitchen at my back—probably looking for Mom, to see if she'd overhear. "Could you hang that up for me?"

"Sure thing, Dad," I said, and I made a show of hiding the paper under my shirt so Mom wouldn't see our undercover operation.

Not all businesses in Japan closed for New Year's, though many of them did, and it was customary for my parents to write a note to their regulars and hang it on the door next to the "closed" sigh—just a sweet touch to let customers know we were thinking about them. Avoiding the ever-growing bundle of my parents' adult friends that had accumulated near the kitchen, murmur of their voices filling the warm air, I grabbed my coat and shoes from their spot by the back door and looped around the restaurant through the side alley. My breath frosted on the air in great white puffs as I pulled free a bit of tape from the roll and tacked the note down at the corners on our front door. Dad's handwriting was choppy, sure, but it had a sincere quality I was certain any disappointed customers would respect, and as I stowed the tape away in my pocket and turned to go back inside, I smiled into my jacket collar. My parents really were great.

"Hey, Keiko!"

Tonight was the night of being startled from my reverie, as I was yet again this evening by another call of my name. A few dozen yards down the sidewalk a small battalion of hands waved in my direction, and when I saw to whom they belonged I broke out into both a grin and a run.

"Oh, hi guys!" I said as I trotted over. "Did you come here together? This is wild!"

"Nah," said Junko, and she gestured first at Amagi at her left and then at Eimi and Michiko, my two friends from Sarayashiki, on her right. "Just spotted them on the way here."

Eimi nodded at Junko and Amagi. "Remembered them from the coffee shop that one time." Her eyes flickered to the side with mild disapproval. "And then of course we saw _him_."

Kuwabara stood at the edge of the group of girls like a looming suit of armor in a china shop, out of place with knocked knees and elbows canted to the sides, awkwardly towering above the rest. At Eimi and Michiko's disapproving look he did a double take, hands coming up in defense. "Hey, don't look so mad! I didn't do nothing!"

Eimi and Michiko looked skeptical, however, at the claims of the young man they knew only as the #2 Top Delinquent of their middle school. Junko giggled behind one well-manicured hand. Amagi also looked amused (and also very cute in a black dress with a sweetheart neckline worn over a collared white shirt, black tights and shoes with little gold buckles, and oh god Keiko don't be a dork _stop staring_ ). To recover a little of my dignity, I gave Eimi and Mich and look that said 'play nice' and turned to Kuwabara.

"Where's your sister?" I said.

"Running late. Something about a hair dryer." He rolled his eyes. "She and Dad both needed it."

At that Michiko's brow furrowed. "You have a sister?"

"Yup! She's older, about 20." He beamed at me, thrusting out a wrapped box in his enormous hands. "Thanks for inviting me, Keiko, I mean it. I brought you this. I hope you like it because I picked it out special and, um."

He lapsed into silence, cheeks going a shade of bright pink. Eimi and Michiko watched this wearing twin expressions of alarm, the pair of them resembling a matched set of startled owls, but as I took the present from Kuwabara, Amagi stepped forward.

"Thanks for inviting us," she said, voice smooth and low and soft. "I brought a gift, as well."

"Thanks, girl," I said, trying to sound breezy (even though it had become my turn to flush around the ears just a little). Tucking their gifts under my arm, I said, "Well, come in, everybody. It's freezing out here."

Junko shivered right on cue, and they followed me in like a pack of particularly cold ducklings. Kuwabara spotted Kurama and the others over our heads as we stripped out of shoes, coats, and scarves, eyes lighting up as he waved. "Hey Ku—Amanuma!" he said, covering for the name mix-up with a bait-and-switch. "Hey Amanuma, Minamino!"

I started to follow after him, but before I could a hand wrapped around my elbow. This was Michiko, who stared open-mouthed across the restaurant at Kuwabara and the others—or more specifically, stared at Kurama. Her pigtails almost seemed to stand on end when she said, "Oh my god. Is that _him?_ "

Behind her, Junko gave a roguish grin. "Yup. That's Minamino, all right."

Eimi stared with her mouth open as well, but she recovered so she could swat my arm. "Keiko! You've been holding out on us!"

"Amagi and Junko told us _all about_ your pretty new friend," Michiko said with a horrific death stare. "You, meanwhile, haven't said a _word_."

Resisting the urge to shoot Amagi and Junko a death stare of my own, I shrugged. "Hey, I told you I'd made new friends at my new school. I mentioned Minamino by name, too."

Michiko remained unimpressed. "You didn't say he looked like that!"

Sensing an impending lecture and/or an interrogation about my nonexistent love life, I looked to the even keeled Amagi for rescue, but she just coughed into her fist at the sight of my plaintive stare. No help at all, then. Drat. I sighed and stared at the ceiling. "Oh my god, you two, _please_ don't be weird with him. He's a human being. He's normal, not another specie!"

This was, of course, a lie, but they didn't need to know that. Still, despite their ignorance as to the supernatural, I wasn't fooling either of them.

"Um." Eimi put her hands on her wide hips. "That hair isn't normal."

"That hair is gorgeous," said Mich.

Junko cackled. "Your friends are a crackup, Keiko."

"If you say so." I pinned my former classmates with one of OG!Keiko's patented Firm Class-Rep Stares. "Just be cool. He's a person. It took me weeks to get him to come out of his shell and I don't want you two undoing it by being hyperactive fangirls and scaring him off, capisce?"

Eimi turned up her nose, eyes glittering with a spark of tease. "We make no promises."

Michiko looped her arm through Junko's. "If Keiko won't, Junko, then I insist _you_ introduce us."

"Ha!" said Junko. "Sure!" And she offered her other arm to Eimi, escorting both girls toward the hapless and unsuspecting Kurama with a spring in her step and an alarmingly wicked gleam in her eye.

Amagi, though, lingered behind with me. She slipped into the space behind my elbow, the faintest breath of her perfume wafting over my face. "A normal human being, hmm?" she murmured, so quietly I had to strain to hear.

"As far as they know," I murmured back, and I put my finger to my lips. Amagi nodded, putting a digit over her mouth in return—but she smiled just a little, sharing with me this private joke, and my heart had no choice but to flutter. Damn teenage hormones reacting to pretty girls, am I right?

Lucky for me, Yusuke came along and put an end to those shenanigans posthaste.

Behind Amagi the restaurant door burst open, sliding along its track with a clatter so loud all conversation in the wide dining room ceased. Into the shocked silence swaggered Urameshi Yusuke (because of course he fucking did), dressed in his most garish windbreaker and offensive mom-jeans. Hands jammed with affected nonchalance into his pockets, hair shellacked into place with at least a gallon of gel, he stopped short when he saw me—but he was wearing sunglasses ( _at night_ because Yusuke is So Fucking Extra™ like that) and I couldn't quite make out the expression in his sure-to-be-devious eyes. Still, I knew it couldn't be anything good.

New Year's Eve was a night for warfare, and even if he'd slept through the festivities last year, I knew he couldn't have forgotten the stakes at play between us.

"Well, well, well," he said in a slow, deliberate drawl. He looked me up and down, hooking a finger over the glasses to slide them down his nose. "What do we have here?"

Over his shoulders appeared the faces of Botan and Atsuko, the former puzzled, the latter wearing a look of undisguised glee. Botan waved when she saw me; Atsuko took a swig from a bottle wrapped in brown paper, shoving past her son with grizzled chuckle. Yusuke cursed at her, then turned his attention back to me.

"Wow, Keiko," he said. "A _dress?_ "

"Wow, Yusuke," I said, talking through my nose to mock him. "Sunglasses, at _night_?"

He scowled and shoved said glasses in his pocket. "I'm not the one wearing a dress!"

"Yeah, and what about it? My uniform is a skirt and you've seen me in that a million times."

"A dress isn't the same thing," he said, as if it were obvious and I was an idiot.

I scoffed. "Yes, it is."

He scoffed back. "No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is—White Team _scum."_

Yusuke's sly smile turned into an outright grin, all teeth and fire. "Oh _ho_. So the Red Team wench hasn't forgotten, after all."

Someone gasped at his language, and at that point I became vaguely aware of people wandering over, the press of bodies at my back, of Eimi and Michiko appearing in my periphery and looking stricken at the sight of the great Urameshi, their school's #1 Delinquent, facing off against me in the foyer. I tuned them out, though, crossing my arms and popping out a hip, defiant and smirking—because Yusuke might scare them, but I knew better.

"Of course I didn't forget," I said. " _You're_ the one who skipped a year, not me."

"Hey!" Yusuke said, irate. "I didn't skip on purpose!"

"You sure?" I inspected my nails as if they were far more important than this petty conversation. "Because you know who won last year, right?"

Yusuke ground his teeth, but he said nothing. I threw up "rock on" horns and stuck out my tongue.

"That's right, baby!" I said. "Red Team won. Suck it!"

"I didn't get hit by a car on purpose, Keiko," Yusuke said, sulking.

"Oh, but I think you did." I walked right up into his face, nose to nose and belligerent. "I think you had a premonition that the penalty would be especially painful and threw yourself into traffic to escape it, you _coward_."

He let out a low whistle, getting up in my face with an exaggerated swagger. "Careful, now. Them's fightin' words."

"Makes sense since tonight's a fightin' night." I reached into my pocket for the box my father had given me. Opened it. Showed it to him. "And I'm packing _heat_ , baby!"

He looked at the box. His eyes widened. And then he started grinning, laughter building in his chest and hissing from between his teeth like air from a burst balloon.

"Ooh, color me _scared_ ," he said, not sounding scared in the slightest. "But speaking of premonitions… I won't be the one eating that thing this year, I can feel it."

"Says you, asshole."

"Says _you_ , hag."

" _What_ are you two talking about?" said Botan from her spot in the doorway. She looked more than a little peeved, utterly bamboozled by the display. "Fighting words? Red Team?" Hands flew up, blue ponytail flapping as she shook her head. "I don't understand!"

Atsuko, lounging against the wall neat the coat rack, took another pull from her bottle and grinned. "It's their little New Year's bet," she said. "Hope you brought popcorn." And then she was laughing and clapping and almost vibrating with joy, eagerness painted across her face like makeup. "I wait all year for this!"

At that point the entire restaurant, my friends and my parents' friends alike, had gathered around to watch the brouhaha, and it felt a bit silly to keep posturing with Yusuke without explanation. I clapped my hands and spun, pasting on my best Circus Ringmaster face and a grin that could put the Ringling Bros. to shame.

"OK, everyone; listen up!" I said "This is the first time we've had an extended gathering and not just the combined Urameshi and Yukimura clans so this is gonna take a little explaining—but every year Yusuke and I have a little competition."

"Can you really call it a competition when I always kick your ass?" Yusuke drawled, slouching into place at my side.

"Inaccurate _and also shut up_." I let my grin widen, ignoring him. "As all of you know, every New Year's Even they play _Kōhaku Uta Gassen_ on the TV, Red Team vs. White Team. I'm Team Red. Yusuke is that scumbag Team White." (He squawked at the insult; I pressed forward.) "And every year we have a friendly little competition, red vs. white, to see who's gonna kick more ass in the New Year."

"Language!" Mom warbled from the back of the room.

"Friendly?" Atsuko quoted. "Ha! As if! Yusuke gave you a black eye when you were ten over a game of _fukuwarai!"_

I rounded on her and pointed a finger in her face "That was an illegal elbow and you know I should've been given the point for that event, dammit!"

"Language!" came the call again, though this time Dad said it.

I composed myself. "Ahem. Anyway. Our teams get a point every time the TV teams get a point. But since relying on the TV teams would be more about dumb luck than skill—"

"And since Keiko is a crazy-ass control freak," Yusuke said, brightly.

"Shut up!" I smoothed the front of my dress with a cough. "We also compete in a series of traditional New Year's games to make this more about skill, less about chance. By the time the night is over, the points determine who gets the loser's penalty."

Near the back of the crowd, Kuwabara raised his hand into the air, a kid in class trying to get the teacher's attention.

"Yes, Kuwabara?" I said.

"What's the loser's penalty?" he asked.

"I'm so very glad you asked," I said, sweet as peach pie. I hefted the box in my hand high. "The head of the losing team must eat this Habanero hot pepper, seeds and all… and they can't drink any milk for five minutes afterward."

I'd like to think the jewelry box glowed like the suitcase from Pulp Fiction when I held it aloft, the single bright orange pepper lying on its satin pillow emitting its own internal light, but I know that's just fanciful thinking. Still, though: People gasped at the sight of it, and at the back of the room I saw my mom hide her face in her hands. Dad just looked amused, though, laughing into his fist as their friends gave them looks that said, "Holy shit, you let your daughter do this every year?!"

Another hand shot up, this one belonging to Kaito. "You've been doing this since you were ten?" he asked, incredulous.

"Seven, actually," I said.

Kurama didn't stand far enough away for me to miss the epiphany he experienced just then. " _That's_ why you have such a high tolerance for spice," he said.

"Probably so." A wicked grin delivered unto Yusuke. "Although Yusuke's had to eat more peppers than I have overall."

He bristled. "I've only had to eat one more than you, ya old hag!"

I shoved my fingers in my ears. "La la la, I can't hear you over the sound of my historic wins!"

"How many wins has it been?" Junko asked.

"So far it's four wins to three." I lobbed a fist into the air. "Red Team for life, baby!"

Kaito put up his hand again. "Forgive me for being obtuse, but what does this have to do with tonight's party?" he asked, brow alarmingly close to disappearing into his mop of curly hair.

At that I pointed behind him; most of the crowd turned to look, finally understanding the significance of the various games set up around the dining room. "As you can see, I've set up a series of traditional New Year's games—and a bracketed _Street Fighter_ tournament on the Famicon because it's the 20th century, natch."

("So _that's_ where my Famicon went!" Yusuke yelped; everyone ignored him.)

"If you're willing, I was thinking the kids could sort into teams and help Yusuke and I battle it out for true New Year's dominance." As people turned back around, a lick of self-consciousness had my ears burning. I tucked one foot behind my other calf and hesitated. "It's something to do, at least?"

It was Amagi's turn to raise her hand. "We… _we_ don't have to eat the pepper if we're on the losing team, do we?" she said, looking well and truly alarmed.

"Oh, no. Of course not. There's only one pepper, and only the team captain has to fall on the knife." I put a hand over my heart and looked her very solemnly in the eye. "I take my duties as captain very seriously. I promise not to let any of you down, should you be on the illustrious Team Red."

"Heh. _I_ don't." Yusuke crossed his arms and smiled like the devil. "Any of you lackeys let down the team and I'll cram that pepper down your throat myself."

I faux-bopped him on the head; he yowled. "He's kidding," I said, though it was more a threat to him than an assurance to those listening.

People at the front of the crowd shifted, parting as Amanuma squeezed through them. "Hey, Yusuke!" he said, beaming and elated at the prospect of getting to play some games. "So what's the point of this, anyway? Is there a prize or something?"

In unison Yusuke and I said: "Yes. The prize is seeing the other suffer."

Behind us, Atsuko started scream-laughing. Botan sighed and rolled her eyes, rubbing at her temples with her fingers. Yusuke and I grinned at each other, then remembered we were enemies for the night and went back to glaring.

"Basically, I want bragging rights," I said.

"It's a battle for dignity," said Yusuke.

"Not that Yusuke has much of that to lose."

" _Hey!"_

A few feet away, Eimi, Mich, Junko and Amagi stood in a small knot. "To think, the great Urameshi plays New Year's games and eats peppers like this," Eimi was saying.

"It's not very in line with his image, is it?" Mich said.

"Not really, no." Eimi looked at Yusuke with a small, eager smile. "But I admit, I really want to see him eat that pepper!"

"Me too, and I don't even know the guy," said Junko.

Yusuke seemed to recognize Eimi and Mich for the first time, then, doing an impressive double-take at his classmates. He went bow-legged with fright, arms held akimbo at his sides. "Oh, hell, those two are from school! There goes my rep!" He grabbed the front of my shirt with a snarl. "The hell'd you invite them for, huh?"

"To see you suffer, of course," I said, smile utterly saccharine. Not acknowledging that he had me standing on my tiptoes thanks to his grip on my collar, I turned my bright smile to the room at large. "So. Y'all wanna play a game?"

The kids filtered through the lingering adults toward us. Kurama, Kaito, Kuwabara, Amanuma. Botan, Amagi, Junko, Eimi, Michiko. They looked at each other in turns, consulting the crowd without speaking, then turned back to me and Yusuke.

Kurama gave a small, subtle smile, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Sounds fun."

Kaito pushed his glasses up his nose. "If everyone else is doing it, I suppose I will participate."

"Anything to see Yusuke eat that pepper," said Eimi.

"Yeah; he's going down!" said Michiko.

"I'm gonna be on Keiko's team and I'm gonna make Urameshi eat it! Ha ha!" Kuwabara grinned so hard I feared his face might split. "This is gonna be good!"

"Count me in!" Amanuma chirped. "If it's games, I kick butt every time!"

"I'm not very good at games," Amagi said, fidgeting, "but I'll try my best."

"There's no way I'm passing up a chance to watch this dumpster fire," Junko added with a smile.

"And I'm sure a certain friend of ours" (a subtle point skyward, to Spirit World) "will love to hear all about this!" said Botan. "So count me very much in."

There came a crunch from behind me. I have no idea where Atsuko had gotten popcorn from, but she held a bag of it in her arm and happily munched on the kernels, swigging from her liquor bottle after every bite. "This is gonna be good," she said. "Kick my son's ass, Keiko!"

"Excellent." I rubbed my hands together. "Now let the games begin."

* * *

In the spirit of fairness (and because even if Yusuke didn't know Amanuma's destined Territory, he still knew the kid was killer at games) we assembled our teams through the drawing of lots.

Team White, captained by Yusuke, consisted of Kuwabara, Junko, Kurama… and Amanuma.

Which left Team Red, captained by yours truly, with Michiko, Eimi, Amagi, Botan, and Kaito.

The gender ratio was fitting, for the most part. Red Team on TV was always all women, and White Team all men. We weren't totally gender-segregated, but still. The coincidence of the team makeup would've made me laugh if it hadn't been so utterly alarming.

Botan was the last person left in the hat when we drew names, and since there was an odd number of players, we decided she'd be on my team and give me more members overall—mainly because Yusuke had already drawn both Kurama and Amanuma, which we all knew was stacking the deck in his favor to begin with. I had Kaito, sure, who'd be my anchor in the Street Fighter tournament (literally none of the girls liked that game besides me and Junko) but knowing Yusuke had both Amanuma and Kurama on his team did not bode well for the safety of my taste buds later.

"OK, everybody," I said after we drew the lots and assembled our teams. "I'm counting on you for a win tonight. I caught a whiff of the pepper early and I think it's a banner year for capsaicin." Not an exaggeration; I'd kept the pepper box shut tight ever since. Swallowing, I looked each team member dead in the eye and said (or maybe pleaded), "Don't let me down."

"Heh." Kaito adjusted his lapels. "You needn't worry, Yukimura. What I lack in experience, I will make up in pure strategy."

"Good." I pointed at him. "You're team strategist. Let's bring home the win." I stuck out my hand. "Red Team?"

They layered their hands atop mine. "Red Team!" we chorused, and we tossed our hands into the air.

As soon as we finished, I found Kuwabara at my elbow. He had looked more than a little heartbroken to be on Team White, still sporting an expression befitting a mopey zoo lion. "Keiko, I'm so, _so sorry_ ," he said, but I just grinned.

"You better not go easy on me, White Team trash," I said, but with a wink that got Kuwabara to laugh. Hopefully he wouldn't pull a Minato and throw matches just to help me win, much though I wanted to avoid the pepper penalty.

Atsuko gleefully kept track of our points on a whiteboard, laughing her head off as we began playing the traditional New Year's games of old Japan: _fukuwarai_ , like pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey but with facial features on a large paper _oni_ mask; _hanetsuki_ , a game a bit like badminton that involved keeping a shuttlecock aloft in the air with small racquets; and _sugoroku_ , an antique board game that reminded me a whole lot of Snakes n' Ladders. Amanuma swiftly proved himself the best gamer of the lot, at everything from Street Fighter to _hanetsuki_ , prompting awed exclamations from kids and adults alike. Points floated in as the Show's competitors accrued them as well, our real-life scores inflating at odd intervals and out of our control. It added an element of chaos to the festivities, necessitating keeping careful eye on the TV as well as the games we played. No one player could play multiple games in a row, which called for strategizing as we laughed our heads off and tried to finagle good matchups that wouldn't see us get beaten into the dirt. My parents' friends watched us goof off at times, but for the most part they ignored us and talked amongst themselves with little cups of sake in their hands.

The best part of the whole thing was that the games kept us so distracted, we didn't have much time for actual conversation—meaning no one had the opportunity to spill supernatural secrets to those not already aware of them, and soon my more serious friends (cough cough, Kurama) loosened up and played along with the best of them.

When everyone seemed sufficiently distracted, too busy watching a spirited game of _sugoroku_ between Kaito and Kuwabara to notice, I caught Yusuke's eye. He lifted a brow. I jerked my head toward the kitchen. He set down the plate of food he'd been picking at, said something to no one about needing more _ozōni_ , and walked off with a tune whistled innocently between his teeth.

I followed, one eye cast carefully over my shoulder to check for eavesdroppers, but no one dogged my steps.

Like a secret agent meeting an informant in an old-fashioned cartoon, Yusuke and I played it so cool as to push the point of ridiculousness. He leaned against the island in the kitchen and rifled through a drawer, as if looking for something, while I opened the refrigerator and poked through it—for nothing, of course, but it was the act that counted.

"Hey," I muttered to the floor.

"Hi," Yusuke said to the ceiling.

I put my hands in a T shape, holding it just far enough to the side so he could see. "Truce for two seconds, White scum?"

He made the T, too. "Agreed, Red Team filth."

"Sweet." I cut my eyes toward the door. No one lingered in it; we were safe, our clandestine meeting still secret. "You get the goods?" I asked under my breath.

"I did," Yusuke replied under his.

"Enough for all?"

"What do you think I am, a chump?" He bared his teeth. "Think your little gal pals will rat us out?"

He meant Eimi and Michiko, I deduced, but he needn't have worried. To a container of Brussel sprouts in the fridge I said: "Nah. Not if we get Minamino to go along with it. They're smitten."

"Oh _-ho_. I see. Use pretty boy as bait." He favored his fingernails with a grin. "So how do you wanna play this?"

"I mean. Same way we normally do? Just sneak off one by one when the adults aren't looking?"

He nodded. "I'll grab my team, you grab yours?"

"Twenty minutes beforehand?"

"Roger that."

I dramatically undid my truce-hands, holding them up like a criminal after dropping a weapon. Yusuke did the same, smile anything but friendly as I flipped him a peace sign and said, "Now get out of here, White detritus."

"I don't know what that word means but I'm assuming it was insulting, you big barf bucket," he deadpanned, and he headed for the dining room.

"Yusuke. Wait."

He turned, one hand braced on the door frame, looking at me over his shoulder with eyebrow hiked. I hesitated, but when Yusuke's eyebrow hitched a little higher, and clear 'what the heck do you want?' on his face, I took a deep breath.

"You OK with this?" I asked.

"Huh?" he said, head pulling back a little in confusion.

"You OK with bringing people in on this tradition of ours?" I said. "It's been just us for so many years. I wanted to check in, see if you were…"

I trailed off, self-conscious enough to start fiddling with the hem of my skirt. Yusuke stared at me a sec before swiping his thumb beneath his nose, a small, sly smile playing across his lips.

"Y'know," he said. "I thought about it—and if I get hit by another car, I really don't want you eating a pepper alone in your room again, ya feel me?"

I winced, cheeks flushing as if I'd bitten into a habanero. "Dad told you about that?"

"Course he did," Yusuke grunted. "Told me he'd kill me all over again if I went and died a second time, too, and left you alone for another New Year. So, nah." He shrugged, smile a little less sly this time, a little more sincere. "I'm OK. It's good we've got more friends, even if they're annoying like Kuwabara." And at that he turned away, lifting a hand over his shoulder as he walked away. "Just leave a tradition or two for me, yeah?"

"Yeah, Yusuke," I said to his retreating back. "Sure thing."

As I watched him walk away and rejoin the party, I resolved to spike Dad's dinner with a bit too much pepper next time I got the chance—payback for ratting me out to Yusuke. I had indeed suffered through eating a habanero in his honor the previous New Year's in his absence, but I certainly hadn't thought he'd ever find out. Talk about embarrassing… but now was not the time to dwell on that. I had another clandestine meeting to attend to, and since I was already in the kitchen, now seemed like a great time to get it done.

Earlier in the day I'd set aside a bit of food and packed it up in a few separate bento boxes squirreled away in the back of the fridge, hidden behind a jug or two of juice and a big crate of eggs. I filled a bowl from the big _ozōni_ pot in the kitchen and balanced it atop the boxes, carrying it all as quietly and quickly as I could out of the kitchen and the back door of the restaurant. Nobody saw me; hiding a triumphant smile, I set the food on a spare vegetable crate and looked at the orange-tinted stripe of sky peeping between the roofs looming above the alley. Tried not to shiver too hard as the wind filled the alley to bursting with its insistent cold, though that was a fool's errand. I'd left my coat by the front door and hadn't wanted to chance running to get it.

"H-Hiei?" I said through chattering teeth.

In an instant there came a whump from behind me, a warm wind brushing over the back of my neck. "Meigo," came his grumpy voice, and when I turned I found him standing behind me in his customary black cloak and white scarf. Scarlet eyes glimmered, reflecting the glow of the light above the door like an animal's in the dark. Almost at once the temperature of the alley rose a few degrees; my shivers stopped, muscles relaxing as the cold abated in the wake of Hiei's presence.

"Hey," I said. "You came, after all."

Hiei grunted an affirmative. Hands emerged from his pocket. Between two of his fingers he held a pale blue card—the party invitation I'd given him weeks prior. It was too dark to see, but I knew that if I looked close I'd find a handwritten message across the back in my penmanship. He'd stared at the invitation when I'd offered it with obvious distaste, clearly even less accustomed than Kaito to receiving party invites.

"You don't have to decide right now," I'd told him, shoving the paper at his chest. "Just give it some thought."

"Whatever," he'd said, rolling his eyes, and he'd shoved the card into his cloak and out of sight.

Of course, that had happened weeks prior, and I hadn't been sure if he'd show up to the party or not. I'd scrawled "you don't have to come inside, just stop by" on the back, wondering if that might help him feel comfortable enough to at least stop by and see me. Parties just weren't Hiei's scene—but food generally got Hiei's attention, and apparently the lure of something good to eat had succeeded in drawing him in tonight.

Sure enough, Hiei said, "You promised me food, didn't you?"

"That I did," I said, nodding. "But still. It's good to see you." I pointed at the door. "Don't suppose you wanna come in?"

Hiei didn't bother saying anything; he glared and marched past to scoop up the bento and soup bowl (which I would likely never see again, another bowl lost to Hiei's sticky fingers; I added it to my mental tally).

"Yeah. Didn't think so," I said, and I sat down to watch Hiei eat.

Well, more like to talk him through eating. Some of these special New Year's foods he'd never seen before. We took a tour of the bento together, in which I rattled off a description of each kind of food as Hiei picked it up and gave it a sniff. Some bits he ate with gusto; others he nibbled, made a face at, and set aside with extreme prejudice. I made more mental notes about everything he did and did not like to write down later.

"You usually celebrate the New Year, Hiei?" I asked after he polished off the bento and started on the steaming _ozōni_.

"What for?" he asked, taking a huge slurp of broth. "Inane human tradition."

"At least the food's good?"

"It's decent."

"High praise from you." I braced my hands on my knees and pushed, standing with a sigh. "Well. I've got people inside and should be getting back. Feel free to come in if you want—though you might want to raid my closet, borrow some of Yusuke's things first." I eyed his outfit. "That cloak stands out."

"Harrumph," Hiei articulated—and as I turned toward the door to go, I remembered something.

"Oh. Did you know my mom knows about you?" I threw up my hands, glad to share this surprise with someone. "Weird, right? I have no idea how she found out!"

But Hiei just shrugged. "She spied on us from your window once."

"She _what?!_ " My mouth fell open. "What—but—I mean—" I stammered a few more times before finding my word again. "But you didn't _say anything_ , Hiei!"

Yet again, he shrugged. "Didn't see a need. I read her thoughts. She thinks I'm another—what was it? Another 'neighborhood stray' you've picked up?" He slashed his soup with his spoon, teeth bared and grit. "It was undignified."

"So you kept it a secret?" I said, incensed, but Hiei didn't look even a little ashamed of himself. I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. "Right. Well, the offer to come in stands. Mom knows you exist, so you might as well meet her, but it's whatever." Once more I turned to leave, and once more I thought of something else to say. "Oh—and we're gonna be out here later, me and the rest of the kids, if you want to join."

He paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. "In the alley?"

"Sort of," I said, hedging. "Just be subtle if you join us. No sense scaring the normies."

"Hmmph." He went back to eating. "Humans and their delicate nerves."

I giggled, because it was hard not to, but soon I sobered. Hands in my pockets, one loosely curled around the pepper box, I said, "Hey, Hiei?"

I'd interrupted another bite; he growled, spoon splashing back down into the soup. _"What?"_ he said, exasperated.

"I'm glad we met this year. And I'm looking forward to another year with you in it."

Hiei didn't respond right away. In fact, his only reaction came in the form of widened eyes and frozen posture, hands loose around the bowl he balanced on his lap. We held our gaze for a moment that stretched into, two, then three. Soon Hiei blinked and cast his eyes down to the alley's dirty concrete ground.

"What are you babbling about?" he said, not looking at me.

I cracked a crooked grin. "Just another inane human tradition—a New Year's toast. Hope you don't mind." This time, I didn't think of anything else to say as I grasped the door handle and pushed my way back inside. "See you next year, Hiei, if you don't join us later."

I thought he wouldn't answer me. Honestly, I didn't really need him to do so.

Just as the door fell shut, however, I heard him softly say, "See you next year, Meigo"—and it was the best New Year's toast from him I could ask for.

* * *

Atsuko was lying in wait when I came back—but not because she's been eavesdropping on me and Hiei. No, as soon as I walked in the door from the outside, she dragged me into the kitchen for an entirely different reason. "Who is _he?"_ she said in my ear, and she pointed into the dining room with the end of a burning cigarette.

I followed her point with my eyes. Saw who she meant. Turned back to her.

"That," I said, "would be Kuwabara senior."

Kuwabara's father, still clad in his long black coat but sans his outdoor shoes, stood with my parents and his daughter over by the buffet table, wearing a winning grin as he threw back his head and gave a deep, sonorous laugh. At centimeters tall (that's 6'4 for the Americans reading my diary), he absolutely towered over everyone in the room and was as broad-shouldered as a linebacker. Immediately obvious where Kuwabara got his build as well as his blocky jaw and his incredible cheekbones (Kuwabara had growing to do yet, both into his height and into his severe features). That's where the resemblance between father and son ended, however, because Kuwabara-san wore his black hair in a short ponytail and sported a glimmering diamond in each ear—punk-rock even as an adult, looking the littlest bit Yakuza with ring-covered fingers and a flashy gold watch on his wrist. Tinted eyeglasses obscured his expression just enough to be intimidating, and since the rest of him was already intimidating enough as it was, the air he gave off was that of a casual ne'er do well, the kind of man who didn't give a crap what anyone thought of him and would sooner beat your ass as look at you.

But then he said something funny. My parents burst out laughing, and Kuwabara-san's smile softened his hard features into something warm, inviting—and, yeah. Handsome, actually. I'd met Kuwabara's dad a handful of times and had gotten the impression of a man who traded in laid-back humor and calm action, temperament brilliantly contrasting his appearance much the way his son's did.

Atsuko, however, only had eyes for his face—and for hers. She grabbed a soup spoon off the kitchen counter and held it up, smoothing down her eyebrow with a fingertip.

"How do I look?" she said.

"Uh," I said. "Fine. Why do you—?"

Atsuko put down the spoon. She put down her cigarette and beer bottle. She very, very pointedly unbuttoned the first few buttons of her blouse and adjusted her boobs, thrusting out her chest and mussing her hair into alluring bed-head.

"Atsuko," I said, suddenly numb inside. "Atsuko, _what are you doing?"_

She flipped her hair and checked her teeth in the soup spoon. "I want to make a good impression, don't I?"

"That," I said, voice climbing high and shrill, "is _Kuwabara's dad."_

"Yes," she said with faux patience. "And as I recall, Kuwabara's mom passed away many years ago. Which means Kuwabara-san is the grieving widower, and I..."

She looked down at her boobs. She waggled her eyebrows.

"Atsuko," I said. "Atsuko, _no."_

"Atsuko _yes_ ," she countered, and with a sway in her hips and a pout on her lips she sauntered out of the kitchen and straight toward Kuwabara's dad.

Shizuru broke away from her father at about the same time. Atsuko and Shizuru passed each other on their respective trips across the restaurant, trading a nod as they neared one another, but Atsuko had her eyes on a prize and didn't stop to chat. Shizuru paused, turning in place to watch Atsuko approach her father, and then with a raised brow she resumed her walk toward me.

"Where's she off to in such a hurry?" Shizuru said as she entered the kitchen.

"To seduce your father, apparently."

I clapped my hand over my mouth as soon as I finished speaking, but Shizuru didn't even blink. She just reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, holding one unlit between her smirking lips.

"Well," she said, leaning against the kitchen island. Together we watched as Atsuko introduced herself, fluttering her eyelashes up at Kuwabara senior. "This should certainly be entertaining."

I stared at her. "You're not mad?"

"Nah." She shrugged. "She's not his type, and he can handle himself." For some reason her lips curled around her cigarette. "You know, Red Team is down a few points."

The abrupt change had me gaping like a beached fish for a second, but then her meaning hit me like a boxing glove to the face. I cursed and lurched against the door frame, hands braced on either side of it, staring at the scoreboard over near the gaming area. Botan had taken up scorekeeper duties, marking down points as they came in, and to my horror the red half of the board had three fewer points than the white half—meaning my mouth was on the line and the habanero hovered like the sword of Damocles about my head. I'd totally lost track of the games while dealing with Hiei and Yusuke, dammit! It was time to get back out there, fix this mess, make sure Yusuke would eat that fucking pepper and—

"Like I said: _I'm_ not worried," Shizuru said. She crossed her arms over her chest, confident and indolent. "But you know who's gonna be?"

I pulled my head back into the kitchen and looked at her. "Hmm?"

And she nodded—she nodded out into the dining room.

She nodded toward where the White Team had gathered in a huddle.

Specifically to where Yusuke and Kuwabara stood talking to Amanuma, with their backs to their parents, completely unaware of the inter-family hell brewing by the buffet table.

I stared at them.

I blinked.

I giggled.

I giggled again.

The laughter built like magma beneath the crust of a volcano, evil and thick, shoulders bouncing in time with my muffled mirth until I couldn't contain it any longer. It poured from my mouth as I threw back my head, fingers arching into claws as I cackled my glee at the kitchen ceiling. Shizuru watched without saying a damn word, utterly impassive as she mouthed at her unlit cigarette—but as my "mwa ha ha-ing" came to an end, leaving me standing there with a devious gleam in my eye and a scheming chuckle on my lips, she spoke.

"So. Tell me," she said. "How frazzled do you think those two would get at the prospect of becoming stepbrothers?"

I rubbed my hands together, certain I'd sprouted horns. "This is great," I simpered. "No. This is _wonderful_."

Shizuru's mouth quirked. "Something tells me Yusuke's gonna be the one eating the pepper if you play this little distraction right."

"Shizuru, anyone ever tell you you're an evil genius?"

"I get that a lot." She lifted a foot, kicking lightly at my hip. "Now show me some fireworks, kid."

"Hey. It's New Year's Eve." I paused in the doorway, tossing my hair and its ridiculous ribbon with a grin the devil would envy. Over my shoulder I winked, and I said to her, "Fireworks are all part of the show."

And with that, I marched off to do battle with the enemy—the enemy who had no idea what storm was coming, and what horrendous hell I intended to unleash on this chilly New Year's Eve.

"Mwa ha ha," indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smiling devil emoji here. Also, longest chapter yet. 
> 
> IDK if the manga ever said what's up with Kuwabara's mom, but in the late chapters it showed us Kuwabara's dad. Scans of him are on my Tumblr account. For LC purposes we're saying Kuwabara's mom passed when he was a kid (he's mentioned this once before, but it was a long time ago).
> 
> The "Atsuko no/Atsuko yes" bit really shows how Yusuke takes after his mom, methinks…
> 
> Three bits of housekeeping:
> 
> The EU just passed Articles 11 and 13, which might hinder European readers' abilities to read this fic, as those articles affect sites' abilities to host fanworks and other copywritten content. I will be creating an email list; if the EU's ruling ends up affecting you, I can add you to it and email chapters directly to you. Send me your email via review or PM (or via Tumblr) and we'll work it out.
> 
> I'm going on hiatus in July, as mentioned a few weeks back, for Camp NaNoWriMo. Next week (ch 75) will be the last chapter before I go on hiatus. Just some forewarning.
> 
> I have three short omake side-bits planned that go along with these New Year's Eve party chapters; they'll be added to "Children of Misfortune" in the coming weeks, probably once I go on hiatus. One includes Keiko eating a pepper while Yusuke is comatose in honor of their unsung New Year's tradition (something this chapter alludes to). I also have some short humor bits planned to tide over everyone while I'm on hiatus, as well, once again intended as "Children of Misfortune" side-stories.
> 
> Thanks to all those who reviewed chapter 73. You rocked my socks: Han, librarian_punk, MageKing17, misminor, nomyriad, Eternalevecho, Unctuous, TokiMirage, GerbilFriend, rosesandlion, Not Quite a Morning Person, Everlastingice_277, Vinlala, A Houston Fan, Bastet the Writing Cat, and Lazeralk!


	75. Happy New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK proposes a toast.

Minato had the Switcheroo monopoly on being a solder, but I'd read _The Art of War_ , and as I marched out of the kitchen and right up to Kuwabara-san I held a quote of Sun Tzu's tight in my focused head.

"If quick, I survive," he'd written.

I needed to strike fast, before Yusuke could get wise and ruin all my fun… _mwa ha ha._

Atsuko hung onto Kuwabara-san's arm as he chatted with my parents. She fluttered her eyelashes and laughed at something he said, but he just shot her a sidelong look from behind his tinted glasses and kept talking, apparently unmoved. My mom caught my eye as I neared; one of her brows darted up, wordlessly conveying all the "what the heck is Atsuko _thinking?_ " that had filled my own brain moments earlier. I shot her a sunny grin and said nothing, instead walking straight over to Kuwabara-san and chirping a polite "Hello!"

"Keiko!" he said, grinning his easy, lazy grin. "Good to see ya. Kazuma's been talking about this party all week."

"I'm glad you could make it." I aimed my smile at Atsuko. "I see you've met Yusuke's mother."

"I have," said Kuwabara-san.

Atsuko pulled herself tighter against his side. "We get along thick as thieves, you might even say," she said, eyelashes all aflutter.

"You might." Kuwabara spoke with the casual air of a summer breeze when he asked, "Need help with anything?"

"Actually, yes," I said. "Can you help me with something in the kitchen real fast? I threw out my shoulder and I'd love help lifting a crate."

"Of course." He gently pulled his arm away from Atsuko. "Be right back."

Atsuko looked less than pleased with this development, of course, watching as Kuwabara-san followed me away from her with a look of comical displeasure on her face, but I paid her little heed and led the way into the kitchen. Kuwabara-san immediately leaned his shoulder against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest as I spun to face him.

"So." I smoothed down the front of my dress. "Ahem."

"There is no crate, is there," he said—but it was not a question.

"None," I replied.

His eyebrows hiked above the frames of his glasses. "But something tells me you weren't rescuing me from Atsuko, either."

"Kind of the opposite." I scratched the back of my neck. "I, uh. I was wondering if you'd play along. Flirt back, maybe?"

Kuwabara-san didn't reply right away. His glasses merely slid down his thin nose, revealing the cast of his dark and narrow eyes. He towered over me even when leaning against the door, arms like hams where they crossed over his chest. I'd met him a few times over the past year, but mostly in passing. He ran an imports business, long hours and lots of travel, and wasn't home much—hence Shizuru assuming the role of "mom" in the Kuwabara household. Still, even if we'd only met a few times and had only had a scant few conversations previously, that slow, deliberate glasses-slide and the measured stare he gave me spoke volumes: He did not particularly like my query, though the smile threatening the corner of his mouth said he was at least amused by it. Amusement I could work with.

"Miss Yukimura. Now why would I go and do a thing like that?" he said, almost (but not quite) teasing. "I know better than to play with a lady's heart."

Well, damn. Kuwabara chivalry back at it again. I curled my hair behind my ears and shook my head with an apologetic grin. "Yeah. You're right. It was a bad idea. Forget it, just be polite like you were doing, I'll just—"

He ducked his head, hand mopping over his stubbled jaw. "Pfft. So eager to please. You're an easy one to manipulate, you know that?" But his smile widened into one of true humor, a hearty laugh bubbling from his throat. "At least tell me what you wanted." A sly wink over the top of his glasses. "Who knows? Maybe I'll be amendable."

I certainly hoped he would be. I spoke slowly, choosing each word with care. "Yusuke and Kuwabara are both on White Team. I'm on Red," I said. "And I was thinking it would benefit me if they were… distracted."

Kuwabara-san's lips pursed. "Distracted how?"

"… distracted thinking there was a chance they could become stepbrothers in the near future?" I said, voice climbing through the octaves with every lilting syllable.

For a minute, he didn't react. He just stood there looking like his intimidating self, short ponytail and dark glasses and all—but then he threw back his head and laughed, a rich, deep bellow of delight that had me grinning, too. Kuwabara-san braced his hands on his knees and roared, swiping off his glasses so he could wipe at his watering eyes.

"They'd _murder_ each other!" he said through his mirth. "It'd be a bloodbath!"

"I know!" I said. "Isn't it _great?_ "

"You're devious, I'll give you that." He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, pushing his glasses back up his nose with a finger, which he then pointed at me. "Tell you what, kid. I think we can both get what we want. Do whatever you're gonna do to those boys out there. Just leave my side of things to me." And with that he put his back to my and shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks, muttering, "Stepbrothers. Where does she get this stuff?"

Although I couldn't be sure what he was planning, I watched him walk across the room and rejoin my parents and Atsuko by the buffet table. Atsuko once again velcroed herself to his arm; he didn't put an arm around her in return or anything, acting as normally as he had before, but despite the lack of change in his demeanor I trusted him to play his ascribed part in the festivities in spite of myself. And if he didn't...

As _The_ _Art of War_ said, "Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows." And if it came down to it, I'd have to go with the flow as best as I could.

We'd set up the gaming area in the far back corner of the dining room, farthest from the restaurant's front door as possible. Amagi had taken over Atsuko's job while I was away, dutifully keeping score on a whiteboard as points were accrued by TV players and IRL players alike. White had a tenuous lead, I saw as I scanned the board, though many of their points come from the TV contestants (it didn't seem that many competition games had been played yet, most of my friends just having fun goofing off). Amanuma and Kurama were definitely the leaders for Team White, tiny katakana indicators next to the points indicating who had scored what and for what game. Kaito and, surprisingly, Eimi were the leaders for Team Red. Huh. Didn't know Eimi was much of a gamer.

"It's no fair you got the kid!" Michi was saying as I walked over. She had a finger raised toward Amanuma, who was throwing darts at a dartboard and scoring all bullseyes. "He's a ringer! _A ringer!"_

"Hey," said Yusuke in protest. He lounged in a chair near the TV blaring _Kōhaku Uta Gassen_ , a dinner plate balanced on his stomach. Through a full mouth he declared, "I drew the kid's name so I get to keep him. All's fair in love and war."

But Eimi thrust her nose into the air, her previous fear of the Great Urameshi quite forgotten. "Wouldn't surprise me if a delinquent like you cheated," she said with a smart shake of her short hair. "What Keiko sees in you I will never understand."

Yusuke bristled. "And why she's friends with a shrill harpy like—"

A discarded plate sat on a table next to me; off of it I swiped a thin slice of pickled cucumber, which I threw at Yusuke from across the room. It collided with his cheek with a wet smack. As he yowled and fell out of his chair I said, "You'd better think twice about finishing that sentence, asshole."

He glared as he scrambled to his feet; Eimi just beamed as I strode over and planted my hands on my hips, staring at Yusuke nose to nose with undisguised (but playful) revulsion.

"Red Team protects their own—unlike scummy White," I said, making a face.

Yusuke peeled the cucumber off his face and dropped it atop my left foot. "What's that mean?" he asked as I cursed and wiped up the mess.

"It means," I said, "that I can't help but notice you haven't played a single game yet." I indicated the scoreboard. "You're letting Amanuma and Minamino do all the heavy lifting."

Amanuma, nearby at the dart board, spun on his heel and stared at Yusuke with a frown. Those around him turned, too, the gaggle of teenagers zeroing in on us like buzzards on the scent of a carcass.

"Hey! That's right!" Amanuma said. "I like games, but you haven't played any, Yusuke!"

Yusuke harrumphed and rolled his eyes. "Leaders lead. They don't do battle themselves. Everybody knows that."

"Or maybe you're just chicken."

Yusuke's head swung toward me so fast I feared his neck might snap. "Say _what?_ " he said, face turning an alarming shade of red.

I didn't reply with words.

I tucked my thumbs into my armpits, hunkered down, thrust out my neck, and squawked.

Didn't take long for Yusuke to figure out I was miming his Spirit Beast, if you'll pardon the pun. I jerked my head forward and back and strut in a tight circle, making chicken clucks as I got up in Yusuke's face. He turned redder and redder with every buck-KAW, and then he went atomic when another chicken cry joined the fray. Amanuma had assumed a chicken pose, too, as had Junko, and soon most of the kids (aside from the too-dignified Amagi, Kaito, and Kurama) had joined in on the Mock Yusuke fun. We circled around him for about ten seconds making belligerent farmyard fowl noises before he let loose a wordless cry of rage and frustration, at which point we scattered like tasty poultry beneath the talons of a hawk.

"Ugh, fine!" he snarled, and he leveled a finger at the innocent look on my face. "Team lead versus team lead. Prepare to go down in flames, Grandma."

"Perfect," I said, grinning ear to ear. "I propose a series of three games. You versus me."

"Fine. So what's first?" He smirked. "Letting you pick because I'll kick your ass no matter the task."

"Mini _Street Fighter_ tournament sound good?"

"Oh, you're _toast._ "

But little did he know that even though Yusuke was historically a much better _Street Fighter_ player than I was, I had a plan up my sleeve, and I had no intention of losing this game to him tonight.

We queued up the Famicon and got started in short order, sitting side by side in front of the TV in a pair of sturdy chairs. Yusuke picked Ryu (natch) and I picked Chun-Li because I was on Team Red and it felt right to pick the only woman on the roster of playable characters. The game was set up as a one-on-one fighting game, winner the best of five short matches—and in short order I found myself on the receiving end of the first KO, Chun-Li falling under a blast of Ryu's Hadouken energy attack. White Team, gathered with Red behind us to watch, let out a loud cheer.

"See?" Yusuke said, mocking grin on his face. "Told you I'd kick your ass."

"Aw, jee Yusuke," I said, giving him a sweet, syrupy smile. "You sure did!"

He blinked. "Holdup. I don't like this." Suspicious had his eyes narrowing and him leaning toward me, scanning my face for tells. "Why aren't you mad?"

"No reason," I said in a singsong tone. "Oh look, the next match is starting!"

The announcer in the game declared the match had begun; our characters began to bounce in place on the screen. I didn't defend overmuch, letting Yusuke pummel Chun-Li mostly as he liked, though of course I threw out a few badly timed punches just for show. Couldn't let him know I wasn't really trying, after all. Had to keep up the illusion that this was a fair fight.

After all, as Sun Tzu said: "All war is deception."

Thus, it should come as no surprise that I lost that second round, too. While Yusuke threw down his controller and thrust his arms into the air, basking in the cheers of White Team, I pasted on a regretful smile and heaved an overstated sigh.

"Oh man!" I put an elbow on my knee, chin resting on my hand. "You really did beat me so badly, Yusuke. You're _so good_ at this!"

But Yusuke is no idiot even in the face of advice from Sun Tzu. He heard my empty platitudes and saw my sugary smile and stared at me, alarm creeping over his features like an urgent fog. Wheels turned behind his eyes, and then they clicked almost audibly into place.

"Are you… are you going easy on me?" he said, eyes flicking between me and the screen in turns.

I put a hand over my heart. "Why, Yusuke. Whatever would give you that idea? I'm insulted!"

"I'm… confused…" he said, inching away from me in his chair like I'd grown a pair of venomous fangs.

I bared said fangs at him, though sweetly. "I just think you deserve a win… especially in light of what's coming."

He blinked. "What's coming?"

"Oh? You mean you haven't _heard?_ " I said, faux shock plastered all over my face.

Just as Yusuke opened his mouth to question me, the game automatically started the next match.

We traded blows immediately, but this time I didn't hold back. I timed every button press perfectly, lying in wait for Yusuke to present an opening and dodging all of his most powerful attacks. Yusuke's eyes cut my way as he button-mashed, seemingly unconcerned when he left himself open and I managed to get in a roundhouse kick.

"Haven't heard what?" he said from the corner of his mouth.

"Oh nothing major." I grinned. "Just that your mom's gonna get remarried. That's all."

For a second he didn't say anything. He threw a punch. I blocked.

Then he rocketed to his feet and rounded on me with a roar of, "She's WHAT?!"

As soon as his eyes left the screen, I performed Chun-Li's signature barrage of kicks, the _Hyakuretsu Kyaku,_ followed by a swift _Kiko-ken_ that sent Ryu flying. "KO" flashed across the screen; Red Team erupted into raucous cheers. But Yusuke hardly even noticed.

"Keiko!" he said, eyes bulging from his skull. "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"You mean she hasn't told you?" I asked, looking as innocent as a spring lamb. "My, my. I thought you knew."

"I know I'm gonna put my fist through your face if you don't tell me what the hell you're talking about!"

"Oops! Can't talk now! Match starting!"

Yusuke grumbled and slammed back down into his seat, but his hands on the controller vibrated with barely restrained rage and probably fear; I won't pretend to know what was running through his head at that moment, but doubtless it wasn't good. Still, it was certainly advantageous, because his attacks kept going wide or coming up short, and with a series of carefully timed blocks and counters I managed another KO strike. Yusuke threw down the controller with a curse as Red Team celebrated.

"Game is tied," Amagi announced. "Whoever wins this gets the point for their team."

"Oh, I'm getting that point," Yusuke growled through his teeth. "I'm getting that point and getting you talking, that's for damn certain—"

My sweet smile returned as the next match started and our characters began to bounce around the screen. "Speaking of talking," I said, voice pitched low and conspiratorial.

"Huh?" said Yusuke, eyes locked on the screen.

"I mean. Isn't it obvious?" And with that I delivered my own personal KO and jerked my head to the side, over toward the parents chatting in the corner. "Just look who your mom is talking to so cozily."

A beat passed.

Yusuke looked around the dining room.

His gaze caught on his mother talking to Kuwabara's father like a toe on the corner of a coffee table—and once again he bolted to his feet with a yelp of "WHAT THE HELL?!"

At which point I seized my opportunity, in the true spirit of Sun Tzu, and knocked our Ryu once and for all with a flurry of blows that sent him careening to the game's digital floor.

"Winner, Keiko!" Amagi declared as Red Team cheered. "To Team Red goes the point!"

But while White Team grumbled about the defeat, Yusuke didn't give a rat's ass about our little bet anymore. "What is she DOING?" he said, staring with mouth agape across the room, but before anyone else could ask what was wrong I stood up and looped my arm through his.

"She's flirting, I think," I said into his ear. "And really, really hard by the look of it." I grinned at him when he looked at me in shock, every last molar on display. "What do you think, Yusuke? A spring wedding? Maybe June?"

His glare could melt steel. "Fuck off and die."

"Not before the wedding!" I chirped. "I'm really looking forward to seeing your mom in a white dress."

"That does it." He jerked his arm away and took a step toward his mother. "I'm going over there and—"

But I grabbed him and held him back, dragging him away. "No time, no time! Next game, next game!"

My next chosen game was _fukuwarai,_ that gigantic felt _oni_ mask upon which we had to pin features cut out of cloth. Two horns, a mouth, a nose, eyes, ears—but the fun part was pinning on the features blindfolded after being spun in circles by your friends. Inevitably the faces looked ridiculous, laughter abounding, but to make the game a bit more competitive we'd introduced a time limit to the event, as well. Yusuke grumbled and groused and kept shooting his mother and Kuwabara's father dirty looks as we set up the game, and when Kuwabara-junior came near Yusuke, Yusuke put his back to him with a huff.

Good. I didn't want those two communicating just yet.

"OK, people," I said as everyone gathered around. "We'll get spun around and whatnot, and then pin on the features within the time limit." I nodded at Amagi, who held a small hourglass scavenged from a board game. "Whoever gets their features closest to perfect wins. Sound good?"

"Fine," Yusuke said. "But as soon as this is done, I'm getting to the bottom of—of what you told me."

People murmured about that, wondering what he meant. Yusuke cast his eyes to the floor and did not elaborate. Again: Good. "Secret operations are essential in war." It wouldn't do for Yusuke to give everything away so soon.

"I'm sure you will," I said. I reached out to Amagi for the blindfold kin her hand. "Time to put me through the spincycle."

She giggled and handed me the white bandana, which I lifted to my face and began to tie behind my head. However, as I tied I felt something brush my elbow, and then a cool voice spoke softly in my ear.

"What are you playing at?" Kurama said, voice silky—and the littlest bit amused.

"Nothing," I said, but I couldn't keep the smirk at bay. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you have the most devious grin on your face."

"Do you approve?"

He paused. Then: "Perhaps."

"Don't play coy with me. I can hear you smiling." And it was true, and Kurama laugh. Once I got the bandana tied I reached out and blindly encountered his arm, which I squeezed. "Fill you in later." And with that I held my arms out at my sides. "OK, everybody. Spin me!"

A dozen hands alit along my arms, tugging me forward to the _fukuwarai_ area, and with a chorus of giggles I found myself spun around and around until I could hardly stand. Someone shoved the cloth facial features into my hands as Amagi called out from somewhere (world spun too much to pinpoint her exact location) that it was time to begin, and I staggered forward and started slapping the features onto the _oni's_ face. I only had about thirty seconds to identify which feature was which and try to get them on the face, and I had just slapped on the final horn when Amagi at last called time. I ripped off the bandana and surveyed my work. Everything was in… almost…the right place, if not a little lopsided and off center, but for the most part I'd done OK. It wasn't a tough game, after all, even with the blindfold and the time limit.

Still, Yusuke seemed in quite the hurry to get started. "Outta my way," he said, snatching the blindfold from my hand. "Let's make this quick!"

My head was a bit smaller than his; Yusuke had to untie and then retie the blindfold, which took a minute or two (hey, I'm good at knots), and that afforded me an opportunity to scan the crowd. Almost at once I spotted what I'd been hoping for: Kuwabara senior, standing at the edge of the gaggle of kids with a few other curious adults. He caught my eye and winked—and at that wink my heart lifted.

I had no idea what Kuwabara-san was planning, but I got the sense Yusuke would have been less eager to play if he'd known I had a secret weapon waiting in the wings.

But if Kuwabara-san was here, and Sun Tzu recommended keeping plans secret in times of war, I'd need to make sure my other secret weapon didn't get compromised in whatever was about to happen. I pivoted in place until I spotted the youngest of the Kuwabara clan, who stood watching and laughing at Yusuke as Yusuke struggled with the blindfold's knot. I pushed through the other kids to his side and tapped his shoulder.

"Oh, hey Keiko!" he said. "You really kicked butt at _Street Fighter_!"

"Thanks!" I tried to look sorry about asking for a favor, even though I wasn't. "Say, would you mind getting me a drink? I'm really thirsty but I don't think I should leave…" And I let my eyes drift over to Yusuke, who had finally managed to get the blindfold untied and was wrapping it around his face.

Kuwabara nodded so hard his head threatened to come unglued. "Sure thing, Keiko! Be right back!"

I felt a little badly about tricking him, but all was fair in love and war, and I was very much embroiled in the latter. I sat at a nearby table as Yusuke put on the bandana and wandered toward the _fukuwarai_ face, hands outstretched so he could take the cloth features from Amagi. As people surged forward and started spinning him, I looked over my shoulder and caught Kuwabara senior's eye once more.

He grinned.

I grinned back.

Yusuke stopped spinning and cursed, hands coming up as he staggered in place toward the _fukuwarai._ "All righty. No sweat," he said to himself, stumbling. "Just walk forward and—"

He never got to finish—because like a snake in tall grass, Kuwabara-san chose that moment to strike.

"My, that Atsuko sure is hilarious, isn't she?" Kuwabara senior's voice boomed like thunder across the gaming area, followed by a hearty laugh. "A woman after my own heart, that Atsuko!"

At once Yusuke spun on his heel toward Kuwabara-san's voice with an indignant cry of, "SAY _WHAT?!_ "

But his fury was short lived, because as soon as he turned away from the _fukuwarai,_ Yusuke stopped. Froze. Stood there in silence as the hourglass continued to run and bleed his time away.

"Uh oh." He turned to spin back around but faced the wrong direction, perpendicular to the _fukuwarai_ instead of facing it. "Where's the— _fuck_ , where's that face? Where'd it go?!"

But it was too late. He careened into a table, and then a chair, as the kids erupted into laughter at his expense, and soon Amagi called out, "And, time! As Yusuke has nothing on the board, the point goes to Team Red!"

Team Red erupted into cheers, celebrating our second victory of the night. Kuwabara senior winked at me over the heads of the other adults before walking away and back toward my parents—and toward Atsuko, who once again latched onto his arm. He gently abided her flirtation as she pulled straight from a liquor bottle, clearly not encouraging it but not embarrassing her but rebuffing her, either (and when she got drunk, Atsuko did not take criticism, real or perceived, well at all).

But I couldn't sit there analyzing their dynamic for long, because Yusuke had ripped off his blindfold and was glaring at me.

"Keiko!" Kuwabara the younger pushed through the crowd, a cup raised over his head. "I got the punch you wanted!"

"Thanks, Kuwabara."

"You're welcome, I—wait. What'd I miss?" He eyed Yusuke askance and whispered, "And why does Yusuke look ready to explode?"

"He's a sore loser, that's all," I said, and I took a sip of delicious punch to celebrate.

Meanwhile, Yusuke was grinding his teeth to dust. "This is stupid," he said, fists in tight balls at his sides. "This is fucking stupid—"

"Now, now, Yusuke," I chided. "We have just one more game to play, one that _we_ agreed we'd play together." Another of my sickliest smiles. "Or are you scared you'll lose that, too?"

"Grrr… fine! One more game!" The goad got to him like a heat-seeking missile. "But I'm picking the game this time. And I say we play… _hanetsuki!"_

The triumph on his face glowed like a lightbulb, and for obvious reasons. _Hanetsuki_ was a bit like badminton or ping-pong, and it involved hitting a shuttlecock back and forth with racquets without letting it hit the floor. It was a mostly physical game, one that relied on physicality, and thus Yusuke was sure to have an advantage… but I smiled at him again, letting the look drip with sugar.

"Fancy playing in pairs?" I said.

"Whatever." He tossed his hair (although I didn't move thanks to the metric fuck-ton of gel keeping a stranglehold on its placement). "I don't care. I'm going to beat your ass so hard—"

"How about letting me pick your partner since you picked the game?" I said.

He agreed on impulse, eager to get back to taunting me. "Sure, sure, whatever handicap you think you— _wait_." His eyes popped open, wider even than his big, fat mouth. "Wait, no, back up—"

"I pick Kuwabara to be your partner." Ignoring Yusuke's sputtering, I turned to Amagi and bowed at her Western-style, extending a hand for her to take. "Amagi, would you do me the honoring of being my doubles buddy?"

"Certainly." Her chin lifted with understated pride. "I am on the tennis team, you know."

"Which makes you my secret weapon."

Yusuke, behind me, cradled his head in his hands and moaned, "No no no no no, not _Kuwabara!_ "

"Hey, what the heck did I do?" Kuwabara said. "I'm great at this game! You should be glad she picked me!"

Yusuke glared at him. "Yeah, well, I'm _not_ , so shut the fuck up and—"

Kurama cleared his throat, then. Everyone quieted down to listen, Eimi and Michiko preparing the playing field in the background. Earlier we'd marked a square on the ground in tape with a line down the middle, a small court where we could play our games. The girls fetched racquets and the shuttlecock from their box in the corner and cleared away chairs so we could have a clean playing area.

"I'll referee this match," Kurama said. "First team to drop the shuttlecock—"

(At that word somebody snickered; I think it was Junko, and then Yusuke snickered, too. Kurama ignored them both)

"—five times, loses. If the shuttlecock is knocked out of bounds, it's counted as a drop."

"We know the rules," Yusuke whined.

"Fine." Kurama's lips twitched, but he said nothing as Kuwabara, Yusuke, Amagi and I all lined up on the respective sides of our courts. He stood near the midcourt line and raised a hand into the air. "Ready? Begin!"

The game began with White Team serving, Kuwabara gently knocking the shuttlecock over onto our side of the field with a flick of his thick wrist. Amagi knocked it back with a practiced sweep of her arm, and Yusuke passed it back our way without much trouble—though he had to dodge around Kuwabara to get to it in time. The game was more about reflexes and speed than power, and on such a small court Kuwabara's bulk didn't do them any favors. He filled the space to the brim, the boys tripping over each other like a pair of puppies not yet grown into their feet. No wonder, then, that they dropped the shuttlecock first—especially since Yusuke kept shooting Kuwabara death glares, even when the big guy wasn't in his way.

"Dammit, Kuwabara!" Yusuke said. He shoved him toward the back of the court. "You stand back there and don't move!"

"Fine!" Kuwabara said. "But you're gonna have a real hard time manning the front line by yourself!"

"Shut up! I can handle it!"

"Can you, Yusuke?" I called, words melodic and smooth. "Knowing what's happening _right over there?_ "

I didn't look over at his mother. I didn't need to; he knew what I meant, and it wasn't yet time to trigger the sleeper agent that was Kuwabara. Yusuke rounded on me with a snarl. "Shut up, you old witch!"

"Hey, don't call her that!" Kuwabara looked between Yusuke and me with a confused scowl. "And what's even up with you two, anyway? You're acting really weird!"

"It's nothing, Kuwabara." I passed Amagi the shuttlecock to serve. "Let's just play."

Kurama watched our argument with shrewd eyes, but he made no comment as he lined us up for another round. We commenced play in short order—and as it turns out, keeping Kuwabara at the back wasn't a terrible idea, after all. He hit everything that went back there with his long arms, leaving the nimbler Yusuke to dodge and dart to catch the shorter shots, and when I sent a shot toward the back of the court, Kuwabara hit it a bit harder than intended. In fact, he spiked it, shuttlecock flying hard toward us and hitting just inside the midcourt line with a loud snapping sound. I jumped back from it with an 'eep' of fright.

"I'm sorry!" Kuwabara yelped; he dropped his racquet. "I didn't meant to hit it that hard! Keiko, I'm sorry!"

"No, no, you did a good job!" I said (wow, Kuwabara really didn't know his own strength, did it?). Beaming, I looked at the other half of Team White and said, "See, Yusuke? Maybe it won't be so bad!"

He almost threw down his racquet, too. "Oh, fuck you, Keiko!"

"Yusuke! Language!" Kuwabara said—but his brow furrowed. "Wait. You're being weird again. Maybe _what_ won't be so bad?"

At that point others had caught on, too. We had a captive audience, after all, so it made sense they'd all eventually realize there was something going on they didn't know about. A murmur picked up; Kurama stared at me, clearly wondering what the hell was going on, so I looked at him and winked.

"Let's just play again, OK?" I said, and Yusuke was more than happy to change the subject away from his mom marrying Kuwabara's dad.

However, it seems I'd miscalculated just a smidge, because this time Yusuke played with a fury unmatched. Fueled by rage, he hit back strike after vicious strike, slamming the shuttlecock into the ground and scoring his team a second point singlehandedly—upping the score from one to two. If they scored one more time, they'd win.

Amagi and I exchanged a glance as Yusuke did a victory lap. I knew full well Amagi was the better of the two of us, catching most shots and scoring our only point—which meant I needed to step up my game and start pulling my own weight. It was time to kick things up a notch.

"Wow!" I said as Yusuke settled back onto the court. Spinning my racquet between my hands, I said, "You two really do work well together. Bodes well for family harmony!"

Yusuke's elated expression shattered. "I swear to god, Keiko, if you keep talking—"

"Family harmony?" Kuwabara said. "What do you…?"

And with that, the time for subtlety was over. It was time to call in the sleeper agent. As such, I let my eyes drift. Yusuke started to talk, probably to tell me to stop, but then he face-palmed and sighed and gave up with a slump of defeated shoulders. The innocent Kuwabara, meanwhile, followed my gaze, staring with uncomprehending eyes at Atsuko and Kuwabara senior for one moment, then two.

His eyes screwed up.

"Wait," he said. He pointed at his chest. "My dad." He pointed at Yusuke. "And your… mom? They're…? _Wait_. Um." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm… confused?"

Perfect. Kuwabara had been rendered useless. I caught Kurama's eye. We exchanged a nod, and with a glimmer of mischievous green eyes he raised his hand into the air.

"Next round, start!" he said.

Yusuke yelped, something about not being ready, but Amagi served without mercy. Yusuke hit the shuttlecock back to her, scrambling just in time to catch the serve, but Kuwabara didn't move. He stood at the back of the court and stared at his parent, not even registering that the game had begun anew.

"I mean. Dad couldn't," he was saying to himself, but he didn't sound sure. "Dad—he _wouldn't,_ though?"

"Dammit, Kuwabara, this is no time to space out!" Yusuke yodeled as he hit back another shot.

Kuwabara turned to Yusuke as if sleepwalking. "But your mom—and my dad—if they—" His eyes bugged out of his head. "Jumpin' Jehoshaphat! What the heck is my _dad doing?!_ "

Yusuke hit a shot at Amagi; she spiked it, and it landed with a smack right at Kuwabara's unware feet. He started and did a double-take at the shuttlecock, knock-kneed with surprise, and then he yelped and jumped back with reaction most delayed.

This time Yusuke really did throw down his racquet. "Dammit Keiko! That was dirty!"

"All's fair in love and war," I said, pitiless as I quoted Yusuke (and Sun Tzu), "and in this case we've got both." I pointed my racquet at them. "Now pony up, kiddos. We're in our final round."

But Kuwabara still hadn't noticed. He marched up to his teammate and grabbed him by the collar. "Yusuke! Tell your mom to get off my dad!"

"Tell your dad to get off my mom!" Yusuke countered.

"My dad is a gentleman and he would _never_ —"

"Yeah, well, my mom has better taste than—"

"Now, now," I scolded. "Stepbrothers shouldn't fight."

"STEPBROTHERS?!" the pair roared in abject disgust.

"Round five, begin!" Kurama said, and the boys gave a little screech of unified fright before diving back into position on the court.

As predicted, the boys were all over the place, tripping over each other and snarling insults and flailing as they fought to keep up with the game despite the fissure that had just opened in their teamwork. But they were warriors, the both of them, and the adrenaline kept them from losing the match immediately, their frantic thrashing managing to return the shuttlecock far more times than I would've thought possible. Kuwabara sent the shuttlecock back with a roar of rage (glaring at Yusuke all the while) and though Amagi managed to return the shot, she only managed it by the barest of margins. If this kept up, we'd lose even in spite of my meddling—which meant I had to end this quickly.

"No country benefits from prolonged warfare," as is says in _The Art of War_. Please, Sun Tzu, don't fail me now…

Summoning my nerve, I sent back the shuttlecock with a gasp of, "Hey, boys!"

The pair of them looked at me as one, teeth grit and visible behind curled lips. Kuwabara caught the shot and sent it sailing back, a long, slow shot that arced above our heads like a floating butterfly. I stood up straight and pout my hands on my hips.

"So," I said. "How do you feel about _bunk beds_?"

As one, they both froze, and the cry of "Hell no!" fell from their lips in unison.

Behind me, Amagi's racquet crashed into the shuttlecock, sending it flying toward Yusuke's feet.

He tried to go for it, but it was no use. He'd been too frozen to react, and it collided with the ground with a sound like thunder. All around us the Red Team cheered, members flooding onto the court to clap our backs and give congratulations. Even Amanuma joined, giddy at seeing a spirited game and not caring a lick about teams in his excitement.

Across the room, though, was a different story. Yusuke grabbed Kuwabara by the collar and said, "Dammit, Kuwabara! You lost us this game!"

"I lost us the game?" he replied. "You're the one who missed that shot!"

"Well, you're the one who has a pervert for a dad!"

"You're the one with a pervert for a mom!"

" _Don't you talk about my mother that way, you sorry piece of—"_

And with that, the two of them began beating each other up, a veritable cartoon dust cloud forming as they hit and kicked and bit and scratched and tried to pummel the other into oblivion. Teams Red and White alike stopped cold to watch, staring at the brouhaha in mortified silence.

Amagi eventually said, in a voice like a timid bird, "Should… should we stop them?"

"Nah," I said. "They'll tire each other out eventually."

"And the rest of the party will be peaceful for it," Eimi chimed in.

"Yeah," said Michi, sounding completely unconcerned. "They do this at school all the time."

"And outside of it!" Botan added.

Kaito pushed his glasses up his nose with a snort of dry humor. "You keep odd company, Yukimura. Though I can't say they aren't entertaining."

"Seconded." Junko looked around with a grin. "Now where's that popcorn?"

"… Mother?"

The word, spoken with quiet urgency, echoed in my ear like the tiniest of struck bells. I turned to find Kurama at my elbow, fox staring off toward the door with wide green eyes, face bearing an expression of complete and utter surprise I was not used to seeing from someone usually so in control. No one else had heard him speak, let alone seen the woman standing uncertain in our restaurant's doorway. Her liquid black eyes scanned the room until they alit on her son, at which point they noticeably softened.

What the _hell_ was Shiori doing here?

"Oh. Oh shit." The words fell out of my mouth unchecked; I slapped a hand over my lips as Kurama walked away, toward his mother, and before I followed I tossed over my shoulder a casual, "Y'all keep playing games, huh? Night's not over yet! Go, Red Team!"

But no one heard me, too busy egging on the wrestling match between Yusuke and Kuwabara to notice the unexpected entry of Kurama's mom.

She had taken off her scarf by the time we reached her, and she smiled at us with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. Kurama gripped her elbow gently, returning her smile with one of his own.

"Mother? What are you doing here?" he said. "I thought you had plans with Hatanaka-san."

"They fell through, dear." And she breezed past that topic at once, clearly not in the mood to discuss (but, like, c'mon—dish that hot goss, girl!). To me she said, "Is it all right that I came by?"

"Of course it is," I said, hoping to soothe the true anxiety I saw building in her expression. "Let me take your coat; come in, come in!"

Kurama stood back a ways, unable to keep all of the nerves off his face (though he did a good job keeping about 98% of them at bay), as I hung up his mother's coat and scarf. He looked like he might be sick, or at least sick with worry, as my parents walked over and eyed Shiori over. They smiled, wondering who she might be, and I stepped in to smooth the introductions. Something told me Kurama wasn't feeling up to the task just then, or that I least I should spare him from having to try.

"Mom, Dad?" I said. "This is Minamino-san, Shuichi's mother."

My mother gasped. "Good heavens, you are lovely!"

Shiori put a hand to her cheek. "Oh, my."

Mom's cheeks colored. "I'm sorry, I just—you are _so_ lovely. And I've been wanting to meet you for ages and I'm overreacting. But you are, though. Lovely, I mean. Um?"

I beamed at everyone present. "And now you see where I get my awkward streak."

"I think you're both charming," Shiori said, laughing her dainty laugh. She dipped a bow. "I'm glad to meet you, as well. Your daughter has been a wonderful friend to my son, and I'm delighted to meet the parents who raised such a kind young lady."

I dismissed the compliment with a dramatic wave. "Oh, stop it, stop it! You're making me blush."

"Yes, Keiko's head will swell if you keep that up," Dad teased. I stuck my tongue out at him as he said, "Have you had dinner? There's food aplenty if you're hungry."

"I'd love something to eat." Shiori looked at her son. "Shuichi, are you…?"

"I've eaten, thank you." But his words sounded rehearsed, almost, like he'd been standing back and practicing while the rest of us talked. "The younger generation is playing competitive New Year's games."

"You should watch after you have a bite," I said.

"And after you meet everyone else." Mom looped her arm through Shiori's with a smile. "This way, this way!"

My parents shuffled Shiori off with much chattered conversation; I know where I get my albatross streak, is all I'm saying. Shiori looked over her shoulder at Kurama with a smile, and he only belatedly returned it before she was swept away into the kitchen. He looked utterly stunned, running a hand through his hair and swallowing, red strands hanging around his face like blood. I stepped into his shadow and put a hand to his elbow.

"You OK?" I said.

"I apologize for the inconvenience." Once again his words sounded robotic, spitting out like he'd prepared them ahead of time—but when our eyes met, some hard guard in his dropped the slightest bit. "I didn't think she was coming," he said, as if it explained everything.

Perhaps it did. But I wasn't sure why or how, just then.

"Oh, don't worry." I offered him one of my more sincere smiles, trying to soothe another member of the Minamino family. Kurama truly was more like his mother than he realized. "We made food for an army and my mom was dying to meet yours. She's in good hands."

He did not reply right away. I squeezed his arm, gentle and reassuring.

"Really, Kurama," I murmured. "Don't worry."

He tried to smile. "I won't. It's just—Mother doesn't have many friends." His eyes strayed toward the kitchen, restless. "I hope she…"

"She'll do fine." Like my parents with Shiori, I looped my arm through his and tugged him along after me. "C'mon. No sense standing around stressing."

Kurama heard the wisdom in this, and the trouble in his eyes quieted the smallest bit. He followed me in silence back to the gaming area and did not complain when I installed him in the _Street Fighter_ seat, pairing him up with Amanuma for a friendly, non-competition game. Fun. That was the goal, to get his mind off his mother's social life for two seconds and relax, to have _fun_. Soon enough the ploy worked, Amanuma's good cheer and enthusiasm coaxing a smile from Kurama's lips and relaxation into his tight shoulders.

Later, Shiori left the kitchen, and later still, Kurama laughed at something Amanuma said. Eyes drawn across the room by the sound of her son's voice, I watched as Shiori searched for her son. Spotted him. Watched him laugh and socialize and play with kids his own age, carefree for a moment of precious time.

From across the room, she watched her son laugh—and at the sound, she smiled.

* * *

I want to make it clear that Yusuke didn't win the New Year's competition because of skill. He won because he got lucky, and because my given name in this life had been given to me in the spirit of irony—a fact becoming more and more apparent the longer I bore the moniker "Yukimura Keiko."

The story of my demise isn't one characterized by dramatic, last-minute point scoring—not on our parts, at least. No, after my victory over Yusuke, the rest of our teammates returned to their various game battles in good spirits, playing casually but intently throughout the rest of the night. Although Kaito made a killing in points by playing Trivial Pursuit, Amanuma also cleaned up by winning the _Street Fighter_ tournament. Thus ours teams were neck and neck for most of the evening—but then on the TV Team White came out of absolutely nowhere with five consecutive wins on _Kōhaku Uta Gassen_ , pulling the real-life White Team ahead at the last possible second. Red scrambled to catch up, but at 11:15 the show ended, leaving us one measly point behind our competitors.

Never one to let a dramatic moment go without taking full advantage of the opportunity to overact it afforded, I fell to my knees with a theatrical "NO" shouted at the sky, hands raised to the heavens in desperation as the program's closing credits began to roll. Yusuke, meanwhile, just laughed like the demon he'd someday be as the rest of our teammates cheered or sighed where appropriate. Within seconds of _Kōhaku Uta Gassen_ ending, Kuwabara appeared at my side to babble apologies, but I just slunk off to sit at a corner table in dejected silence.

If I was to eat this pepper and come out alive, I needed to center myself.

Yusuke appeared in short order (because of course he did) bearing a glass of cold milk, the box containing the evening's penalty game, and a shit-eating grin that could put a dung beetle to shame. The tangible objects he set before me, and then he sat across from me and folded his hands atop the table. Behind him trailed the others, expressions ranging from concerned (Amagi, Eimi, Michiko, Amanuma) to amused (Junko, Kurama, Botan) to detached and maybe a little bored (Kaito, who clearly didn't feel guilty about not scoring more points for Red Team). Kuwabara sat on the bench at my side and scooted close, eyes watering like a scolded puppy's.

"I'm sorry, Keiko," he said. "I'm really, really sorry."

I gave him the stare of a dead and unimpressed salmon and said: "You're dead to me."

"What?!" he yelped. "But I didn't even score that many points."

I leaned in close. "Dead. To. Me."

Standing behind Yusuke, Amanuma's eyes widened. "Am… am _I_ dead to you?" he said in a near whisper.

I paused, hand on my chin, to think about it. Declared: "You get a pass."

"WHAT?!" Kuwabara yelped, even louder this time. "Why does he get a pass?"

"Because he's too adorable to despise."

Amanuma thrust his fists into the air, freckled nose scrunching. "Yay!"

Junko leaned over Yusuke's shoulder, pointing at herself with one polished nail. "What about me? I only scored like, two points."

"You're… halfway deceased," I reasoned.

"Heh. Score." Junko looked inappropriately pleased. "Zombie girl."

Now Kurama stepped forward, hand on the back of Yusuke's chair. "And me, Kei?" he smoothly intoned, sly smile shamelessly decorating his lips.

I glared at him. "Super dead, Minamino. You are super, _super_ dead to me."

Kaito, behind him, shoved his glasses up his nose and laughed. "I can't say I disapprove."

Kurama opened his mouth to say something, a devious sparkle in his eye, Yusuke waved him off before he could speak. "So, Keiko—"

"Oh, and _you_ are _completely_ dead to me." My stare could've set him on fire; Hiei would have been impressed. "Like, cremate-you-and-scatter-your-ashes- _deadzos_ , Urameshi."

He soldiered on, undeterred. "Do you think that pepper—?"

"You're the _deadest of them all,_ ass-face."

"—is gonna be as hot as last year—"

"Deader even than you were at this time last year, in fact," I said.

"—or do you think it's gonna melt your face clean off?" he finished, giggling with every syllable.

"I repeat: Deadzos." My glare grew more intense by the second. "You are dead to me. Deceased. You are an Un-Yusuke. The walking embodiment of not-alive. Pushing up the daises, that's you. _Fucking dead to me, Urameshi!_ "

His grin widened; he traced his finger around the rim of the glass on the table. "I bet this cold glass of milk is gonna look real good in about thirty seconds."

"How are you talking when you're so fucking dead?"

"Too bad you won't be able to drink it for five whole minutes. I'm timing every second."

I slumped in my seat. Whined: "I hate you."

"I'll bet you do." He shoved the pepper-box across the table. "Now eat it."

"Don't rush me," I said. "I'm a delicate lady."

"Pfft." He seemed to find that concept even funnier than me eating a hot habanero, laughing with head thrown back. "As if!"

Luckily the rest of my team wasn't nearly as amused by my plight. Amagi caught my eye; her shoulders sagged, defeated. "We're sorry, Keiko."

"We let you down," Michiko chimed in from her right.

"No. You didn't." I held my head high and tried to be gracious. "White Team simply rose to the occasion."

"Damn straight!" Yusuke cackled (and my graciousness evaporated; I kicked him under the table, laughing when he yelped).

Kuwabara leaned in close to me again. "I'll eat the pepper for you, Keiko. I will. Promise, I totally will."

"We'll split it with you, if we have to," Eimi added from her spot next to Michiko.

And at that even Kaito appeared to grow a heart in a moment of Grinch-like character development. "Much though I perish at the thought, I too will fall on the knife if I must." He straightened his back and nodded once, resolute. "Red Team solidarity, I suppose."

It was tempting to pawn off my penalty onto my teammates, but I had to shake my head. "No. I made a bet, and bets are sacred. As leader of Team Red, it is my sacred duty to eat this pepper on my own." I grabbed the box and opened it. The bright orange pepper, squat and wrinkly with shiny skin, looked like a jewel against the blue velvet of the jewelry box, but I wasn't fooled for a second into thinking this would be pleasant. I gulped. "OK. Delaying it only makes it worse, so—"

"Wait, wait," said Yusuke. "We should at least do a countdown and—"

"Fuck that," I said, and I picked up the pepper and chowed the hell down.

I'd done this before, so I had at least some strategy in place to keep myself alive through the pepper-eating process—and not a strategy recommended to me by Sun Tzu, that traitor. Fuck if I'd ever quote that asshole again. I ate the pepper in two bites, first sinking my teeth into the middle of the pepper and tearing it in half, then without pause biting just below the green stem and taking the rest of the fruit's flesh into my mouth. Two chews, then swallow, tossing the stem aside and holding my hands up over my head and carefully away from my face (because I knew better than to touch my eyes after even gently handling a habanero). Taking only two bites and minimizing chewing would release the fewest juices possible, keeping me from being totally engulfed in flaming hot capsaicin—

Or such was the theory, anyway.

My face lit on fire within half a second, and my theory disintegrated in a wave of pure heat.

The agony was immediate. It didn't creep up slow, hitting me instead like a wrecking ball to the face. My sinuses filled with lava and my eyes welled with tears so hard I could almost hear my ducts producing moisture, and with hands still in the air I rocketed off of the bench and walked in circles, tears falling down my cheeks in rivers, nose streaming like Niagara Falls over my lips and chin. Yusuke cackled and brayed like a manic donkey, slapping his knees at my reddened face, but I ignored him and tried to breathe deep. "Just start the damn timer!" I snarled, trying desperately not to rub at my inflamed nose and mouth.

"Already did!" Yusuke said through his wheezing laughter.

The next five minutes passed in a blur of pain, snot, tears, and Yusuke's merciless laughter. A few people tried to ask me how I was doing, but I waved them off and carved a pacing circuit around the gaming area, concentrating on my footsteps as I tried to tune out the pain—and to tune out Yusuke's unending cackles. Hideki-sensei's deep breathing and meditation techniques brought me a little relief, but unfortunately even that didn't distract me from the stinging hot pain that had invaded every nook and cranny of my lips, cheeks, gums, and nose. I slammed back onto my chosen bench and pillowed my forehead on my hands, trying to keep calm and just breathe. Breathe through the pain, Keiko. Birth the pain like a baby and breathe, just breathe—

Soft footsteps approached from my right, and then Kurama's smooth voice asked: "How are you?"

I swallowed, lips engulfing in new fire. "I am in _hell_."

"Oh."

"I am in hell and my face is on _fire_."

"I see," he said, tone grave.

"I hate everyone and everything and I am going to _murder Yusuke dead._ "

"Eh. Not scary," Yusuke said. "I'll just come back."

"He does tend to do that," Botan chimed in from somewhere to my left.

"Not helping, Botan!" I moaned. "Not helping!"

And then I grabbed the hem of my dress, pressed it to my face, and screamed into it.

It didn't help the physical pain, but on the inside I felt just a little better.

When the timer on Yusuke's watch finally entered my final minute of hell, everyone gathered round to watch the last seconds tick by. My leg jiggled up and down under the table, restless with pain, as everyone counted down the final ten seconds like the countdown to New Years. Those final ten seconds seemed to take forever, voices deepening as if in slow motion, and as soon as they hit "zero" I jerked my head off the table and snatched up the glass of milk to chug it down gulp by delicious gulp. It would hurt in the morning (Keiko's body was lactose intolerant) but the milk took the edge off the pain in my mouth at once—but it wasn't enough. Amidst the cacophony of Yusuke's bellowed laughter I vaulted away from the table and booked it to the kitchen, where I grabbed the spare jug of milk I'd stashed in the fridge just in case we needed it. This I took to the sink, where I poured it over my mouth and nose and even snorted a little to clear my sinuses, the dairy counteracting the oil of the pepper and binding with it to neutralize the sting. I was vaguely aware that the girls had all followed me into the kitchen and were watching my horrifically undignified display, but I hardly cared as I scrubbed milk into the beds of my nails and massaged it into my cheeks.

Eventually I felt better (though some sting lingered in my gums and nasal passages) and I lifted my head from the sink with a whoop. "Man," I said, taking a deep breath through the nose as I mopped my face with a nearby dishtowel. "That was a doozy."

The girls all exchanged Looks, and Amagi asked: "Are you OK?"

I inhaled again, with a hand motion to indicate how smoothly I could breathe. "Well, I'm pretty sure my taste buds and sense of smell are fried, but I can breathe through my nose better than ever. That's certainly one way to clean out the sinuses."

Botan's blue brows inched higher and higher. "You… you sure you're OK?"

"Oh, peachy."

"Because you look…" Eimi said.

"You look _terrible_ ," Michiko said.

I put a hand to my cheek. "Oh, shit, do I?"

The girls exchanged another Look—and then they converged like piranha scenting blood in the water. Amagi ran water through my hair and repositioned my bow while Eimi adjusted my dress; Junko got her purse and produced an alarming amount of makeup from within the small bag, hiding the redness in my nose and the puffiness under my eyes with green stick and concealer. Botan conducted them like a maestro, rattling off a peptalk about always looking our best to feel our best, and even if it came on the heels of a terrible embarrassing ordeal, it was sort of nice to be pampered like this. We left the kitchen like a marching military unit, the girls backing me up as I marched right up to Yusuke wearing my most winning smile.

He was less than impressed to see me looking fresh as a daisy, though, scanning me from top to bottom with face quite scrunched up. "Why the hell don't you look like hell?" he said, disgruntled.

"Sheer dogged determination," I deadpanned—and I put a hand on the table and leaned down close, nose to nose and leering. "Also. You should know something. Those five minutes constituted the single most productive brainstorming session of my life." I poked his pectoral and grinned harder. "Watch your damn back, boy."

I'm elated to report he looked quite perturbed, especially when I winked at him and walked off, girls flanking me like the army we most definitely were. They followed me back over to the buffet for snacks (eating peppers works up an appetite), and even though I'd had to eat the habanero pepper that New Year's, I was pretty sure my psychological warfare against Yusuke would leave the bigger scar—and that was almost its own victory, pepper notwithstanding.

Sun Tzu had failed me, but one of his pieces of wisdom definitely applied here: "The wheels of justice grind slow, but grind fine."

I'd get my comeuppance someday—even if that day was next New Year's Eve.

* * *

Not long later, at only twenty minutes to midnight, my watch beeped upon my wrist. From across the room I heard a twin beep, sound shrill beneath the din of conversation.

Like magnets converging, amid the crown my eyes were drawn Yusuke's.

We exchanged a nod.

Our quarrel with the pepper placed to the side, we began the summoning.

Sounds dramatic, but it really wasn't. We just did as discussed and wandered through the crowd, tapping members of our respective New Year's teams on the shoulder one by one and whispering instructions in their ears. "Hey. Head up to my room." Or 'Keiko's room,' in Yusuke's case. "Why? No reason. Just a little surprise." And people obeyed, because curiosity is an untamable beast, leaving the dining room and disappearing up the stairs to the upper floor.

Eventually I saw that all of White Team had vanished. I'd gotten to most of Red Team already, Amagi the last one lingering downstairs. I tapped her, whispered my instructions, then followed her up the stairs. No one saw us go, nor did any of the adults dog our steps.

Perfect.

Though not nearly as perfect as the sight of my bedroom filled to bursting with my friends, all of them milling around and looking at my books, my record collection, my posters. They looked up when the door opened, staring as I shut it behind me and leaned against the poster of Johnny Cash flipping the camera the bird.

"Shit," I said. "It's crowded."

A chorus of giggles rose up, a few of them playfully jostling for space in my cramped quarters, and when they quieted I cleared my throat.

"All right, everybody," I said. "I have never had this many people crammed into my room at one time before. Um." A deep breath as I surveyed the room, hoping I could pull this off. "This is the first year Yusuke and I have had more than just us performing this little tradition, but we're happy you're here. So follow us and we'll show you the ropes. Be careful, keep low, and it'll be fine." I pushed through the crowd toward my desk and the window set above it. "Let's go."

Eimi and Michiko murmured something about being confused as I hefted open the pane and Yusuke crawled onto the roof. He carried a bag over his shoulder, something inside it clinking as he moved, and once he levered himself over the sill I climbed atop my desk and made to follow suit, one leg hiked high.

"Keiko?!" Kuwabara said. "Wh-what are you doing?"

He was staring at my skirt, utterly aghast. I just rolled my eyes, though.

"I've got shorts on under it, you goon," I said. "We're going onto the roof. Follow me."

It took a little convincing for some of them, but at my urging ("We're short on time!") most of my friends soon joined me on the roof, climbing one by one out the window with my help. Yusuke went on ahead to our spot, where I'd earlier stashed blankets for us to bundle up in; I sent people on to him with promises that they'd understand what was up, and soon, just trust me. Eimi and Michiko didn't want to come out onto the roof at all, scared of heights as they were, so I installed them half-in, half-out of the window and within eye-and-earshot of the rest of the group. They seemed content with this, though they were sad when Kurama chose to come out onto the roof with me and not to stay behind with them.

Kurama stared past me as he exited my bedroom, eyes narrowed at the dark roof stretching off to our left. "Do you think this can take our weight?" he asked.

"… uh." I cupped a hand around my mouth and called, "Everybody evenly disperse yourselves, just in case." To Kurama I added, "Good thinking."

He nodded, smiling as he walked nimbly past me over the shingles toward the others (guy was basically Legolas, I kid you not). Behind him, the last to leave my bedroom, was Kuwabara, who eyed the roof like he really did fear it might cave in beneath his weight. At my encouraging smile, though, he grabbed my hands and let me pull him onto the shingles—but as soon as he stood up to his full height, he reached for and grabbed my hand.

For a second I thought Kuwabara had gotten uncharacteristically bold, grabbing my hand and holding it tight, but when I looked up into his face I realized he wasn't looking at me. He didn't blush, either, the way he no doubt would when holding the hand of the girl he liked, instead staring off into the dark above the neighboring houses through narrow eyes. He swung his head forward and back, looking up and down and all around, scanning the rooftops around us for who knew what. A ball of ice formed in my stomach at the sight, cold and hard and growing larger by the second.

I frowned and squeezed his fingers. "Hey. What's up?"

He came back to himself with a start. "Not sure. I just—" And then his eyes focused on something in front of us; he scowled. "You invited _him?"_

I followed the line of his sight, looking out over the rooftop and across the alley below, toward the roof of the house next door. Immediately I saw who Kuwabara meant; my eyes rolled, ball of ice in my gut thawing at once.

" _Of course_ I invited Hiei," I said. "He's one of the gang."

Hiei stood with hands in his pockets, balanced on the highest point of the roof next door. He looked a bit like a gothic kite as his cloak flapped in the frigid midnight breeze, one gust too strong liable to blow him away, but he remained unmoving and firm as he and Kuwabara locked eyes. Kuwabara gripped my hand a little tighter when Hiei's eyes narrowed with a burst of reflective red, and then the fire apparition flickered out of sight like a shadow chased away by the sun.

Over with the rest of my friends, Amagi turned her head, but by then Hiei had already disappeared.

"One of the gang?" Kuwabara said under his breath. "Not with that creepy-ass aura of his. Gave me the wiggins. For a second I thought—"

He stopped talking. I waited, but he did not resume. He just kept his grip on my hand, staring at the spot Hiei had been with teeth grit.

"Thought what?" I said.

Again my words seemed to shake him from some trance. "Nothing. I was wrong," he said. He let go of my hand with a start, like he hadn't realized he'd grabbed it in the first place. "Um. Let's go."

And so we went. We went walking carefully over the roof, along the side of the house and to the back of it, to the sloping bit of roof overlooking the large drainage ditch behind my neighborhood. The stars and the moon above shed silver light on my friends huddled together in blankets, hands cupped around tiny, thimble-like mugs that Yusuke slowly filled from the warm jug he'd brought with him in his satchel (though Amanuma went without; he was too young). I caught the scent of sake as wind stripped by and tried to crawl inside my dress, my skin breaking out in gooseflesh. I didn't grab a blanket, though. I wrapped my arms around myself and checked my watch, trying not to let my teeth chatter.

It was almost time, my watch told me. I needed to make this quick.

When everyone had a tiny cup of sake, and once Yusuke handed me a cup of my own, I picked my way down the roof to its edge, to the front of the accumulated crowd all draped in blankets and spare comforters. Yusuke knelt at my side; when another strong gust of wind whipped past, he latched his fingers into the belt around my waist with a little murmured exclamation of frantic concern. I tangled my fingers in his collar, letting him keep me grounded against the driving wind.

"Right," I said. "So. Ever since we were kids, it's been our time-honored tradition to steal some of Yusuke's mom's sake and come out here to watch the New Year change. And since we've made a lot of new friends this year, we thought we'd invite you along." I winked at everyone. "And trust me, this'll be worth it. You're in for a show. But before that starts, in just a minute now—"

Kurama cleared his throat. He sat near the front, a blanket draped loosely around his shoulders, and in the shadow of this drape he pointed one finger up and over his shoulder. I tracked that point with a frown, but my frown disappeared when I saw Hiei standing on the tallest bit of my house's roof, looking down upon us through gleaming scarlet eyes. A smile crossed my lips on reflex; I smoothed my hair, pretending to refasten the bow in it to cover my expression.

"Uh. As I was saying." I straightened up again and smiled at everyone in turn. "Pardon me while I get a bit mushy, yeah?"

Uncertain, most everyone nodded.

"Cool." I spread my hands, or at least the hand not full of sake cup. "So. Here we are. It's been a doozy of a year. I'm not gonna go over everything that happened, because you were there for it. There were changes, big and small. There were good times, and there were bad ones. We made new friends and we kept the old. Silver, gold, auld lang syne and all that jazz." A little laugh followed my joke, but I pressed forward. "In the end, though, no matter how hard it got, one thing remained constant: We were there for each other. And sometimes in this crazy world, being there for each other when times get rough is all we can dream to ask for." A measured look as I met all of their eyes in turn, making sure to include every single person there in my New Year's toast. "I think all of you know I don't consider family those only bound to me in blood. Family isn't forged in blood. Family is forged in bonds. And I'm lucky to share a bond with all of you."

My watch on my wrist beeped. Smiling at this perfect cosmic timing, I raised my cup of sake skyward—and as I did, the bells began to ring.

The _kleshas_ in Buddhism refer to the 108 sins of the human condition. Anxiety, depression, fear, rage, jealousy, they crowd the thoughts and corrupt the mind, and on New Year's Eve the Buddhist temples of Japan ring their bells 108 times, 107 times before midnight and once immediately afterward—both to ring in the New Year and to ring out the old sins, start the world anew and afresh. I'd never heard of this tradition before becoming Keiko. The first time I heard the bells ring in the cold darkness of New Year's Eve, I stood as a child transfixed, utterly entranced by their sonorous peals and mournful sound, every beat of hammer against hollow metal the sound of the universe falling into place around my thumping heart. It hadn't taken long for me to look forward to the yearly bells, and shortly after meeting Yusuke we discovered that our special spot on the roof of my home was in the perfect position to hear the bell-ringing of no less than three neighborhood temples. From that spot on the roof you could hear every last peal as clearly as a mother calling your name.

This was the song I shared with my friends that night. As had I the first time I heard the bells, they sat in utter silence, staring skyward with mouths agape while ringing filled the air. It reverberated off the roofs of the houses and off the water in the reservoir below, thrumming in the shingles under our feet like a chorus of a hundred voices, all of reality spiraling and spinning in place around the call of those pealing bells. You could feel the earth move, it seemed, rotating in time with the song of the bells, delirious and joyful even in its somber song.

"That's why we're up here," I said, though you could barely hear me for the bells. "We're here for those killer acoustics." I raised my glass high. "So, everybody, if it's OK, I'd like to make a toast."

All across the roof, glasses rose into the air.

"Here's to us," I said. "Here's to our friendship. And here's to another year of being there for each other, in the hard times and the good. Because that's all we can dream to ask for." I looked at my watch again. "And… just a second. There. Here we go." A deep breath, the final breath of the cold air of this old year. I said: "Ten. Nine. Eight—"

"Seven," Yusuke said.

"Six," said Kurama.

"Five," said Kuwabara.

"Four, three, two," everyone chorused (even Hiei, I like to think), and in one united voice we said: "One. _Happy New Year!_ "

Behind me, as everyone drained their thimbles of hot sake, fireworks absolutely erupted across the sky.

That was the other perk of this spot on the roof: a great view of the sky, unimpeded by houses or trees, providing us a perfect, secret viewing of the city's firework display downtown. I downed my shot and sat, scooting close to Yusuke to steal a bit of his blanket and lean my head on his shoulder. The others gasped, faces illuminated by the colors of the fireworks blossoming overhead. More gasps rang out when the fireworks intensified, the view was just that good—and for a moment I felt like I was back on that porch with my Nana, holding her hand in the dark, the scents of gunpowder and cold air tickling my stinging nostrils. The sting brought me back to Japan, but the lost recollection didn't leave me feeling empty. It was like I'd said in my toast: I was surrounded by silvery new friends and family, practicing new traditions, but bringing forward to the present some of the old and gold. And as the staccato rhythm of the fireworks continued, undercut by the melody of passing sins, the lyrics and tune of "Auld Lang Syne" bubbled in my chest until I could not help but hum it quietly under my breath—traditions old and new melding together under the light of blooming fireworks and the sound of tolling bells.

Sighing, sake on my tongue and fireworks in my eyes, I leaned my head on Yusuke's shoulder and settled in to watch the New Year come—and for a moment, I think I was happy.

* * *

Atsuko had passed out sometime earlier in the night, just before I ate the pepper. She'd gotten too drunk too soon for Yusuke to interrogate, in fact, which I gloated over as I cleaned up around her unconscious body where she lay sprawled and snoring on a bench in the dining room. He'd have to spend New Year's Day sobering her up and then coaxing out answers, and of course there were none to be had. Kuwabara's father wasn't interested, it seemed, and all my taunting that night had been just that: taunting, a ruse to throw Yusuke off his game.

My first prank of the New Year was off to a good start.

As I walked through the dining room with a trash bag, collecting scattered cans and plates and cups, I suppressed a yawn. It had gotten quite late, all of the girls save for Botan having left to go home (we didn't want them going home even later than they already were, and they had the night's final train to catch). Kaito and Amanuma had followed suit shortly thereafter, mostly because Amanuma had fallen asleep in the middle of firework; Kaito had promised to get the sleepy kid home safe, because apparently they lived quite close to one another over in Mushiyori. That left just Kurama, Yusuke, Botan and Kuwabara to help with the cleanup effort, because most of my parents' friends had also split shortly after midnight. The Kuwabaras, Shiori and Mom stood in a corner talking, but as I reached for an empty beer can I saw Shiori yawn demurely behind a hand.

"Minamino?" I said. "You can go if you want to. Your mom's flagging."

Kurama looked up, hand pausing on its way toward a discarded paper plate. He'd been helping me on trash duty; the others all helped my dad in the kitchen, watching dishes and putting away extra food (which, knowing Dad, he's try to pawn off on all my friends as a New Year's gift). Green eyes flicked toward his mother and back to me.

"Are you sure?" he said. "I'd like to help clean."

"I think her carriage turned into a pumpkin sometime in the last hour," I said. "Stroke of midnight and whatnot."

Kurama frowned. "Beg pardon?"

"Uh. Never mind."

He gave me a Look, not understanding my reference to a fairy tale that didn't exist, but he didn't pursue the matter. It was too late in the evening to play 20 Questions, so instead he put down his garbage bag and approached the adults. "Mother?" he said as he drew near. "Do you want to start heading home?"

"It _is_ getting late," she said. Anxiety creased her brow. "But if your friends are still here, I don't want—"

"I can walk you home," said Kuwabara-san.

Shiori flinched, looking over the elder Kuwabara with expression uncertain. His earrings, that ponytail, the tinted glasses and long coat—he didn't look like the kind of man you wanted walking a woman home, unless you knew better like I did. Shiori was far too polite to let on about any of that, of course, but her face wore masks the same way Kurama's did, and thus it was hard not to miss the subtle schooling of her features into a facsimile of politeness.

"I wouldn't want to impose," she said, tying her best to be subtle.

"You wouldn't be," Kuwabara said, cheerful and perhaps oblivious. "That's a man's job, to walk a woman home after dark."

Her eyes cut to the side. "But my son…"

"The kids usually crash here for the night," my mother said, trying to be helpful. When Shiori looked shocked, Mom shot the snoring Atsuko a pointed glanced. "At least, Yusuke always has, and it looks like his mom will, too. The rest of them are welcome to stay as well. We have the futons!" And she held up her hands, sheepish. "They'd be fully chaperoned, of course, if that worried you."

If it worried her, she wore her mask well enough to conceal it. She turned to Kurama, then, with a plaintive: "Shuichi? What would you like to do?"

"Whatever makes it easiest on you, Mother," came his cool and practiced reply. "You're still recovering."

She swatted at his arm. "Oh, nonsense. I'm right as rain."

But Kuwabara-san's ears pricked, at least metaphorically. "Recovering?" he said.

"I was ill, earlier this year," Shiori said, and then she smiled at her next joke. "Or last year, I suppose."

"You'll have to tell me about it on the trip back," Kuwabara-san said, tone firm out of nowhere. "No way are we letting you go it alone now, and like your son said, you need your rest." He looked her up and down, taking in her dress, heels, hose, and pretty blue pea-coat before shrugging out of his ankle-length duster. "Here; take this. Your coat doesn't look thick enough. You should take mine."

Shiori's eyes widened; she tried to take a step back, but he had already begun draping the coat around her shoulders. "But, I—"

"Please." He gave her a jovial grin. "My heart would break if I saw you shiver."

Shiori had absolutely no idea how to handle this. She stared with open-mouthed confusion at the grinning Kuwabara-san, who'd shoved his hands in his pockets and stood there in his white button-up, gold chain around his neck winking almost as brightly as his smile. Shizuru heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead.

"You might wanna just play along," Shizuru said. "He's persistent. And I'll be coming with, so don't feel too intimidated by those earrings." She flicked his hair with her finger. "You're too old for the ponytail, Dad."

"Hey, now," he said, cupping said ponytail protectively. "I think it captures my youthful spirit."

Shizuru rolled her eyes—and at that Shiori actually laughed, eyes squeezing up as she hid her mouth behind her hand. Kuwabara-san looked pleased, beaming from behind his dark glasses.

"Well. If you insist, I suppose we should be on our way." Shiori looked to her son again, almost pleading. "You'll be fine for the night, Shuichi?"

"Of course, Mother," he said. "I'll see you in the morning."

"We visit the shrine at noon sharp."

"I won't be late."

"Of course not." And she danced forward to kiss his cheek. "Good night, Shuichi. And happy New Year."

"Happy New Year to you, too, Mother," he said.

We watched the Kuwabaras walk her outside into the cold in silence, and when the door shut behind them I nudged Kurama with my elbow. He stared after his mother with expression drawn, but at my touch his eyes cleared a little.

"She's in good hands," I said.

His eyes cleared further still. "I know. Knowing Kuwabara Kazuma, I suspect his father to be the trustworthy sort."

"Good."

Mom crossed her arms and smiled, staring at the front door as though she could still see Kuwabara himself. "He looks rough, but he's a gentleman. I quite like him, I've decided, and that's that." She dusted her hands together. "Now. We need to finish cleaning up here and set up the futons upstairs. Faster we do this, faster we can get to sleep."

Sleep sounded ambrosial, so in short order Kurama and I helped her clear the dining room, lug all the spare futons down from the hall closet, and unroll them across basically the entire living room upstairs. Then we went back and checked on Dad, Yusuke, Botan, and Kuwabara in the kitchen, our help the final push they needed to complete cleanup and food repackaging. We turned out the lights in the restaurant and trudged upstairs together in a sleepy mass (Dad and Yusuke lugging Atsuko up the stairs together, of couse), and at the door to the living room my parents bid me a tired goodnight and happy New Year with many cheek-kisses and promises to give me my _otoshidama_ money in the morning (I insisted I didn't need it, but there was really no arguing with them about this particular custom so I let it go and watched the shuffle off down the hall to their bedroom without complaint).

Yusuke and the others had brought overnight bags with them, having heard the drill about our New Year's traditions through the grapevine or through experience, but as Kuwabara and Yusuke headed for the bathroom to jostle for the sink and Botan went into my room to change into pajamas, my eyes caught on Kurama's empty hands and his crisp white shirt. No way could he sleep in that. I'd been about to follow Botan to change, but instead I stopped and grimaced.

"Oh, shoot," I said. "No PJs, huh?"

"I'm afraid not," Kurama said. "I wasn't aware this could turn into a sleepover."

"Yeah, ouch. My bad," I said, because it pretty much was. I'd forgotten to tell him, assuming he'd choose to go home. "But tell you what. I have some of Yusuke's laundry downstairs that should fit you just fine." As an afterthought I assured him: "Oh. And it's clean, of course."

He smiled. "If I could borrow something for the night, that would be ideal."

"Sure thing. Wait right here."

The stairs creaked under my weight as I skipped down them two at a time and headed to the utility closet at the bottom of the steps. Not a lot of homes in Japan had laundry facilities, but our stacked washer and dryer had been an upgrade purchased when the restaurants took off, my parents were delighted to no longer trek to the laundromat down the street every time they needed to wash something. I flipped on the closet light and poked around in one of our several laundry baskets, hunting for some of Yusuke's clothes (I was always grabbing dirty clothes from his house and lugging it home to wash, hence why I wound up wearing so many of his garments much to the chagrin of my mother). I quickly scared up a garish pair of purple shorts and a neon orange shirt, but I set those aside and kept looking for more neutral tones instead. Yusuke loved his garish neon, but imagining the stately and poised Kurama in bright orange—oh wait, he wore that horrible orange coat in the show, didn't he? Maybe Kurama wouldn't mind the neon. He's not the best fashion plate, truth be told, though in real life he was a bit better than his anime counterpart—

Even lost in my inner monologue as I was, I did not miss the creak of our front door opening in the restaurant's quiet darkness.

I knew that creak. I'd heard it too many times not to know it, and my hands froze over the laundry basket. For a moment I heard nothing more besides my heart thudding in my ears, pulse beating heavy in the roof of my mouth—but then three more creaks, slow and deliberate, the sound of feet crossing over our antique wooden floor. Dad had locked up though, right? So who—?

Hiei, maybe, looking for a place to sleep? Or a drunk customer wandering in after hours, not bothering to read the "closed" sign. Moving carefully, I tucked the neon shorts and shirt under my arm and stood up. The light in the closet was near the door, casting my shadow into the closet instead of outward into the mudroom by the backdoor. No sense giving away my position to… whoever it was. I slid my feet over the floor inch by inch, years of living in this space telling me where to step to avoid a creaky floorboard. Breathing deeply, trying to keep calm, I snuck out of the laundry room toward the kitchen, and to the arch between the kitchen and the dining area.

But no one was there when I peeked my head around the corner. Or at least, I couldn't see anybody. All the lights were out, one faint light from the kitchen and the light in the laundry room providing only the barest of illumination.

My skin prickled.

"Hello?" I said. The word came out a whisper; I straightened my back and summoned my nerves, repeating myself with more force. It wouldn't do to sound weak if someone was actually there, watching me, and my mind wasn't just playing tricks. "Hello? Is someone there? We're closed for the night, so if you're hungry you'll have to try the convenience store on the corner." I paused, but no one replied. I repeated: "Hello?"

No one spoke. Nothing moved.

I reached for the light switch on the dining side of the archway. My fingers slid over smooth wallpaper, dry rasp echoing in the stillness as I hunted for the light.

Something under my hand _wriggled_.

I snatched back my hand as if doused in chili oil, a squeak of shock escaping my mouth as I dropped Kurama's PJs on the floor. Reflexes took over, forcing me to turn in place, back toward the stairs and the people waiting for me at the top—

Instead of darting up them, however, I froze—because two enormous eyes stared out at me from a nest of deep, black dark.

The eyes didn't belong to anything human. They were too big, too 2D, too weird to be human, eyes almost sketched onto the wall opposite me beside the stairwell. A thick black outline framed stark white sclera and round pupils, and around them lingered deeper shadow in the vaguest outline of a humanoid head. But as disturbing as these eyes most certainly were, the fleshy pink mouth below them filled me with greater dread—because it looked pasted there, almost, growing from the wall like a mushroom made of flesh. And that by itself wasn't too bad or anything, except then it decided to move.

A tongue crept out of that mouth to lick its thick, chapped lips—and it _grinned_ , teeth like tombstones gleaming bone white against the shadows of its face.

My lizard-brain took over at the sight. I took a step back, every fiber of my being screaming at me to _run the fuck away from that goddamn thing, now!,_ fully intending to set aside all my pride and make a break for it just so I wouldn't have to look at that horrible tongue even a moment longer.

But it was far too fast, and I was far too slow with shock to escape.

It moved before I could even finish turning around. The thing slid down and off the wall, flat body streaking across the floor in a wash of shadow just a hint darker than the rest of the gloom suffusing my parents' restaurant. I saw it flash past and then I finished pivoting, a 180-turn completed just in time to see those eyes looking at me from the floor below, ogling me like a fucked up Furbie from hell, eyes somehow larger than before and growing larger by the second—

Or maybe they weren't growing larger.

Maybe I was just getting closer to them, because the floor had disappeared from beneath my feet, and I was falling.

My stomach almost flew out of my mouth as I made a sickening drop into empty space. Throwing out my arms, I managed to catch myself on something and arrest my momentum, crying out in pain as my torso swung forward and banged into something—but it didn't bang hard because whatever I'd grabbed undulated and rippled, soft and malleable but firm under my grasp, and then it lurched and bucked and I had to hang on for dear life to keep from falling again.

Something clamped tight around my waist.

I looked down—and this time, I managed to release a high, shrill scream.

My body below my waist had disappeared because the creature had caught me in its mouth, and the object I'd clung to to keep from falling—it was lips. It was huge, pillowy lips the color of bubblegum puckering around my midsection, holding me in place like a thick cigarette. I think I screamed again, then, but I'm not sure, because the mouth yawned wide and a black pit showed beneath my kicking feet, and then the lips spasmed. I lost my grip, slipping into that dark maw like a coin dropped into a well—

The last thing I saw as I was eaten by that living shadow was a circle of grey light, pale and distant high above me, and I fell into depths unknown.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very much an accident this cliffhanger occurs right as I go on hiatus, but there wasn't much I could do about it without throwing off all my planning. Sorry in advance for any "OMG NO" this might be causing. Truly was not what I intended.
> 
> So: See you in August! :) Hiatus begins now. The next chapter will drop August 4.
> 
> Many thanks to those who chimed in last week. It was the longest chapter of the story yet (though this one wound up being longer still) and I really appreciated your thoughts and comments: Unctuous, Not Quite a Morning Person, Roses Universe, Han, Eternalevecho, Everlastingice_277, brawltogethernow, kuramag33, Tewdrig, incrediblyincompetent, TokiMirage, Linnadhiel, atsuyuri_sama, Masked Trickster, Mage King 17, AxelFones, scallionite!


	76. The Belly of the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK... floats.

For a long time, I fell.

I fell through nothing. I fell down and down and down some more into Alice's endless rabbit burrow, slicing like a thrown dart through darkness and through quiet—quiet cut by the sound of my own scream, of course, but that soon dwindled into silence as my fall continued unabated. My red dress flapped around me, my hair blew back off my face, but no wind streaked across my flailing limbs even as I plummeted. I descended, it seemed, through a vacuum, and even in my panic this struck me as odd.

But then, after a length of time untold, nothing became something.

I was not falling anymore.

It was like diving into a pool, like dropping off a diving board and into a body of unseen matter, momentum slowing and then stopping and then reversing, propelling me upward instead of down. It was as if I'd cannon-balled into liquid wearing a thick lifejacket, the way I bobbed upward like I did. I fell through _nothing_ until I hit the _something_ and felt it drag against my body, bouncing me back to the surface of… of _whatever it was_ with odd, unexpected buoyancy.

When I dared to open my eyes (though only after the horrific lurching in my stomach stilled) I froze solid.

The stomach feelings came back.

Then and there, I had a panic attack.

Totally justified, that panic attack. You'd have one, too, if you were literally eaten by a horrible shadow-monster and then found yourself weightlessly floating in a big, black void, endless darkness dotted by rubble and garbage and floating chunks of debris. And I'd like to think that panic attack—all my huffing and puffing and sobbing and hyperventilation—was one of my more productive moments of anxiety, to boot.

Sure. The sight of what lay in the belly of the beast gave me a panic attack.

But it also gave me answers, and that's not nothing when you have very little else to your name.

Sweat on my brow, bile in my mouth, body quivering with tension, as soon as I was calm enough I spun in place and looked around (I wasn't yet sure how to move, since there was no ground and I was literally floating in empty space). My first impression held true upon closer inspection: Endless black void stretched in all directions, up and down and left and right, which meant there really wasn't a true "up and down and left and right" at all. The endlessness of it _staggered_. Off in the distance floated the desiccated wreckage of an office building, at least six stories of it, but at this distance I could cover its shape with my thumb. Houses, cars, slabs of concrete, empty cans, dead leaves and trees, scraps of shredded newspaper, it swirled around me like a galaxy of trash, disappearing against the void as it trailed off into the distance. Any normal person would panic at the sight of it, I maintain.

Few, however, would feel the impressions of weirdness and strangeness and creepiness dissolve into the sensation of familiarity. But as I floated there, not daring to look into the emptiness below my feet, that emotion filled my chest to bursting. It had started filling me even while I panicked, from the very first second I opened my eyes in this strange locale.

Against all odds—I knew where I was.

I knew what had happened.

Now the question was, why was I here… and what were the odds of me making it out alive?

My breath hitched at that last thought. The air tasted like dust, damp earth, and static electricity. Pulse fluttered in my wrists and in the roof of my mouth like a living, squirming worm.

I swallowed. I breathed deep. I tried very hard not to panic again.

I had answers, and that wasn't nothing. But it wasn't exactly something, either, considering the nature of those answers to begin with.

My mind raced in those first few minutes, as is only natural, but when time passed and nothing happened, I relaxed in spite of myself. Difficult to remain in a state of panic for prolonged periods, especially without stimuli to perpetuate that panic. It's too tiring to keep up in perpetuity. So I relaxed, and I just… floated there, on the wind of the void, weightless and directionless and still. Sometimes in the distance, bits of rubble struck with an echo like coconuts colliding on an ocean tide. Debris created interesting patterns as it drifted on a lazy, meandering current I couldn't quite pin down with the naked eye. Was this space endless? Did it have borders? Maybe looping edges that always put you back at the same spot? Or could I wander away from this spot, into the abyss, and never be found again?

Was it even possible for anyone to come and find me?

Had the others even realized I was gone?

That last hypothetical was too depressing an option to consider, so I did what anyone would do in my situation, I think: I wrapped my arms around myself, rolled onto my side, and slept.

It was late, after all, and I'd been up since dawn.

* * *

Over the sound of the wind in the trees and the songs of the birds on the branches, the din of a car alarm and the blare of a stereo reminded me that I was not, in fact, in the woods somewhere with Hiei, but rather standing in a bit of overgrown park in the heart of Sarayashiki. Ayame had just closed her notebook dossier, having reviewed my weekly report and found it up to her exacting standards, and she looked totally out of place in her kimono against a backdrop of tangled bramble. Sun shone hot on the back of my neck as tall grass tickled my knees beneath my skirt; I sneezed, pollen heavy on the air and making my eyes water.

(Dimly I knew I was not, in fact, in a park at all, and that this was a dream, but I did not choose to wrest control over it and go Lucid. Instead I let the dream play out, because watching a dream—or maybe this was a memory, of sorts—was better than being stuck in… well. In the place I had been before, nameless-but-totally-recognizable as it was.)

Ayame looked up from her notebook. Hesitated. Asked: "May I ask you a question?"

It wasn't like her to ask permission, first. She liked throwing me off balance. Ayame was nothing if not a lover of tests and games, after all, played behind her mask of unfailing social niceties. As a result, I quirked a brow at her, and I was rewarded with another moment of hesitation.

She soon got over it, though, and asked: "How is Sanada Kuroko?"

I didn't reply right away—too shocked, if I'm being honest. Ayame had knocked me off balance even with forewarning, but then again, who can blame me? It had been some time since I'd first met Kuroko. I'd been waiting for Ayame to allude to my trip to see the former Detective for quite a while, but the reckoning had never come. At some point I just had to assume Spirit World hadn't found out about my connection with Kuroko, but maybe since I'd introduced her to Shizuru…

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "So you know about that."

"Of course."

"How?"

"We have our methods," Ayame said, but she did not elaborate.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Be that way. And to answer your question, she seems good. Has two kids. They keep her busy."

Ayame looked pensive. "Children. Yes. Their names are Kaisei and Fubuki, as I recall."

"That's right." I shot her a crooked grin. "What, you have your eye on them to replace Yusuke when the time comes?"

"No." Her tone firmed; I suspected she didn't understand I was just joking. "Sanada-san served Spirit World well. At her request, we intend to keep her and her family out of Spirit World matters."

I nodded—but then I hesitated, too, as Ayame had before. Ayame didn't appear to notice, though. She looked at her dossier again, flipping through the pages and jotting something with a pen she produced from the depths of her voluminous sleeves.

"Say, Ayame?" I said. She looked up from her book. "Kuroko is quite a bit older than Yusuke. She said she retired a long time ago. I did a little math, and… well." My hands twisted together, sweaty all of a sudden. "Did Spirit World really go so long without an operative in place?"

This was all hedging, of course. I knew damn well about Sensui—not that Ayame knew that. Hell, even Kuroko hadn't mentioned Sensui to me yet. My main hope here was to get Ayame talking about Sensui, scour information about him way ahead of his first canon appearance, prepare myself for something that was still months and months away. I'm an overachiever like that, courtesy of Keiko.

But, no dice. Ayame did not intend to indulge me. Instead she put on her very best impenetrable _yamato_ _nadeshiko_ face and asked, "Does it strike you as unreasonable for us to go without a Detective for any length of time?"

I gave her a Look. "You seem intent on monitoring Human World, so yeah, actually. It does."

Her smile was somehow both mocking and demure; Ayame has skills. "Perhaps you don't understand Spirit World as well as you assume," she murmured.

But I was not impressed. "I think I know you pretty well at this point."

"Hmm." Which was a total non-answer, of course. Very 'Ayame.' She shut her book and stowed it in her sleeve before she bowed. "It was pleasant chatting, Keiko, but I must be off."

A very Ayame-style goodbye, one I could not argue with. Trying to get Ayame talking when she didn't want to converse was like demanding directions from a brick wall. I sighed and turned on my heel, mentally preparing myself to wade through the brush and out of the clearing. "Till next week," I said over my shoulder. "And travel safe."

"And you, as well." But I heard her draw in a deep breath, and I didn't walk away. "Keiko?"

I looked at her out of one eye. "Yeah?"

Ayame did not immediately respond. I turned back around. She stood with hands folded inside her sleeves, their long, black trains almost brushing the tops of her white socks and bamboo sandals. She wore a red pin in her coifed hair today. It was shaped like a salmon leaping through water, cresting through the glossy folds of her black hair as if it swam through waves of ink.

"Yusuke is a…" She paused. "He is a free spirit."

"That's a nice way of calling him a ne'er-do-well punk, but sure," I said. "I'll take it."

Her eyes sharpened. "No. I don't mean that as a negative. Yusuke is…" Another hesitation. She spoke with care—with even more care than usual for my very particular Ayame. Every syllable resonated with intention as she explained, "Yusuke goes where the wind takes him. Aside from his death, resurrection, and his swift rise in power, he is in many respects a normal teenage boy."

"I suppose?" I said.

And still she hesitated. Her eyes dropped to her feet, then skated across the grassy ground to mine. Inch by inch her gaze climbed upward until she met my eyes. Smiled, but only slightly—and in that look, I saw something raw. A vulnerability I didn't understand, like perhaps she spoke without artifice at last, her walls and machinations stripped away to reveal true feeling lying hidden underneath.

"Don't let him lose that," she said to me.

I frowned. "What do you…?"

And her walls slammed back into place. Ayame's hands dropped from her sleeves and folded in front of her stomach as she bowed, face hidden behind her shiny hair and the glimmering comb upon it. "I mean only that between his assignments, I hope you will indulge him," that leaping salmon seemed to say. "Till next week."

"See you soon," I replied, though all I wanted was to follow as she turned and headed for the trees—

—but I didn't follow, because this wasn't a dream. It was a memory. It was a dream of a memory, and I had not followed after Ayame on that day in the woods. I had stayed behind and watched her leave, and if I followed her now, whatever came after would be a fabrication of my mind. A wish I made, and fulfilled, because this was my dream and I held all the power here. All my wishes in my dreams, I could grant.

Instead, I watched her go.

I let the memory-dream shred into shards of shapeless color.

My sleep became dreamless again, and when I awoke, I barely remembered the dream at all.

* * *

The distraction of dreaming only lasted so long, of course, and soon I announced to the endless void: "Well, this is utterly and completely boring, now isn't it?"

No one answered me. I hadn't expected anyone to do so. I'd awoken after a time (my watch said an hour, maybe an hour and a half) and found myself less panicky, though still dog tired. A long period of tense, silent floating followed my nap, during which I mulled over all the possibilities of escape from this horrible place. None were available to me, however, and soon I had to relax simply because it was too tiring to be tense anymore. My watch informed me it was 3 AM, after all. I'd been eaten by the monster around 1:15 or so. That meant I'd been here, floating, for almost two hours. Sleep threatened, eyes heavy once my thinking became too circuitous to sustain, but I didn't want to fall asleep again. No sleeping. No thinking. Just… floating.

And thus, I became bored.

"I mean really." My words didn't carry far in the endless emptiness, vanishing as if I'd spoken against wet cotton. "What's the deal—somebody's trying to bore me to death?"

Well. More like starve me to death. Thirst me to death? I'd die of dehydration before lack of food. But there was no sense in giving anybody ideas, so I didn't say that out loud.

Was anyone even listening?

I got the hunch at least one person might be. In truth, though, I was talking aloud as much for my benefit as for his. The silence was going to deafen me soon, I felt sure of it.

"This fucking blows." I laced my hands behind my head, leaning back against… well. Nothing at all. "Damn shadow demon could have at least swallowed a few magazines for me to read, but _noooo_. Instead I have to entertain myself like—like a zoo animal, or whatever." I sat up, sort of, managing a grin. "And a bored Keiko is a destructive Keiko. I'm like a border collie in an apartment, really."

With a flex of muscle, I swam (it was easy once you got the hang of it) through the abyss toward a pocket of debris. Moving through the void was kind of like flying in a lucid dream: If you just surged forward, eye on your destination, the momentum would come and carry you forward. I glided toward an eight-foot slab of shattered concrete and a cracked wooden door, at the foot of which lay a single, punctured tire and a bunch of cardboard boxes, plus a few loose bricks. I grabbed the tire with one hand (there was no weight here, which was interesting) and threw it like a shotput away from me, momentum sending me flying backward until I bumped the concrete block. The tire flew through space toward another lump of trash, colliding with it with a loud pop. The trash-lump disintegrated, bits of it spinning in myriad directions through the darkness until they vanished from view.

"And like any good zoo animal," I remarked to no one, "I will find a way to entertain myself."

It became a game, really. I tried to hit trash with other trash, a game of pool played without pockets or cues—so not like pool at all, I guess, but whatever, I was bored and please cut me some slack. I'd throw a piece of garbage (sometimes huge chunks of rock I'd never be able to lift outside of this space, which was fun) and try to shatter a cluster of debris. The game evolved so that if I could knock one cluster loose and make it shatter another cluster, I got an extra point. Though no one was keeping score, so…

No one was keeping score.

Unlike my New Year's games with my friends.

Friends who were either freaking out about my disappearance, or friends who hadn't noticed I was gone, and I wasn't sure which was worse.

Would they be able to find me, if they noticed I'd vanished?

Because we weren't at the right part in the _Yu Yu Hakusho_ plot yet for them to suspect the right perpetrators, which meant they had no clues, nothing to go on, not a single damn iota of—

My lungs quaked. My pulse quickened. I inhaled, chest shaking, and ran my hands through my hair.

Calm down, girl. Just play your game, and try to keep the faith.

But when I looked around for a new bit of garbage to throw, I saw that I'd depleted the pocket I'd been picking from. I kicked off the nearest object and sailed to a new lump, chucking a brick at a far-off trash heap with frantic vigor. It connected with a pop; I reached to my left for a big chunk of concrete, hefting it above my head like a strongman lifting a weight.

I paused with it held over my head.

Beneath the concrete lay a skull.

It wasn't a human skull, by the look of it. For one thing, it was the length of my torso, and for another, few humans had four eyes arranged in a diamond above a fanged mouth and protracted, horse-like muzzle. Curled horns jutted from its forehead. The bone looked white, almost bleached, all of its former flesh stripped away. Beneath the skull lay a pile of bones, a ribcage fallen to pieces atop a curving spine and at least four arms, all of it bleached the same dramatic white as the skull itself.

With care I placed the concrete back where I'd found it. Reached for a different piece of trash. Flung it toward a garbage pile, only for it to miss and sail unhindered into the distance.

A bead of cold sweat trickled down my face.

My palms felt clammy, so I wiped them on my dress.

"I do wish you'd stop knocking things about," someone said. "My pet is developing quite a case of indigestion, the poor thing."

I'm not sure why I didn't scream at the sound of his smooth, articulate voice. Maybe the numbness building like ice inside my chest kept my lungs frozen, locked in place by dread and fear, rendering me voiceless. Whatever the case, I didn't even scream when I spun in place and found him floating not too far away, only just out of arm's reach at the edge of my chosen trash-pile. He regarded me with a small half-smile, arms crossing over his chest.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," I said.

He waited. Neither of us spoke. He wore human clothes, a leather jacket over a fitted white tee and tailored jeans, pale skin luminous in the darkness of the void. Despite his outfit, different than what I thought he'd wear, I knew who he was at first glance. The distant triumph that streaked through me at that realization (I was right, you see, all my predictions coming true in one fell swoop) didn't taste too sweet, though.

I was right, but being right wasn't necessarily a good thing.

For once in my life, I wished I'd been wrong—because his appearance shredded my hopes of rescue into tatters.

If I was getting out of here, it would be at _his_ discretion, and no one else's.

Not that I had the time to indulge my feelings of despair. I had a role to act. I had a play to perform. So I knocked loose the ice in my throat and pasted on my best Stern-Keiko-Face, all no nonsense, Type A formality and righteous indignation oozing from every pore.

"Who the fuck are you," I said, "and where the hell am I?"

The cursing was all Not-Quite-Keiko and no Classic-Keiko, of course, but the man in the leather jacket didn't appear to mind it either way. He just smiled a little wider and inclined his head, silky hair falling in dark green curls around his shoulders.

"I am Itsuki, and we are in the stomach of a demon called the Uraotoko." Golden eyes looked me up and down, gauging my reaction (one which I squelched down as hard as I possibly could). "He is my pet, of a sort. His stomach is something of a pocket dimension, almost endless—but do be careful with him, I beg you."

And, yup—the truth of the matter, exactly as predicted, all spelled out in plain language: I was, in fact, inside the stomach of the demon that had eaten the boys while Yusuke and Sensui fought, the one Kuwabara broke them out of with his dimension-cutting sword.… but I hadn't expected Itsuki to be so forward, if we're being honest, and for a second I found myself too stunned to move.

I recovered quickly enough, though. "OK," I said, flipping my bangs out of my face. "Why I am here?"

His head tilted to the side, just so. "Interesting."

"… what is?"

"You don't flinch at the thought of demons, or at being swallowed by one. You took that information very much in stride, Yukimura Keiko." His smile got just a little bigger yet again. "I find that fascinating."

His scrutiny sent a shiver up my spine. I wrapped my arms around myself. "Yeah. Well. This isn't the first demon I've met." I paused. "First I've been in the stomach of, thank god, but you get what I mean."

He nodded. "Running in the same circle as the Spirit Detective likely puts you in the paths of many demons, I suspect."

Another wave of shock swept through me, but it dislodging the last of the ice in my throat. "You know I know the Spirit Detective?" My eyes narrowed. "Have you been following me?"

"My pet has." A hint of teeth crept into his smile. "A few of your friends felt him for the shortest of moments, but he slipped away too quickly for them to follow. Your friends will be powerful someday. But they aren't there quite yet, I'm afraid."

I wanted to make a snide remark about my friends being plenty powerful, thank you very much, but I bit the retort back at the last second. Itsuki was dangerous—and much though I hated to admit it, he was right. My friends weren't nearly on his level, let alone the level of Sensui himself (where was Sensui, anyway?). I'd encountered Itsuki way too early in the plot for my friends to truly pose him any threat. No use antagonizing him, in that case. Not if there was even the slightest chance of my friends getting hurt by this demon.

So, I opted for another approach. I spread my hands in a helpless shrug and grinned, wry and full of faux-insouciance. "Heh. This just isn't fair," I told him with a shake of my head. "Clearly you know all about me, but I know nothing about you besides your name." At that I crossed my arms over my chest, Keiko-Stare firmly in place. "I'm going to ask you again. Why am I here? Why did you abduct me?"

Itsuki's head tilted. "Abductions is such an ugly word."

I snorted. "Do you prefer 'kidnapping?'"

"More like… an invitation you can't refuse."

"You've been watching too much _Godfather_."

"Perhaps." It was his turn to shrug. "I do love human cinema."

A stray fact from YYH, one I had forgotten, floated to the forefront of my mind: Itsuki was a fan of human TV. Unable to help my curiosity, I asked, "What's your favorite genre?"

That seemed to please him, judging by the delighted glimmer in his gaze. "I enjoy dramas. Period pieces are my favorite."

"Because of the costumes?" I asked. "I _love_ the costumes."

"I do, as well," Itsuki told me.

"You really should try _Bride of the Water God_." I mentally cursed myself for giving him TV recommendations, but I couldn't help myself. "K-drama, absolutely stunning costumes and set design. You'll love it."

"Thank you. I'll try to track it down." His eyes distanced themselves, staring far into the endless abyss. "But beyond the costumes, I enjoy the insight into human history. No matter the costume it wears, human nature truly transcends time and zeitgeists shifting, doesn't it?"

Shakespeare rolled off my tongue on reflex: "'We know what we are, but not what we may be.'"

At that he frowned—and for a second I feared I upset him. "I'm afraid I don't speak English," was all he said, however.

"Pity. It's a lovely turn of phrase." I shook my head again. "But you never answered my question. Why did you abduct me?"

Once again, he answered me without prevarication. "You've thrown quite the wrench into certain plans I have been seeing to fruition," Itsuki said—and at this vague mention of Sensui's plot, a chill clattered up my back. "I want to know why."

"Plans?" Playing dumb felt like my only option. "Sorry, but what plans are these, exactly?"

Finally Itsuki hesitated, no longer firing off answers like a machine gun—which was a damn shame. My brain shot off rapid-fire calculations of its own, darting this way and that through the realm of possibility, trying to determine how best to play out the verbal spar in which I'd found myself embroiled. It was imperative, I reasoned, that I get Itsuki talking. It was imperative I asked more than I answered. Clearly I couldn't say too much. Talking presented a clear danger, a danger that lurked in the line between what Not-Quite-Keiko knew about Itsuki and Sensui frim the anime, and what Yukimura Keiko could possibly know from her time spent in this world. I had to be mindful of that border. The more info Itsuki spilled, the more Yukimura Keiko would know, reconciling what Not-Quite-Keiko knew with what Yukimura Keiko had learned in this new life. The more Itsuki talked, the more I could say without arousing his suspicions… and the fewer lies he could catch me in.

Get him talking, then.

That was the key.

And it might even be the key to getting out of this place, if I played my cards right.

A plan. I only had the vaguest of plans, but if I kept him talking, maybe I'd have more time to come up with something good.

After a time, Itsuki finally spoke. "My business is nothing you need to worry about." At that he even looked a little apologetic. "The fact of the matter is that you've interfered, and thus, you must be investigated."

"You're going to have to be more specific." I drummed my fingers on my arm and lifted a brow. "In what way, exactly, did I interfere?"

I expected him to dodge the question, or answer it with a prepared statement about keeping identities private—finished by some subtle-yet-smartass comment about how I surely understood one's need for privacy. Instead, Itsuki surprised me. His eyes widened, white showing all the way around his golden irises like coins dropped onto snow.

"Do you not already know?" he asked.

"Uh." His surprised reaction took me aback, made me stumble just a little. "How could I?"

But Itsuki didn't reply right away. He put a hand to his chin, staring down at his feet as I watched, and waited. One long finger tapped his cheek.

"Interesting," he murmured. "Running in the same circle as…" His eyes flickered to me, pensive and perceptive. "And yet you know nothing. They aren't keeping you as informed as we anticipated, it seems."

"By 'they,' I assume you mean Spirit World," I said, because it felt like a safe guess. He'd been watching me; he had to know I knew about them. I shrugged, lips twisting in a grimace. "Sorry, but Spirit World gets off on being enigmatic and not providing people with critical information. It's annoying."

Itsuki chuckled, low and warm in his chest. "They haven't changed at all, then."

The statement, so short and simple, said far more than those six little words implied. I latched onto the meaning like a lamprey and sunk my teeth in deep. "You've dealt with them before," I said, not bothering to phrase that as a question. "And earlier you mentioned the Detective." When Itsuki's eyes widened, I couldn't help but smirk. "Can I hazard a guess you've had a run-in with one of Yusuke's predecessors?"

"In a manner of speaking." He wagged a finger at me. "You're a sharp one, Yukimura Keiko."

"Thank you." No sense telling him I was cheating, in a way, and that he was giving me too much credit. "But you should know something."

Another of his curious head-tilts. "And what is that?"

"My friends will be coming for me." I hoped so, anyway, and I tried to look confident about the possibility. "You haven't hurt me. You've been polite. I'm inclined to believe you don't have any intention of doing otherwise, provided you get what you want out of this conversation."

His mouth curled. "Sharp again."

"Thanks again," I said. "But my friends—and this isn't a threat, I promise. It's more like a word of caution." My hands came up, palms toward him in an 'I surrender' gesture. "I'm not being menacing, I swear."

If he appreciated the assurance, he didn't show it. "Go on," was all he said, eyes narrowing just a tad.

"OK." A deep breath filled my lungs. "My friends are going to notice I'm gone. They're going to try to find me. In an ideal universe, you'd return me to my home before they find wherever this is and things get messy—for their sake as much as yours." It took a bit of willpower to force a winning grin onto my face, but I did it, trying to look congenial despite the painful awareness that Itsuki held all the power here. "I'm totally willing to answer your questions, for the good of us both, if you'll return me to my home in short order. Don't want my buddies getting too worked up in my absence, y'know?"

Maybe it was my grin, or my friendly demeanor, or just the whole monologue I'd spewed, but Itsuki's shoulders shook as he laughed, eyes closing with humor. When he opened them again, he offered me another of his cool, bland smiles. "Well, now," he said, laughter still coloring his voice like paint. "How can I argue with such efficient logic?"

I stared at him. "I can't tell if you're patronizing me or not."

"Six of one. Half a dozen of the other." His smile grew. "You have no idea of the danger you're in."

He didn't make it sound like a threat. Just an observation, if of a dire nature—but I knew that Itsuki would not have said those words without reason. My pulse quickened. "Well. I saw the skull. I think that gave me a hint." I swallowed down the emotion in my throat. "You've left demons in here to starve to death, haven't you?"

Itsuki didn't reply right away. He just looked at me, looked and looked until I had to look away, toe kicking at an empty beer bottle as it floated by. Light glinted off the glossy glass in a rainbow shimmer—and just where was the light in here coming from, anyway? Did this thing have a bioluminescent sub-space stomach or something?

"I rather like you, I think." Itsuki raised his chin, smiling at my surprise with obvious satisfaction. "I wasn't sure at first, but I have just decided."

His fond stare was more than a little unnerving. Without thinking I blurted, "I'm not going to date until I turn 18, unfortunately."

He laughed. "Oh. Don't worry, Yukimura-san. You're not my type. But one doesn't have to be someone else's type to be friends."

I gave him my best 'excuse you, but aren't you forgetting something?' kind of stare. "Sorry-not-sorry, but friends also don't often abduct friends, so…"

He gave me a look of his own, full of comical admonishment. "Why, Yukimura. I thought we had established that I prefer 'offers one can't refuse.'"

"Oh, right." My eyes rolled like loose marble. "My mistake. I won't let it happen again. But while we're on the subject, what are your feelings on 'forcible relocations' or 'child-snatchings?'"

Another laugh, louder than the one before. "You're funny. I appreciate that." His humor was not meant to last, golden eyes tarnishing. "But in the end, I think I agree. We had best make this quick, hadn't we?"

"On that, we are in agreement." I kept my tone chipper, bright, and not at all reflective of how I felt inside. "Let the interrogation begin."

I thought he would, perhaps, react to the dramatic 'interrogation' the way he'd reacted to 'abduction,' but he didn't. Itsuki simply inclined his head, looked at me down the length of his chiseled nose, and said, "Why did you befriend Tsukihito Amanuma?"

My surprise wasn't fake, even if my question wasn't sincere. "Amanuma? You know Amanuma?" I said.

"Yes," came Itsuki's simple reply.

I floundered some more, stunned he'd name-dropped the kid so soon. "What do you want with a little kid?" I asked, because that was all I could think to say.

"Nothing untoward, I assure you," he said.

And that was all he said. He stood (well, floated) in place in silence, watching as I gaped and tried to form words and failed quite hard at the latter. I opened my mouth more than once to speak, but each time the words died before bubbling back up again. Itsuki's smile seemed amused, but he was hard to read—kind of like Hiruko, sort of, who never stopped smiling and thus was as easy to interpret as the patterns of birds in flight. Eventually, though, I managed to get my face back under control—and with that control came a realization.

Itsuki had handed me quite the opening, mentioning the kid like that, and I intended to take every advantage of this opportunity—even if some small part of me whispered that I should be careful, because this might very well be bait. But what could he be baiting me toward, anyway?

I told the little voice to shut up, and I summoned my courage instead.

"You're that friend Amanuma dumped recently," I said.

It felt gratifying indeed to watch Itsuki go still. He didn't move a muscle, eyes trained on me without flinching, chest even pausing in its steady rise and fall.

"Or… no. Not you." My head tilted, mimicking his motion from before. "But you know who that friend he dumped is or was. Or at least you know all about that situation."

Itsuki said nothing. He remained still as a statue carved from ice.

"If I had to guess," I continued, "I'd say you aren't acting alone tonight." My lips quirked. "And I don't just mean you had the help of your demon pet."

Once again, Itsuki didn't reply—but then, slowly, he raised his hands. Clapped them together once, twice, three times. The sound vanished into the abyss as my voice had, muffled like he'd clapped underwater. Even if I'd knocked him off balance before, Itsuki had calmed again, shoulders relaxing as his hands struck together, lips curving back into his serene smile.

"You have not ceased to impress me yet, Yukimura-san," he said, hands falling to his sides. "Tell me. How did you guess?"

"You said 'we' earlier." (And the fact that I'd seen the anime; I wasn't nearly as smart as he thought I was.) "So..."

"Ah. An unfortunate slip." Regret crossed his features, but only for a moment. "And the rest?"

"Not hard to figure out." Another shrug. "Amanuma told me he an adult friend who was asking him, um… foreboding questions, I guess you could say. I told him adults shouldn't need help from children, and then Amanuma said he cut that friend loose. And now you're here, an adult, asking about Amanuma." I held up my fingers, two on each hand. Bumped them together. Put two down on one hand and four up on the other, addition made visible. "Two plus two makes a very suspicious four," I said, waggling my digits.

Itsuki's brows lifted. "I see."

I crossed my arms over my chest again. "So let me guess. You're upset I warned him away from you, or your friend, or whomever. Right?"

"Right," he agreed. "It should interest you to know that found you through the use of pronoun analysis and basic math, as well."

My heart stuttered. "Oh?"

"Yes. When Amanuma… how did you put it?" He fought to keep a smile off his face. "When he 'dumped' my friend, Amanuma quoted someone. A 'she.' And you are the only 'she' he appears to know, aside from the mother who pays him no attention. Thus, you were not hard to find."

His expression—beatific, almost, and certainly serene—didn't falter even an iota at the mention of Amanuma's absentee mother. His lack of reaction grated on me, but only for a moment. Sensui had been the one to befriend Amanuma. Perhaps Itsuki didn't have any feelings about the boy at all, even if he'd literally abducted me (I won't cater to his euphemisms in my internal monologue, thank you) to ask questions about him. His poker face made it hard to say for sure. No matter how he felt about Amanuma, however, it was clear how I felt about the boy. Now how to word it? How to put it, both without lying and endangering myself as well as evading the inconvenient truth?

I squared my shoulders, dragging a breath of stale, demon-stomach air through my nose. "And now we're here," I said.

"And now we're here," said Itsuki.

"And you want to know why I befriended Amanuma," I said.

Itsuki's tone remained neutral—pleasant, even—when he said, "Yes."

"Well. I'm pretty sure my answer is going to disappoint you."

His brow knit, forest green hooding golden eyes. "Oh?"

"I did it because he was lonely." A shrug, one I hoped looked both natural and dismissive. "He was a lonely kid and he stuck to us like glue. At first I wasn't even sure I wanted him around. He grew on me, though, after a while." I studied Itsuki, looking for confirmation in his Mona Lisa smile. "You know he was at my party tonight, right?"

He didn't leave me to wonder, admitting "I'm aware" with an absent nod.

"Cool. Well, he gets along well with the rest of my friends. I just need to find him some buddies his own age, and he'll be all set." I laughed and rubbed the back of my neck before flapping my hands like embarrassed wings. "My friends call me an albatross, you know. Wide wings. I like to shelter people under them if they'll let me. So when he approached us looking like a kicked puppy—well. How could I not take him under these wings, right?"

I stopped flapping, hands falling to my sides when Itsuki didn't reply. His eyes traced the path of my hands as they descended. I couldn't tell if he believed a word I'd said, of course. He was too bland, too purposefully passive to give much away—not that there was much to see beyond what I'd said. Every last word out of my mouth had been true. Half-truths? Sure, but truths nonetheless. If Itsuki sensed deception, it was only in part, as I had told not a single lie. I had indeed let Amanuma shelter under my wingspan because he was lonely and I wanted to fight that loneliness. The whole "disrupt Sensui's plan" bit was just a side-effect. Would Itsuki even believe me if I told him how I knew about Sensui? "Hey, I'm from another world and I know about your lover's plans from a manga series aimed at teen boys" only sounded so plausible…

Itsuki did not lift his eyes from my hands (and his expression did not move even a fraction) when he asked, lips barely moving: "You befriended him… out of kindness?"

"I'd look pretty arrogant if I agreed with that." Another shrug, this one genuine; I meant what I'd said. "Yusuke befriended Amanuma first. I just tagged along. If that is or isn't kindness… well. Who's to say?"

His amber gaze flickered up to mine. "You understand why this is hard to believe," he said—a statement, not a question.

But I would not be intimidated. I did not let our eye contact waver when I said, "No, Itsuki-san. I don't."

And thus we stared at one another like a pair of cowboys facing off at either end of a boomtown's main street. Hands twitching toward the guns on our belts, air thrumming with tension as we sized one another up, each daring the other to talk next, strike first, really get this gunfight started. "Giddy up, buckaroo," I thought to myself—but when Itsuki's chin dipped, those hooded eyes glimmering under the shadow of his brow, my heart faltered in my chest.

Itsuki was pleasant enough to talk to. He liked movies. He could quip with the best of them. He wasn't calling names or intimidating me physically—but it would do me well to remember he was a demon (and a powerful one, at that) while I was just a girl.

A girl stuck inside his pet's impenetrable stomach.

A girl whose friends couldn't save her from this elusive place.

A girl who was entirely dependent on the whims of this demon for respite.

Sweat beaded on my temple. Rolled down my cheek in a cool trickle. Coursed over my neck and beneath the collar of my dress, catching on the chain of the necklace I wore beneath it. The metal rasped against my skin, scents of metal and salt collecting in my nose like sand in a glass.

"I don't sense deceit from you." Itsuki's words, murmured oh so quietly, nevertheless made me startle. For a second my heart lifted, but it dropped just as fast when he added, "But I sense evasion. As if you hold something close to your chest." He gave me the look my mother gave me when I hid a pleasant surprise from her. "You're not the only one who can read people, Yukimura-san."

I put on my very best look of skepticism. "Evasion? I'm not evading." Placed a hand on my chest. "Go ahead: Ask me anything."

And so Itsuki did. "What do you know of former Spirit Detectives?" he said, wasting not a moment. "Those who came before your friend Yusuke?"

"I've met Kuroko Sanada."

Itsuki stared. "And?"

"And, nothing." Another of my dismissive shrugs, one that hid the frantic beating of my evasive heart. "Ayame—that's the lady from Spirit World I talk to sometimes, as I'm sure you've figured out." I waited for his nod of confirmation before I continued. "Anyway. Ayame hasn't mentioned anyone but Sanada." Another truth. Ayame had never mentioned Sensui, even when I asked.

A beat passed. Itsuki said, "I see."

If he believed me, he wasn't going to tell me so. He did not say anything else and his face gave away nothing whatsoever. I should know. I stared at it for a lot longer than I want to admit before giving up with a sigh.

"Cryptic." I tutted. "Are all demons cryptic, or do I just keep meeting all the most oblique examples?"

At that he smiled. "Now, now," he said. "Do you really want me to ruin the surprise of that discovery?"

"What about ruining the surprise of what's going on behind the scenes?" I countered. "You've talked about Spirit Detectives, you're asking about them… why the interest? Do you and the 'we' you mentioned have something against Detectives?"

Itsuki stilled again, as he had before. For a brief moment I thought perhaps I'd said too much, had hinted that I knew more than I was saying—but, no. That was a logical leap to make. Itsuki was just being secretive again.

"I mean, the one I deal with is annoying as hell, so I wouldn't blame you too much." I grinned to show I was joking, trying to lighten the mood. "Mine's young, though. Still growing. Cut him some slack if he pisses you off, I guess."

My ploy worked. "Fear not: My friends and I have no intention of running afoul of the current Detective," Itsuki said—and despite his pleasant smile, it did not escape my notice that he'd said 'friends,' plural. All seven of Sensui, or Sensui and the recruited psychics? I couldn't be sure. Itsuki continued: "Meeting the newest Detective would be most inconvenient at this stage."

I tried not to look too eager. "This stage of…?"

But my attempt at fishing only earned me a smile full of scolding. "Come now, Yukimura. I'm not some villain from the movies who will spill their plans to the hero on a whim. You should know better than that."

"Heh. Worth a shot." But I looked at him with new and different interest. His language was, as always, telling. "Do you consider yourself a villain, Itsuki-san?"

"Everyone is the hero of their own story," came his smooth reply.

" _Now_ who's evading?"

I thought, perhaps, we'd verbally spar again, my taunt dragging from him more of that easy amiability I found rather comforting—but Itsuki didn't move or speak. He gave me a level stare, empty and inscrutable, for a moment that turned to two, then three, before there came a faint ripple in the space behind his suspended body. Images of broken buildings and cracked concrete distorted like a heat mirage before a line of black sliced the air. No sooner had it appeared than did it expand, blooming outward like a flower of pure, undulating dark. Into this Itsuki sank, disappearing into the pit and out of sight, and then with the same abruptness it had appeared the darkness faded, leaving behind the unbroken view of the Uraotoko's ceaseless innards.

Itsuki's laugh, soft as a fist encased in velvet, stroked the air at my back, tracing up my nape like the tip of a cold hand. I spun with a curse, heart hammering against my diaphragm like a punch to the unwary gut. He stood only a few feet away, head tilted nearly at a right angle, one lock of thick green hair resting silken against his pale cheek.

"Yes," he said. "I _do_ like you, after all." His eyes softened like he beheld the face of someone dear. "And I like what you will one day become even more."

"What I'll one day…?" I said, repeating him the only thing of which I felt capable.

He nodded. "Truth be told, Keiko…" He paused. "May I call you Keiko?"

It was all I could do to stammer a stunned, "S-sure."

"Wonderful." His smile blossomed. "Truth be told, I was told to stay away from you. But my friends can be so shortsighted at times, even in all their brilliance. They cast aside that which no longer benefits them without a backward glance."

"You mean Amanuma?" I managed to ask.

"Yes." Gold eyes darkened with odd melancholy. "In some ways, their willingness to sacrifice that which they deem unnecessary makes me wonder just how expendable I am. It makes me wonder if they care not because they value me, but because they value what I can give them." The melancholy faded, smile beatific once again. "But the mystery of that—the pure _tension_ of it? The television dramas I enjoy cannot capture even an iota of that exquisite tension. And I will admit that nothing entrances me more."

"Doesn't exactly sound healthy," I somehow found the nerve to jest.

"As the most delicious things so often are." Itsuki continued to study my face, smile widening all the more. "Yes. _Yes_. I think my friends should meet you."

He meant Sensui. No doubt about that, no lack of clarity as far as this looming doom was concerned, nope, nooo, that was _exactly_ what he meant, and I got the sense that by "friends" he might really mean all seven personalities Sensui himself. At this stage in canon, Elder Toguro couldn't have joined forced with Sensui quite yet, so unless he'd already amassed a few followers even before their Territories manifested… yeah, Itsuki probably meant Sensui and his many selves, a prospect of which I was _well and truly fucking terrified_. Itsuki gave me the wiggins, sure, but Sensui himself? That was death incarnate, and something told me he'd see straight through any games I tried to play. I should convince Itsuki it was a bad idea, try to put him off of making introductions, try to—

Unless.

It was unlikely Sensui would come here, into the stomach of the Uraotoko. Too informal a meeting place. Too undignified, maybe. This was Itsuki's bag, not Sensui's, and besides: Itsuki had implied Sensui didn't know I was here. Maybe Itsuki would take me to Sensui, and not the other way around.

Which meant Itsuki would escort me out of this prison.

Which meant my friends might be able to find me.

Which meant my half-baked plan to be saved, which hinged on persuading Itsuki to release me, might actually come to fruition… even if it meant facing Sensui himself.

It was tempting. It was _so tempting_ to go along with Itsuki. But it was also dangerous, _so freakin' dangerous_ to meet Sensui alone, so early along in the flow of canon, and with not a single one of my friends around for backup.

But if I stayed here, I'd end up like that demon. I'd end up a bleached skull and some scattered bones, alone and forgotten in the belly of shadow monster. And that was a fate I just couldn't stomach, if you'll pardon the atrocious pun—which left me with only one option, and one that I had to take.

This was, as Itsuki would say, an offer I couldn't refuse.

"Would you like to meet my friends, Keiko?" Itsuki said as I dragged my gaze to his. He showed his teeth when he smiled, drifting close enough for me to smell the oil on his leather jacket. "Meet my friends, and perhaps satisfy the curiosity I see building behind your eyes?"

I wasn't sure if he was just teasing or if my eyes really did reflect such curiosity. My heart beat too fast for me to think about it much. I licked my dry lips and threw back my head, hyperconscious of my pulse thrumming in the roof of my mouth and in the lines of my strained neck, of Itsuki's eyes on mine and the satisfaction I could already see brewing within them.

He knew my answer even before I voiced it.

"Well. What the hell? Why not?" I said, and I gave Itsuki a roguish grin that complemented the caution I'd just chucked into the wind. "Girl can never have too many friends, right?"

Itsuki seemed to agree, because he smiled back—and behind him another portal swirled darkly into being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back.
> 
> Chapter 76. Wait. What does that remind me of? Oh yeah: "Seventy-six trombones hit the counterpoint, while a hundred and ten coronets played the bridge; to the rhythm of—" Ahem. Sorry. Burst into song, there. But Extra Special Brownie Points to whosoever should recognize those lyrics offhand. Any guesses? Eh? EH? EEEEHHH?
> 
> All Broadway references aside, some of you 100% guessed what was happening as soon as you read about the shadow monster at the end of chapter 75. The Uraotoko in the anime/manga is a short-lived bit character, making him easy to forget. I forgot about for a long while, truth be told, and only remembered just in time for the New Year's Story Arc. I was happy to get to use him for dramatic effect, lol. 
> 
> During my hiatus I started writing and posting a fic for the Pokémon fandom (a Nuzlocke fanfic of a SoulSilver run I'm doing). Has SI elements but is veeeery different than LC. I'd love if you checked it out, if that's your thing!
> 
> SO MANY ENORMOUS THANKS for all of your support while I went on hiatus! Many of you checked in via PM, Tumblr, or reviews while I was away, and I can't tell you how much it meant to me to know you were waiting for when I got back. This is dedicated to all of you lovely folks: Everlastingice_277, mageking17, Gerbilfriend, Masked Trickster, Unctuous, Eternalevecho, SunShark, Not Quite a Morning Person, katsheswims, TokiMirage, KittyWillCutYou, guest, scallionite, Kuramag33, Vinlala, Tewdrig, actively apathetic, angelfish1214, TheInterim_VectorChaos, Sdelacruz, cosmosalone200, DragonsTower, MissZombie!


	77. The Poet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK has no time for movies.

 

Although it meant my friends stood a greater chance of finding me, following Itsuki out of the belly of the beast posed a certain number of risks—the most obvious being the presence of Sensui and all the dangers his close proximity presented. However, it wasn't the former Detective's ability to hurt me I worried most about. Rather, I worried my friends were not strong enough yet to face him, and if they came for me, I feared far more for their safety than for mine.

Luckily for them, I had a backup plan that didn't hinge on the cast of Yu Yu Hakusho finding and rescuing me. That plan came with risks of its own, of course, but they were risks I felt I had to take to ensure the safety of my canon.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

When we stepped from the formless void of the Uraotoko's stomach and onto cold slate the color of tarnished silverware, my knees nearly gave out beneath me. I wasn't used to supporting my own weight. Stepping from abyss to terra firma felt utterly jarring, limbs much heavier than I recalled after hours spent floating in limbo. I staggered, but Itsuki's hand curled beneath my elbow and helped keep me upright.

"Careful," he murmured. "The transition from pseudo-space can take some getting used to.

Say what will about that demon, but in his own deranged way, he's almost a gentleman.

He'd taken me somewhere befitting of a gentleman, too: an open-concept high rise apartment of shocking square footage, an enviably appointed chef's kitchen blending seamlessly with an enormous greatroom, the length of the room lined with floor-to-ceiling windows running along one of the space's longer sides. These windows overlooked a skyline all aglitter with lights of every discernible color. I didn't recognize the skyscrapers beyond the glass, long though I blinked at them in the apartment's cold, dry air. Were we in Sarayashiki? Mushiyori? Tokyo? There was no telling, at least not from this height. We had to be, what, twenty stories up? I stepped toward the windows, to check and see if perhaps I could tell where we were—

Itsuki's hand closed around my arm. Not hard enough to hurt or anything. Just firmly enough to suggest I stop in my tracks, a suggestion I obeyed at once—but Itsuki didn't say anything to me. His face swung, in fact, toward the kitchen, and to the three black doors next to it that I guessed concealed pantries or bathrooms or bedrooms. Whichever. When his eyes narrowed I started to ask what was wrong, but before I could, one of Itsuki's misty portals cut the air before blooming into being.

"Apologies, Keiko, for this abrupt exit." He stepped toward the portal, pulling me along with him. "But we need to—"

The door nearest the kitchen swung inward into darkness.

"Itsuki?" said a sweet, lilting voice.

Itsuki stopped moving at once, golden eyes locked on the far-away door. Only a light in the kitchen illuminated the otherwise shadowy space, but I still managed to perceive the door swinging open wider, a face swimming from the gloom beyond like the visage of a ghost. Too dim to make out its bearer's identity, though.

"Itsuki," the person repeated. "Who's this?"

"No one," Itsuki said. His eyes cut to me, gauging my reaction. "We were just leaving." His fingers tightened on my arm. "Keiko, follow—"

"… a girl?"

Itsuki stopped again. Sighed. Allowed his hand to fall from my arm and to his side. He ran it through his hair after a moment, brushing silky green strands off of his pale face.

"Yes," said Itsuki. "She is."

The figure in the door said nothing—but then, inch by inch, they drifted forward into the light.

Only a single strip of fancy track-lights above a massive granite island illuminated the kitchen, but they case just enough platinum light across burnished copper skin, dark and narrow eyes, and chiseled cheekbones for me to determine the person's identity. My stomach dropped into my shoes and my eyes fluttered in the apartment's cold air, sapped of moisture just as thoroughly as my suddenly dry mouth. A bindi marked the space between his eyes like a nametag, and even though Itsuki offered no introductions, I knew exactly who I was looking at.

I beheld Sensui, at last—but something wasn't right.

"Oh." He took another step forward, looking me up and down with undisguised and inexplicably cheerful curiosity. He wore an oversized grey sweater over jeans, long sleeves nearly obscuring his tapered fingers. Said fingers travelled to his mouth, nails ghosting over his smile as he said, "She's pretty."

Words popped out of my mouth on reflex. "Th-thank you."

Another step closer. His voice was light and airy, like dandelion down drifting on a spring breeze, unexpected and pleasant and confusing. "I like your hair," said Sensui.

His hair wasn't slicked back like in the anime. It hung loose around his face, framing his features with long, black strands—like a bob, almost. "I like yours," I replied, because somehow the unexpected haircut suited him.

Sensui took a lock between his fingers, rubbing strands back and forth, back and forth, as he gave them a half-hearted smile. "I want to wear it longer, but they won't let—" He stopped talking, looking at Itsuki with obvious uncertainty. "How much does she know?

"Not that much," Itsuki said in a voice no louder than a whisper. His face looked gaunt in the half-light, eyes haggard with… was that worry I saw in his expression? No. It couldn't be.

"Oh." Sensui looked at his bare feet, waited a beat, and then looked at Itsuki with an expression so hopeful and eager and sincere it nearly took my breath from me. Sensui said, "I can keep a secret, Itsuki. I  _promise_  I can keep a secret. So can she stay just a little while? Please?"

"Naru." Itsuki stepped toward him, hands raised in supplication. "That isn't a good—"

Sensui's eyes widened, each the color of an infinite abyss. "Please?" he said in that same begging tone—and if I hadn't already been incapable of speech, the thought of Sensui begging surely would have rendered me mute.

It did the same to Itsuki, it seemed, because he paused. The silence reigned for a long while. Somewhere in the walls the A/C kicked on, a vent in the lofted ceiling overhead blowing icy air across my face. I blinked to bring tears back to my eyes, but it did little good, and my throat felt as dry as arid sand.

Soon Itsuki's shoulders sagged. "Fine," he said, once more passing a hand through his hair. "She can stay." And as Sensui started to smile, Itsuki lifted a finger and wagged it in Sensui's face. "But please let Minoru know we have urgent need of him."

Sensui rolled his eyes. "Spoilsport," he said, and one feet so light he almost seemed to dance, Sensui drifted across the floor, placed a hand on Itsuki's shoulder, and kissed him gently on the cheek.

Right then—as Itsuki looked into Sensui's face with open, honest affection—I understood.

One of Sensui's personality… she'd been a she, hadn't she?

At that recollection, everything clicked neatly into place, memories I'd almost forgotten flooding my head like rain filling a barrel. In the anime, Itsuki had said one personality was a woman. She was shy, and she wrote the most beautiful poetry Itsuki had ever heard. He and this personality were in love, he thought, and he valued this personality for her gentleness and kindness.

Which meant Sensui wasn't Sensui at all right now. He was—what had Itsuki called her? Naru. Yes. That was the name of this personality, the girl who begged and gave puppy-eyes and kissed cheeks with an impish giggle.

…well, now. This was certainly unexpected.

The pair of them, Naru and Sensui alike, ignored me as I watched, mentally assessing if my plans could stand up in the presence of Naru instead of Minoru or Shinobu. She (it felt silly to use male pronouns with Naru) seemed calm and sweet, not at all conniving or calculating or violent. Did that make her less dangerous than her other personalities? The anime merely mentioned her, didn't elaborate on her personality, so it was hard to say, but something in her open demeanor and innocent expressions made me suspect she wasn't quite as lethal as her kin. In fact, she looked almost childlike as she cocked her head to one side, put a finger to her chin, and blinked at the ceiling for one quiet moment.

"Hmm." She tapped her chin. "Minoru is sleeping. He doesn't wish to wake, it seems."

Itsuki scowled, but only for the barest of seconds before smoothing his expression. "And the others?" he said.

She shook her head. "None want to come play. And it's my time, anyway." She looked at me again, taking a step in my direction. "Your name is Keiko, right? That's pretty. How is it spelled?"

"Uh. 'Lucky child.'"

She beamed. "Mine is spelled with the character for 'truth.'"

"That's lovely," I said, because what the hell else could I say?

Seemed I chosen correctly, because Naru outright beamed at the compliment. "Thank you. I picked it myself," she said, and she broke out in a wide grin. "Keiko, can I paint your nails? I did Itsuki's yesterday and I'd love to do yours, too."

Well. That certainly explained Itsuki's black nail polish. I looked at him askance, but he tucked his hands into his pockets and out of sight. I looked back to Naru and said, "Sure."

She bounced on her heels, grinned widely, and grabbed my wrist to tug me after her toward the kitchen. Her touch (which I flinched from on reflex) was light and gentle, fingers warm and dry and smooth as she led me to the kitchen's large island and bade me sit in one of the tall chairs ringing it. Itsuki trailed after us and sat in the chair on my right.

"Be a polite host and offer our guest a drink, Naru," he said.

Her eyes popped wide. "Oh, right! Would you like juice, Keiko? I have a few kinds." She cupped a hand around her mouth and whispered, "I like mixing them together, but Itsuki thinks it's gross."

A laugh came barreling up my throat at that, huffing out my nose and puffing my cheeks with a burst of humored air. Itsuki gave me a Look, but I just giggled. "I don't think it's gross. Why don't you make me a surprise?"

"Ha!" Naru tossed her hair with undisguised triumph. "See, Itsuki? I knew she was cool. And coming right up, Keiko; just a minute."

She bustled off toward the gigantic stainless steel refrigerator on the kitchen's far side and began removing various bottles from its interior. Naru moved with the grace of a deer, movements lithe and strong as she pulled glasses from under the counter and started to mix drinks. In spite of the danger of the situation, Naru fascinated me. I was getting a firsthand glimpse into an unexplored personality, a front row seat to hidden canon. How could I not be morbidly interested, despite the dangers here?

Still, though. I had to wonder if, perhaps, meeting Naru was some kind of setup. Surely Sensui's core personality, Shinobu, wouldn't willingly send sweet Naru to do his bidding… but Itsuki had frozen up when we came to this place. I had a hunch he'd sensed Naru in the other room and had been just as surprised by her presence tonight as I was. Itsuki had abducted me against Sensui's orders, after all. If they hadn't coordinated which personality would be present for this meeting, it was possible meeting Naru was just one giant mistake. But it was odd that people this devious could ever—

I felt his breath ghost across my neck before I heard him speak. It took everything in my power not to leap out of my seat, but somehow I held down my unsteady nerves.

"Do try to behave yourself," Itsuki murmured in my ear. "Naru is… special to me."

"Sure." I swallowed the lump in my neck and murmured back, "Split personality or a mind reader?"

It was a gamble, but it paid off in at least throwing Itsuki off balance. He leaned away so he could stare into my face. "Beg pardon?" he said, the barest flicker of surprise lighting his gold eyes.

"Split personality or a mind reader?" I doubled down.

Itsuki paused, but not for long. With grudging acknowledgement he murmured, "How did you know?"

"Wasn't hard." I shrugged. The clink of glasses and bottles colored the quiet night alongside the sound of Naru humming under her breath. Itsuki kept his eyes locked on her back as I said, "She was either reading a distant mind earlier or talking to someone in her own head. And that remark about not being allowed to cut her hair…"

"You have sharp ears," he said.

I started to make a quip about them being all the better to hear him with, my dear, but Naru turned around with a glass of juice in each hand. "Here you go," she said as she sat down to my left and set the juice before me. I swiveled in my seat to face her as she said, "Try to guess what's in it."

"OK." I took a sip, liquid cold, sweet, and tangy on my tongue. One flavor was obvious. "Pineapple, for sure." I lifted the glass to the lights above, studying the way the drink faded from pale yellow down to deep red at the bottom of the clear cup. "I think maybe grenadine explains the color. But…" I took another sip. There was something that tasted almost dusky on the back of my tongue, but when combined with the pineapple and sweet grenadine, I couldn't make it out. Defeated, I offered her an apologetic smile. "And there's another flavor I can't place. You win."

"It's apple juice." She took a drink of her own concoction and grinned. "Pineapple-apple-juice with grenadine."

She giggled at her own joke, but I paused. The Japanese word for 'pineapple' was basically a katakana rendition of the English version of the word, but 'apple' in Japanese was 'ringo.' She hadn't said 'ringo,' though. She'd said 'apple,' her pronunciation of the name of both fruits absolutely perfect.

"Do you speak English?" I asked, unable to help myself.

"I do," she said. She drained her glass and pushed it aside. "Now. What color do you want me to paint your nails?"

"What colors do you have?"

"All of them!" She looked proud of that, chest puffing under her sweater. "Let me show them to you."

Naru got up and disappeared into the room she'd come from earlier, returning in moments carrying a large zippered makeup bag brimming with bottles of nail polish. She spilled them onto the counter with a hundred crystalline clatters and began rifling through their ranks, organizing them into sections based on color. "See?" she said, gesturing at her trove. "I have everything."

"Way more than me," I said. "I think I have maybe three colors?"

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

"My parents own a restaurant and I help cook a lot. Nail polish can flake off in food, so I can't wear it much." I winked. "Health code violations."

"Oh. That makes sense." She looked at her hands, but her smile faded. "I can't paint my nails, either, though not because I cook." Her cheeks flushed a bit. "I'm not actually very good at cooking."

I frowned. "If not for cooking, why don't you paint yours?"

She looked at Itsuki, then. "Um?" she said, and I turned in my seat to look at him, too.

"It's all right," Itsuki said. A muscle in his cheek twitched. "She knows, it seems."

Relief crossed Naru's face. "Oh, good." She raised her hands a wiggle her finger. "The others don't like it. I can't paint them since we share." She pointed downward. "But they let me paint my toes!"

Said toes were painted electric blue. "Great color," I said. I selected a red shade from the pile of lacquers. "As for me, I think this one goes best with my dress."

Naru's eyes lit up. "It's almost the same color!" She reached for my hands, took the bottle, and spread my fingers across the cool granite countertop between us. The tiny metal bead in the bottle rattled when she shook it. "Now hold still."

"Lay down a paper towel, first," Itsuki suggested.

"Oh." Naru flushed at the gentle laughter in his voice. "Right!"

With that, she got to work. Neither of us spoke as she coated my nails in a single layer of scarlet paint, progressing from right pinkie to left, then went back down the line and added a second coat. Naru was a bit clumsy with the paint. It splashed onto my cuticles and skin in places, and didn't quite reach the edges of my nails in others, but she smiled during the entire process. Eventually she finished with a layer of topcoat that got on my skin as much as it did my nails, and when she reached the final nail, she sat back with a satisfied smile.

However, when she beheld her handiwork from a distance, her smile faded a tad. Her sweater-covered hand crept to her mouth, covering it with soft wool.

"I know I'm not very good," she said, embarrassed eyes cutting to the floor.

Even if she shared a body with a villain, I felt badly for her. "Don't say that," I said, inspecting my nails. "I think they're perfect."

"It's just—I haven't been doing it for very long," she continued.

"Practice makes perfect." I had to encouragingly nudge her foot with mine since my nails were still wet. I smiled when she looked at me again, saying, "You just have to keep at it and eventually you'll be a pro."

"You're right." Her smile returned, eyes glittering in the dim kitchen. "And we're making so many new friends these days. Maybe some of them will let me paint their nails."

I started to say yes, I'm sure some of them would—but Naru's eyes dropped again. Her hands folded on her thighs. She looked down and away, staring at the floor with gaze hooded and bitter. The abrupt shift to her demeanor had me frowning and resisting the urge to reach for her hand.

Instead I opted for asking, "Are you OK?"

Naru shook herself, but her smile still stayed hidden. "Yes. I'm just…" She hesitated, then shook her head. "They're helpful friends. We need them. But I'm sad, because I won't get to know them for very long." Another shake of her head, slower and sadder this time. "That just means I have to treasure them while I have them, I think. But…"

Behind me, Itsuki said Naru's name—and in his voice I heard an undercurrent of warning, that urgency even secrecy can't hide. Naru sighed in response, shoulders sagging just a bit.

"Fine, fine." She bent to give my nails another look. "You're all done, I think." Expression uncertain, she said, "Do you like them?"

"I love them." I held them against my dress to really show off how well the color matches. "Thank you, Naru."

Her good mood came back like a flashbulb going off at the compliment; she practically glowed, bashfully looking at me from beneath her brows. "You're welcome," she said, and without even a second's pause she added, "Do you like poetry?"

The non-sequitur threw me, I'll admit, but I recovered enough to stammer, "I do."

"Oh, good! I write a lot of it." Her eyes fell to the floor again. "I'm not very good at that either, though."

But Itsuki wasn't having any of that. "You're wonderful, Naru," he said, pride and sincerity evident in every word. "Your work is beautiful, and you've worked hard to develop your craft. I wish you'd have more confidence in yourself."

Naru blushed at that. "Itsuki says that all the time, but he's biased." Something occurred to her, then, and she looked at me with renewed interest. " _You're_  not, though. Biased, I mean."

"That's true," I said.

Naru opened her mouth. Closed it. Hesitated. "If only…" she said, trailing off with faraway eyes.

"Hey." This time I couldn't keep from grabbing her hand, because I knew that look. I'd seen it in the mirror a hundred times before creative writing workshops, had beheld that expression of anxious doubt every time I posted a chapter of an online work. Naru looked up with a small gasp at the contact, but I just smiled and squeezed her fingers in my own. "It's OK if you don't want to share it with me. Poetry can be so personal, sometimes keeping it private is just what you need to do."

Her gaze softened. "You understand me, I think," she murmured. "That's so nice."

"I'm glad you think so." Because the unease hadn't yet faded from her eyes, I asked, "You said you speak English, right?"

She frowned a little. "Yes?"

"I know a few poems, if you'd like me to recite something."

Once again, it was like flicking a switch. She pulled her hands from mind so she could clap them together, glee evident in every pull of muscle. "Oh, how wonderful! Please, please, go ahead!" She grabbed my wrist. "But this isn't the place. Come with me, come with me…"

She paved the way to the other end of the long greatroom, where a widescreen TV sat on a stand against the wall in front of a huge sectional couch dripping with cushions and blankets. As on the kitchen side, three black doors were set into the wall beside the TV, leading to lord knew precisely where. Itsuki followed at a sedate pace, flicking on a single lamp at the corner of the sectional as Naru ushered me to stand in front of the TV. She danced to the couch and sat in the middle of it, pillow held tight to her chest above her crisscrossed legs. She was the one bit of exuberance in this austere, nearly empty, and most certainly minimalist penthouse, I noticed. No paintings adorned the walls, and even the low glass coffee table between us bore nothing more than a single stack of agate coasters. How did a personality so chipper stand living here? No wonder she was eager to make friends with a visitor and have some entertainment…

Speaking of which. "What will you start with?" Naru asked.

"Um." I fidgeted where I stood, raking through my mental roster of poems. "Do you like Robert Frost?"

She did, she said, so I launched into his poems I'd memorized long before, in a life I no longer lived. "Birches, "Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening," "The Road Not Taken" and "Fire and Ice" constituted the majority of my repertoire as far as Frost went (each one delivered with the theatrical panache I'd learned from my former father, who loved reciting poetry with all the flair of a Broadway actor). From there I dived into "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" by William Wordsworth and "Do not go gentle into that good night" by Dylan Thomas. She was not yet satisfied, though, clapping and applauding after each recitation and calling for more, for encore after encore until my voice grew hoarse. I gave her Harold Hart Crane and Emily Lazarus, next, and some William Butler Yeats for good measure before diving straight into Emily Dickinson. Naru looked enraptured by it all, though Dickinson had her pillowing her chin on her hands and her elbows on her knees, remarking upon each poem with dreamy sighs and exclamations of admiration. Soon my library of poems neared its end (unless she wanted me to dive into the Shakespearean soliloquies my great uncle Harold with the fake Scottish accent had made me memorize when I was seven, so I could recite them at the Thanksgiving dinner table for his amusement). My brain echoed cavernous in my head, empty thanks to the glut of poems I'd spilled, and with one final burst of inspiration I managed to recall Dickinson's "Nature, the Gentlest Mother."

Naru loved it, perhaps even more than the others. When I spoke the final line she heaved a dreamy sigh. "That was so beautiful. I love the imagery, the extended characterization of Mother Nature. She truly had a way with words, Emily Dickinson. A hidden genius until so long after she left this world." She lifted her chin off her hands to ask, "How did those last stanzas go?"

Dutifully I told her: "When all the children sleep / She turns as long away / As will suffice to light her lamps; / Then, bending with the sky, / With infinite affection / and infiniter care, / Her golden finger on her lip, / wills silence everywhere."

Naru sighed again. "So lovely." Her neck drooped, chin on hands once more. "And so sad."

"It has that feeling of nostalgia to it," I agreed.

"No." Naru's voice came a little firmer, though it still rang with her soft tones. "It's  _sad_."

I didn't say anything—both because I was tired of speaking, and because Naru's eyes had hardened. Not with anger. Not with malice. They'd hardened with… determination, maybe? It was hard to tell, but if softness can be hard, then in that moment, thus was she.

"Mother Nature," she said, and she shook her head. "We talk about her as if she's a human woman, but she's not. She isn't human at all, and soon there will be none left to call her as such, though. Soon it will be just birds and wolves and bunny rabbits, rampant squirrels and impetuous birds." She spoke that last line in English, borrowing descriptions from the Dickinson poem I had just recited for her; Naru had a quick memory, one belied by her earlier girlish charm. She scooted to the edge of the couch and peered at me with pleading eyes, begging me to understand something she hadn't yet had time to voice. "That's why I so wanted us to be friends, Keiko. I have to make friends with other girls before they all go away."

My voice was born in a whisper. "Go away?"

"Yes." The hard cast to her eyes melted, back into the sadness she'd worn before. "All the children sleep as nature, the gentlest mother, wills silence everywhere." And then that firm not-hardness returned, resolute and strong. "It's for the best, Keiko. It's for the best, even if I might be lonely afterward."

"But where will the girls go?" I said, although I already knew the answer.

And Naru told it to me, just as I suspected she might: "They'll go where the boys are going. Where all the humans are going." A sad, bitter smile. "They'll go away from here."

Itsuki—who had remained behind the couch to watch my performance—shot her a sharp look, one she did not see. "Naru, don't—"

But it did no good. Naru rose to her feet and padded around the coffee table, taking my hands in hers and holding them close, like she feared I might run, or might strike, or might not believe what she had to say. Her eyes (Sensui's eyes, a villain's eyes, the eyes of a man who wished to end the world) filled with tears and bored into my own, earnestness worn both like a target and a shield.

"I'm sorry," Naru said as a tear coursed down her cheek. "I'm so sorry about it. I'm  _so sorry_. But it has to be done, you see." She lifted my hands and pressed her forehead to my knuckles, feverish against my cold skin. "You must believe me, Keiko. For the good of the rest of everything, all the children must sleep."

Bile rose high and hot and gritty in my throat. My instincts warred, telling me to run and to play nice with this delicate persona, and I found myself frozen against her hot flesh.

But then one instinct won over the other and I blurted: "I'm sorry—where's the bathroom?"

Naru lifted her head from my hands, hurt shining in her eyes. To the side, Itsuki lifted his hand, pointing toward the door to the left of the TV.

I fled.

The bathroom was a minimalist as the rest of the house. Sink, toilet, shower. That was all. Not a single toiletry other than a cake of soap next to the hot water faucet, which I cranked to max as I shut the door behind me and leaned my hands on the sink. My messy red nails stood out like blood against the white porcelain. Steam—hot and wet, the exact opposite of the cold, dry air outside—lapped against my face like the tongue of some affectionate beast, a dog soothing the emotions of its owner. I breathed deeply through my nose until the nausea abated, and then I switched the water to cool.

All the children must sleep, Naru had said, but she meant that in a way unintended by Dickinson. No. Naru meant "sleep" in a way that was utterly Shakespearean.

"To sleep, perchance to dream," as Hamlet said in his soliloquy.

And in Hamlet's soliloquy, "to sleep" meant "to die."

I cupped my hands, filled them with icy water, and drank down a slug of liquid, though I spilled most of it between my shaking fingers. I rubbed the excess water on my face and neck, the cold waking me up a little. Suddenly my eyes felt heavy, or at least I remembered to pay attention to them and note their ponderous weight. My dress's high neckline seemed to strangle out of nowhere; I unbuttoned the top two buttons and rubbed water on my chest, breath hitching in time with my pounding heart.

My hand rubbed across something warm and sharp, long and thin, that snaked against my skin like a living thing.

I froze.

I didn't have to move my hand to know what lay under it. It was the crux of my plan, after all—my plan to get out of here, and to spare my friends the burden of saving me from this place. My fingers scrabbled for the small metal object. Held it tight inside my fist. Felt the heat of it, warm from the glow of my skin.

My charade of being a willing captive had gone on long enough, I decided. I'd had my fill of this hidden canon. It was time, instead, to leave here, and to put my plan into action at last.

So: I did what needed to be done, and I left the bathroom.

Naru had joined Itsuki on the other side of the couch. They looked up and toward me when the door creaked open, but I caught a flash of their hands laced together atop the back of the couch, Itsuki tucking hair behind Naru's ear with more tenderness than I expected from the even keeled demon. Naru looked at me with wide eyes, but Itsuki murmured something in her ear that made her draw in a deep breath.

"I upset you," Naru said. She dipped an apologetic bow, hair swinging like a black curtain on either side of her face. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." A lie, but she didn't need to know that. Still, Itsuki's eyes narrowed, so I knew I had to let something slip. I amended, "It was just a shock, the things you were saying."

Itsuki's eyes narrowed further. He stepped to the side and slid behind Naru, arms around her shoulders as he pillowed his chin on her shoulder.

"She doesn't even know the whole truth," he said, mouth twisting toward her ear, "but you could see it in her eyes, couldn't you, Naru?"

She tucked her hands over his arm, clinging to him. "Yes. I could. She's smart." Yet again, her eyes took on the weight of immense sorrow. "You think humans have good in them. Don't you, Keiko?"

"I—yes," I said. "Of course."

The weight grew heavier. Naru sighed, Itsuki's arms closing around her in time with her exhaled breath.

"I mean. Humans are all different," I said, though why I felt the need to defend my statement I wasn't sure. "Humans can be good. They can be bad. It's all grey, I think."

But Naru only looked sadder, and once more Itsuki whispered something against her ear. Her eyes fell shut, head lolling back against him.

"So naïve, Itsuki," she lamented, as if I wasn't even there. "She's so naïve, and she doesn't even know it. I feel so badly for her."

"Yes, Naru. As do I." His golden eyes fixed upon me, as if to sear me to ash where I stood. "If only she could be enlightened."

"If only." Her lids lifted, eyes glittering black beneath them. "And to think, she could have been such a good friend. It is so sad we met when we did and not sooner."

"Don't despair, Naru," said Itsuki. "There is time, if  _he_  finds her worthy."

My heart thudded into my stomach, bouncing off it like a trampoline and up into the column of my neck. Its beat rattled in my ears like drums—because there was no mistaking whom Itsuki meant.

Naru understood, as well. She twisted in his arms to look at him. "Worthy?" she said. "You mean you think he might want to make her one of our special friends?"

"Perhaps," said Itsuki. He curled her hair behind her ear, looking down into her face with undisguised warmth. "But you have to ask him, don't you? You have to ask him to look at her, and judge her."

"But… but it's so late," Naru said, voice the merest whisper. "We have so little time."

"Yes. But it is as you said, Naru. You must treasure the friends you have while you have them. Even a short time left together can be infinitely sweet." He turned her my way, arms around her once again. "Look at her," Itsuki said against her cheek. "Look at her, and see. I believe she could be useful." His lips curled, a grin that all but writhed across my skin. "I think he'll agree, if you only look."

"All right, Itsuki," Naru said. She relaxed a little in his grip. "I'll look."

The urge to step backward, to cloister myself inside the bathroom and out of sight, rose high and hot and strong inside my chest, but somehow Naru's stare kept me pinned cleanly to the floor. Her eyes distanced themselves, vacant but somehow intense, and then with a snap they focused again—and they focused directly on me. With a motion too sharp, too precise to truly belong to Naru, those eyes flickered up and down my body, gauging and assessing as my hackles rose and the hair on my arms prickled to attention.

When Naru next spoke, her voice deepened to a rich, smooth baritone, and at the sound I froze absolutely solid.

"You were right, Itsuki," said the voice that was not Naru. "She could indeed be very useful in the days to come. How silly of me, not to see it sooner."

And then the intensity cleared, delicate delight taking its place. It was Naru who said, "Oh, do you mean it? Do you really mean she can be one of our special friends?"

The intensity returned like a bolt of lightning. "Yes, darling Naru," he (because I am sure this was a 'he' who spoke) thundered. "She can."

Naru returned again. She shrugged Itsuki aside and rounded the couch with an exclamation of pleasure. "Did you hear that, Keiko! He approves!" I backed up a pace, but she caught me and grasped my hands in hers. "You're about to be one of our most special friends. Aren't you excited?"

"Uh. I mean." I tried to pull my hands away, but she held to them tight. "We're already friends, so—?"

"But we're not friends the way we could be." Regret flickered through her gaze. "But you're so nice. I'm sure you think this world is good, don't you?"

"I mean—like I said, I think that people are grey, and that—"

She blinked, then sniffled. She let go with one hand so she could wipe at her eyes, which had begun to fill with tears again. "My heart is breaking," she said, but she shook her head. "No. It's broken already. It's shattered like a mirror as it reflects your face, and soon I will see that reflection disintegrate into something new. But don't worry." She reached for me, cupping my cheek and giving one of her kindest, most earnest stares. "We'll make it better, soon."

"I—" I said.

She turned from me. "Itsuki. I think we need the video." And she looked my way before her words could truly sink in. "I'm so sorry, Keiko. But it's for the best."

By the time she finished speaking, her meaning caught up with my reality. Itsuki walked away, past us toward one of the doors and disappeared through it. I yanked my hands from Naru's, but like a striking snake she captured them again, regret and apology and kindness etched into her face like scrimshaw.

"I'm sorry." My words sounded clicking, mechanical. "I don't have time for a movie. I really should be getting home. My parents will be worried sick."

Naru shushed me, once more reaching for me face. "Don't fret. It'll be over soon, and I'll be here to hold you when it's finished." She stepped close enough to press her forehead to mine, bending to stare directly into my eyes with a wide smile. But the tears hadn't stopped falling, and the array of emotions on her face made me almost dizzy. "Don't worry, Keiko. I'm here for you. Because we're friends."

Over her shoulder, I saw Itsuki emerge from bedroom with a video tape in his hand.

The sight of it gave me the strength I needed to wrest myself from Naru's grasp. I yanked away and stumbled, backing up until I hit the windows overlooking the downtown skyline beyond. The lights of the skyscrapers cast red and blue and green prisms across my hands as I held them up, warding Naru and Itsuki away with all the strength of a newborn cat. "Itsuki, no,  _please no_ , I can't—"

Itsuki walked to the TV set. Turned it on with the press of a button. Cool eyes looked me up and down, their detached gaze not matching the smile on his mouth. "Interesting. You're scared of this little video cassette." He held it up, waving it at me, and laughed when I pressed my back against the windows. "One might think you already know what it contains."

He was no help, then. "Naru," I said instead, desperation cracking my voice like glass on pavement. "Please. Please don't do this to me.  _Please don't._ If we're friends, friends accept each other, even their shortcomings, so  _please please please don't—"_

For a moment, I thought Naru might actually listen. She pressed her fingers to her lips and looked at me, still crying, and did not move.

But then her head cocked to the side. Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling. A beat passed in silence.

Naru nodded, heeding the words of voices I could not hear, and strode briskly toward me.

Despite my pleas, my cries for mercy, my demands for them to respect my wishes, Naru latched onto my wrist and dragged me to the couch. Her nails dug into my wrists as she forced me onto the cushions, her arms possessed with strength I hadn't sensed in her before. She watched over her shoulder as Itsuki inserted Chapter Black—that video that would surely ruin me, that video that was sure to corrupt and degrade and destroy me from the very first frame—into the VCR below the television set. Naru gave a nod when the screen lit up with an odd black glow that hurt my eyes and lodged behind them like the beginnings of a migraine, and as Itsuki stepped away from the TV, she let go of my wrist.

This was a mistake on her part. The second she let go, nails easing backward out of my skin with her retreat, I bolted. I ran for the window and the amazing view beyond, air screaming in and out of my chest with every breath. I was already hyperventilating, and the video hadn't even started.

Naru made a sound of distress, but Itsuki pressed pause on the VCR and frowned. "You do," he said. "You do know what's on it. Spirit World has kept you more informed than I assumed."

"Don't—don't come near me!" I rasped. I held up a hand, the other braced against the icy window. "Don't touch me, I can't—"

"Keiko," Naru said in an attempt to soothe. "It will be OK, I promise. I'm your friend. It will hurt for a little while, like a vaccine first entering the bloodstream, but then…then the world will open. You'll see the truth." She stepped my way, sorrow in her eyes as I moved away and out of reach. "Truth isn't something to run from. It's something to embrace, even if you must swallow the dire pain of it, first."

"No.  _No!"_  I snarled. "I refuse, I won't, I will not watch that video,  _I refuse—!"_

Naru didn't move—but from behind her, Itsuki lunged my way.

I screamed. I couldn't help it. Tension stretched inside me so tight I couldn't keep the sound inside, nor could I keep from babbling incoherent protests as Itsuki chased me down the line of windows, around the kitchen island, and back toward the couch. Naru watched our game of cat and mouse (because Itsuki was definitely treating this like a game, letting me run and tire before he pounced) with her mouth behind her hand, tears still slipping like gems from her dark eyes. Itsuki chased me back to the couch and then around it to the TV, and to get away from him I vaulted over the couch, his hand just missing the hem of my flapping dress. I hit the ground funny, though, and canted to one side, back toward the windows I had to once more brace myself against. Both hands pressed flat to the glass, the reflection of my terrified face filled my vision, frantic breath fogging the glass with every ragged exhale. City lights peppered the image of my face with diamonds. I squeezed my eyes shut when I saw the ghostly figure of Itsuki advancing behind me, but knowing this was no bad dream I could wake myself from with a thought, I forced my eyes to open again—but a shadow flickered behind the pale moon of my reflected face.

I looked past myself.

And I saw it.

It's funny, what happened to me when I saw that flash of electric gold. The wire inside me slackened, tension draining like water from a tub, and my breathing calmed at once. My heart ceased to stammer in my chest. My hands slid from the window and dropped to my sides, shoulders straightening and head lifting as the gold flash repeated once again. My chin inclined. I reached for the neckline of my dress and reached beneath it, grabbing the golden pendant that lay warm against my skin.

In the reflection of the window, the bauble pulsed bright pink in a steady rhythm, heart-shaped light beating in time with my own.

"I'm sorry, Naru," I said, eyes still locked on the world beyond the glass. "But friends don't treat friends like this."

"Oh, Keiko." She sobbed somewhere behind me, every word gummy with emotion. "Oh, Keiko. Poor Keiko."

"I'm sorry," I said. I turned to look at her and Itsuki both. For Naru I forced a smile, but when my eyes met Itsuki's where he stood (much close than I would have liked) I let the smile drop. "I'm sorry, but this is goodbye."

Behind me, the windows shattered.

Itsuki threw up his arms to shield his face, and Naru screamed, but I barely heard her or saw him thanks to the wall of glass that came exploding inward, carried indoors on a frigid and screaming wind. We were twenty stories up on New Year's Eve; the wind acted as such, threatening to suck me backwards and out of the skyscraper to the ground below, but just as I started to slide backward in the grip of the wind, I collided with something solid. An arm slipped around my waist, and in my ear a soft voice said, "May I have this dance?"

My eyes—which had shut as soon as the glass peppered my back with stinging shards—opened.

Sailor V stood at my side, one hand raised above her head, hand wrapped in the end of a golden chain that extended backward into the sky beyond. A wall of heart-shaped chain links of that same golden energy filled the space between Itsuki and I, floor to ceiling, a net of protection that would keep us from him. V's hair floated on the freeze, undulating and snapping with the beat of the wind, and when I saw her eyes flash triumphant blue, I couldn't keep from smiling back.

"Thought you'd never ask," I told her—but before she could sweep me off my feet, Itsuki moved.

We looked as one in his direction. He picked his way with dancer-like grace over the shimmering debris on the floor, a field of stars that did not deter him in the slightest as he approached the golden barrier filling the empty air. I tensed as he raised his hand, but when he brushed his fingertips over the shimmering strands, they brightened and let off a crackle of even brighter light. His fingers—now blackened at the tips—trailed smoke, and I'm certain they must've sizzled (though I couldn't hear for the roaring wind). He stepped back with a scowl, but I saw now more because Venus yanked on the chain in her hand. The light trailing from her fist pulled taut and then yanked us up and back out of the window; my stomach surely stayed behind even as a screech ripped from my lungs, and with startling clarity  
I felt one of my shoes fly clean off my foot as we were wrenched skyward.

I'm not sure if I saw the stars above or the lights of the city as we sailed away from Itsuki's grasp, but there was really no telling. The world spun over on itself in a kaleidoscope of colors, lights, and intermittent darkness, wind buffeting every part of me at every turn, and to keep from falling ill I squeezed shut my eyes and clung to Minato (no, to Sailor V, that's who he—I mean,  _she_  was in this moment, per her long-ago request) as tightly as I could. It seemed we winged through space for a hundred years, but in only a few seconds we came to a jarring stop on solid ground. I'm sure I would've broken an ankle had V's arm around my waist not kept me aloft, her super powered legs taking the fall instead of my average human ones. My stomach struggled to catch up with the rest of me as we came to that thunderous stop; I breathed deeply, in and out, as wind struck through my hair and sent it flying.

"Keiko," V said.

I opened my eyes.

We stood on the edge of a skyscraper, staring down at a street full of rushing cars, headlights glancing off of slick windows and casting disco ball reflections like a sky of spinning stars. V lifted one gloved hand and up and pointed across this street, and for a second I wasn't sure what she meant to indicate—but then I followed the direction of her masked eyes and saw it. I saw the long stripe of shattered window across the street, midway up the adjacent skyscraper and only a few floors above our perch.

Itsuki, Naru tucked safely under his arm, stared down at us.

V wasn't interested in a staring contest, though. She grabbed my hand and tugged me after her with a cry of "Come on!"—but I pulled my hand from hers, and I did not allow her to move me.

It was curious, what happened then. The way Itsuki's voice wormed its way inside my skull, resonating in the depths of my brain as if he spoke directly to it. At first he only said my name, politely asking me to wait, to listen, but as V once more snatched my wrist and pulled me after her, his tone changed.

His tone changed, and he made a demand.

He made a demand I didn't dare acknowledge, or think about, because it was too terrible, too dangerous, too  _insane_  to comprehend—but in spite of the insanity, I felt myself nod. I felt myself nod, and through the unspoken connection we inexplicably shared, I heard myself tell him,  _yes._

_Good_ , came Itsuki's reply, and he nodded back as V clamped down and pulled me after her into the dark.

Itsuki did not follow us.

He had promised me he would not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those SOS beacon necklaces Minato gave to Kagome and Keiko weren't just for show. ;)
> 
> I was super excited to work with one of Sensui's lesser-known personalities, only alluded to but never shown in the manga and anime. Naru, the gentle poet personality, the one woman of Sensui's seven personas, and the one Itsuki loves most second only to Shinobu… but Shinobu did make an eerie appearance, which was fun. And finally, those random bits of poetry I've memorized became useful…
> 
> I forgot to mention it last week, but while on hiatus I wrote a one-shot for Children of Misfortune that showed the gang reacting to Keiko's disappearance (from Kurama's POV, no less). It's in chapter 12 of that collection, so please go check it out if you haven't already.
> 
> Also forgot to mention Children of Misfortune chapter 13, another one-shot I released during hiatus that shows another potential Switcheroo character from a certain 90s magical girl anime… and no, I don't mean Sailor Moon. Enjoy!
> 
> Many thanks to all those who came out and welcomes LC's return from hiatus! You made my day and I was so happy to know you were still here when I got back. Thank you endlessly for your comments and support; you make the time it takes to create these chapters each week worth it. I'm almost out of battery (updating on my phone) so I'll write out everyone's names tomorrow. :) Love all of you!!


	78. Mini-boss, Misnamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK tells stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my stars there will be TYPOS in this one, but I'm rushing to get this out before midnight so fuck it, I'll fix them tomorrow or whenever, I have to get up at 8 and drive 7 hours to get home. GOODNIGHT.

At the edge of the rooftop, Sailor V wrapped her arm around my waist and jumped. Her powerful leap ripped us from solid ground and sent us flying into space, over onto the roof of the next building where we sprinted to the another edge and made another mad dive in oblivion. Roof to roof, building to building, it seemed we'd crossed the whole of Tokyo (if that's even where we were) by the time V jumped down to ground level—an wild freefall that had me screaming _absolute bloody murder._ My shriek of fright didn't last long, however. We slammed onto the ground so hard the pavement cracked under V's red heels, and then V grabbed my hand and pulled me through an alley at a full tilt sprint before I could really get to wailing. The running halted abruptly, too, when we came upon a metal door festooned with inappropriate graffiti; in front of this V stopped, reaching into the pocket of her skirt to pull a handful of small metal crescent moons. What they were clicked in my head when she knelt by the door and stuck them to the corners of it: portal-stickers, or whatever she called them, her devices that could turn any door into a TARDIS portal and transport us from one place to the next. True to my prediction, when she wrenched the door open it showed not the inside of a skyscraper or warehouse, but rather a view of a supermarket aisle—specifically the frozen section.

"C'mon," V urged before shoving me through. When I stepped over the threshold, a blast of frigid air washed over my bare arms. We stumbled from a freezer of frozen foods that had somehow turned partially into an alleyway, and when V shut the door behind us, the view through the door's pane changed from dingy concrete to brightly colored TV dinners as light glinted off the glass, colors burring and then shifting like an odd trick of even odder light.

V left me no time to marvel, however. She grabbed my hand, and once again we started running.

We ran through the dimly lit grocery store and into the storage area in back, then out a door (one V kicked down with a distinct clatter of shattered lock) and into yet another alley. At her behest we ran down this alley, cold winter air slicing through my lungs, and through another of her portals. This one led into somebody's house. I tried not to think about whose as we vaulted over a couch and tracked dirt through the kitchen, out a back door into a yard, where V transformed the door of a shed into a portal to an empty construction yard. The door we came out of there was set in a freestanding wall not yet incorporated into the construction site. No one was there, thank my lucky stars, because I'm sure we would've confused the shit out of anyone who saw us come out that door. We were a blonde superhero and a girl missing a shoe wearing a wilted flower in her hair; an odd picture, to be sure. I wondered if V even thought about that as she led the way to a big backhoe rig and started sticking moons on its cockpit door. Probably not. She was quite single-minded in crisis, not dwelling on the dumb shit I couldn't get out of my brain.

"Ready," V said. She stepped back from the door and heaved it open, revealing the rise of a distant, snow-capped mountain inside the construction vehicle. "Let's go."

I marched forward—but with a hiss of pain I stopped, snatching my right foot off the gravelly ground and lifting my knee up nearly to my chest. Foot on fire, I reached under it and felt around until my fingers encountered the smooth but jagged jut of a piece of glass sticking from my heel. That's what I got for running around without a shoe, I guess. V's eyes widened behind her mask; she started to say something, but I shook my head and grabbed the glass. Deep inhale, no time for panic, I yanked the glass out on the air of my exhalation, pain lancing up my leg like a bolt of lightning in the bone.

Suffice it to say, V had to help my clamber up the ladder into the cockpit of the backhoe, because my legs had started shaking too badly to do it alone.

V's portal had taken us to a train depot in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. A big concrete slab sat beside a line of train tracks that stretched east and west until they disappeared into the dark. Snowy mountains loomed high above in all directions, evergreens swaying dark against their stark white sides. A tiny ticket booth, front window dim under the light of the distant moon, gleamed silver as we stepped out of the door beside it and onto the depot's breadth. A bench under an awning sat beside the booth; I collapsed onto it, head lolling over the backrest as air rasped from my chest. It was far colder here than it had been in the city, but I felt too hot with adrenaline and running to truly feel it. Pain wrapped my foot in heat, too, another barrier against the airy cold. I shut my eyes and opened them, squeezing tears back into their dry depths. Above me, affixed to the underside of the bench's shelter, hung a light. Moths flapped around it in circles, though I don't know how they survived in this bitter cold.

"Where are we?" I said when I caught my breath.

"North of Tokyo. _Very_ north of Tokyo." V had pulled what looked like a tiny tablet computer from her pocket; she studied it, finger swiping over the screen as flickering blue light cast shadows over her face. "Leaving a trail they can't follow."

I shut my eyes. "They won't come after us."

"… what?" said V.

"They aren't going to chase us," I repeated.

"How do you…?"

"I just do." I cracked an eye and smiled at her, in lieu of proper explanations I did not want to give. "Take me home, OK?"

V nodded. Pulled more moon-stickers from her pocket and began applying them to the ticket booth's door. Her heels clicked over the concrete ground, echoing in the snowy, mountainous hush suffusing the still and quiet air.

"It's just as well," V muttered as she worked. "I doubt they can sense me, anyway."

I slid forward in my seat. "Oh?"

"I can't sense them, or at least I can't sense them well. I assume the same works in reverse." She stood and brushed off her skirt, mouth turned down in a troubled frown. "Their energy is on a completely different wavelength—like trying to detect shadows with sonar."

"Makes sense since you're two different power types, I guess. Two different canons probably don't play by the same rules." I considered that a moment, replaying the last hour in my head. "But your shield burned Itsuki, so that's something."

V nodded, eyes roving over the mountains. I started to get up, expecting her to open the depot door and get us running again, but she held out a hand and shook her head. Like myriad fireflies swimming from the darkness, golden light flickered and then blossomed into being around her body, a bright flash that faded to reveal the form of Minato beneath. Hair hung long and loose down his back, V's bright red ribbon vanishing in the wake of transformation. Minato gathered the hair and began to braid it, fingers methodical and quick around the strands.

"What took you so long, anyway?" I said, mostly joking. "They damn near almost made me watch Chapter Black."

"I was busy." Blue eyes cut my way. "Why me?"

"Huh?"

"Why did you call for me, and not your canon friends?"

I shrugged. "They're not ready for Sensui."

"And I am?" Minato said.

"Maybe. But either way, you were my best bet."

"Why's that?"

"Kurama can shield himself from prying eyes. Itsuki is strong—as strong, at least, but more than likely even stronger. I figured he could do the same. I didn't think even Hiei could find me if Itsuki didn't want me to be found," I said. I fished my necklace from my dress, the heart-shaped pendant blinking steady red. "But I highly doubted they thought to shield from GPS, or whatever this uses, so…"

His mouth curled in a small smile. "Heh. Quick thinking." Minato stopped braiding and held out a hand. "Give me that."

He took the necklace and, using his fingernail, made a twisting motion on the back of it. The pulsing light darkened and stopped, magical object a mundane gold pendant once more—only Minato didn't hand it over to me again. He stared at it, gold chain descending in a swinging arc from the sides of his palm, eyes luminous against his pale skin and glimmering hair.

"Why did you pause back there?" he said.

I jumped a little, startled by his whispered words.

"You stopped to look back, atop the skyscraper." His eyes moved from the pendant to my face, searching. "Why?"

I wanted to answer Minato. Really, I did. But the words lodged in my throat like food not properly swallowed, and I remained quiet. Still, my silence must have been telling, because Minato's eyes narrowed.

"He spoke to you, didn't he," Minato said—and it was not a question, despite the phrasing.

I laughed, looking down at my feet. Blood smeared the pavement; my laughter died. "Am I that easy to read?" I said.

"No. Yes. Sometimes." Minato shook his head. "You said they weren't chasing us. I deduced they must have communicated that intention to you now. My only question now is what, exactly, did Itsuki say to you?"

Again, and to my immense shame, I hesitated. It wasn't that I didn't trust Minato with that information—far from it. In truth, I didn't trust myself with what Itsuki had said to me atop the skyscraper, nor did I trust my ability to convey the nuances of all I'd had to promise him.

I needed time. Time to think, and to process, and to move past the horror hanging over my head like a sword suspended on a fraying thread.

Luckily Minato understood, or at least had the patience to wait for me to get the nerve to speak. He began to braid his hair again, securing it at the tip with a hair tie from his pocket.

"You're tired," he said. "We'll talk later."

I nodded, grateful, as he pulled scissors from his pocket and sawed through his hair. It hung in a severe sweep along the length of his jaw, sort of a bob style—like that one guy from Princess Jellyfish. In that moment I couldn't think of his name. Still, the comparison stood, and Minato put away the severed hair and his scissors with swift assurance.

"But later, Captain, we will have to trade war stories." He eyed me over critically. "I can see you have a long one to tell. That much is easy to read." And he looked at my foot again. "But for now, we need to get you home and get that wound cleaned."

I was so grateful, it was all I could do to nod and walk with him through the portal.

We came out in an alley, which I was starting to suspect was Minato's absolute favorite setting for a portal-door entrance. I'd seen enough alleys that night for a lifetime, and as we stepped from the mountain train depot to a city alley (the faint rush and occasional honk of a car horn giving away our new locale) I staggered. It wasn't the pain in my heel or the soreness in my back—rather, it was the transition from pure but bitter cold to slightly warmer air that stank of tar and trash that had me reeling. Exhaling icy air and breathing in merely cold air did something to my chest, tightened with the surprise of transition, sapping strength from my bones and placing exhaustion in my muscles. I listed sideways against the brick of the alley wall, one hand braced on the side of the adjacent building to keep myself upright.

Minato appeared at my side. "You're exhausted," he observed.

"Yeah. No shit." I breathed a heavy sigh and passed my fingers through my hair. "Been up since dawn, and it's nearly dawn again. Plus all that running, the adrenaline." A bitter smile crossed my mouth, my eyes burning like I'd smeared them with pepper oil. "I'm about to collapse."

"I see," said Minato. He started to speak, then stopped, and then he gave a curt nod. "Please excuse me for this."

I frowned. "Excuse you for—hey, _what the hell do you think you're doing?!"_

Minato, with the efficiency of a programmed machine, had scooped me up like a sack of grain, one knee behind my back and the other beneath my knees. Even though he was smaller than me, my weight didn't seem to bother him at all, his voice clear and without strain when he said, "You're tired and bleeding. I'm carrying you."

"Not like this, you're not!" I sputtered.

He frowned. "Why?"

"It's undignified!" I kicked my heels, resisting the urge to put an arm around his neck for balance. "I'm no princess!"

"Of course not," he said, "but you _are_ injured and exhausted. This is the most logical solution to our current predicament."

"Minato—!"

He looked down at me with a scowl that bordered on a glare—and dammit, this was not the time to notice he had great cheekbones and that this longer haircut really suited him. Minato, dammit all to hell, was cute, and in a few years I got the sense he'd grow into his enormous eyes and turn into quite the heartbreaker. My cheeks flushed of their own accord; I looked down and away with a frustrated growl.

"I can walk on my toes and not hurt myself." I wriggled, trying to get him to drop me. "So put me down and I'll—"

"DROP HER, ASSHOLE, OR I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL MAKE YOU A PAVEMENT STAIN SO FAST YOUR HEAD'LL SPIN!"

Minato and I flinched as one, heads swiveling toward the end of the alley and the source of that brash command. My jaw dropped, of course, because not twenty feet away, silhouette unmistakable where it loomed in the alley mouth, stood one Urameshi Yusuke—and he stood with hand raised, one finger pointed straight at us.

"Shit," I said.

"Fuck," Minato concurred under his breath.

Yusuke's arm tensed, and then from above dropped a figure. It fell from the sky and landed next to Yusuke, rising to its full but unimpressive height like a striking snake, and then from the gloom beyond appeared two more figures wreathed in shadow—all dim, but I knew them at once.

Yusuke. Hiei. Kuwabara. Kurama.

Oh. Well.

This wasn't good.

"I said drop her!" Yusuke repeated.

"Calm down." I had a hard time seeing Yusuke's face since he was backlit by a light beyond the mouth of the alley, but I tried to meet his eyes just the same. "He's a friend, Yusuke."

"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see a receipt." Was it just me, or could I see the blue light building in his fingertip, faint but visible in the dark? "Put her down or I swear I'll—"

I swore again and bucked, telling Minato to let me go. He did so, making a sound of protest as I installed myself between him and Yusuke like a shield. Yusuke drew in an audible breath as I held out my arms, blocking his shot on Minato with my own body.

"Stop being prickly," I said. I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. "He's a friend, dumbass."

Yusuke ground his teeth. "Keiko—!"

"What, you gonna shoot me, too?" I said.

He made a noise like he wanted to strangle me but couldn't because there were too many witness. "If I have to, maybe!" he snarled.

"Well, tough shit, because I won't allow it." I raised a hand and pointed my very harmless finger at him. "We do not point dangerous fingers at friends in this household, dammit!"

Yusuke swore so colorfully I had to resist the urge to reprimand him, but after a minute, his hand dropped to his side like a very annoyed stone. However, at his side I saw Hiei step forward, cutting toward us through the alley at a fast clip. I started to greet him, but reflective red eyes flashed in the dark, Jagan glowing brilliant violet, and he blurred from view. At first I thought he'd just flitted away, made sure I was really back and then went on his merry way, but a thump came from behind me and Minato let out a muffled gasp. Hiei had grabbed him by the collar and shoved him back against the wall, glaring up at Minato (who was only slightly taller than the fire demon) with an expression of livid scrutiny.

Minato, meanwhile, appeared thoroughly unbothered by this, staring at Hiei as impassively as one stares at a weather report.

"You too, Hiei?!" I hobbled forward and grabbed onto his elbow, trying to drag him away. "Stop it!"

Brilliant scarlet flashed again. "Meigo—"

"He saved my life, dammit!" I hollered. "Let him go!"

Hiei, like Yusuke, clearly did not want to listen to me, and it took far longer than I would've liked for him to finally release Minato's collar and stalk off. I wheeled on the others as soon as he got out of striking distance, glaring at Kurama and Kuwabara in turn.

"Either of you want to take a shot? Make this four for four?" I said. "Because I really hate repeating myself and if you haven't gotten the picture by now, then—"

Kuwabara dashed toward me. I gave a small half-scream, thinking he was going to take a shot at Minato, too, but instead he ignored Minato completed and grabbed my shoulders in his massive, shaking hands. I started, taken aback at the tremor cascading down his wrists, as he looked me up and down with wide, desperate eyes. "I don't give a crap about him—are you OK?" Kuwabara said "Where the heck have you been, Keiko?!"

The concern in his voice, that undercurrent of panic too strong to be denied, had tears pricking at my exhausted eyes. I mopped my face and hung my head. "Long story. Even longer night," I told him. My smile probably looked harrowed, but I offered it, anyway. "But I'm all right."

"Are you certain of that?" came Kurama's smooth inquiry. He stepped to Kuwabara's side, looking me over as Kuwabara had—only his eyes remained cool, distant, and assessing. "You're bleeding."

"Yeah, I know." I lifted my foot off the ground. "I lost my shoe and stepped on some glass, and—"

"No. Not from your foot." He waved a hand in a circle. "I think your back is…"

My brow knit with confusion. I craned my head over my shoulder. My eyes widened; I spun like a dog chasing its tail, trying to get a good look at the utter carnage that had become of my dress. The back of my outfit had been cut to ribbons, blood oozing from a dozen shallow cuts I'd ceased to feel in the winter's cold. As soon as I saw them, however, they flared to life with stinging pain—pain I had mistaken for general soreness after running and jumping and evading monsters. That's adrenaline for you, I guess, but I wasn't bothered so much by the dozens of scraps no doubt caused by the exploding window at Itsuki's place. No, there was a much direr issue at hand, and upon realizing it I let out a shocked shriek.

"Oh my god, my dress!" I warbled. "We bought it special for tonight and it's ruined! My mom is gonna kill me." I spun again, trying to determine if my dress could be salvaged, and in the process I stepped awkwardly on my injured foot; my knee buckled, but the pain came secondary to my other source of foot-based agony. Staring in horror at my feet, I said, "And oh my god, my shoe, I lost my shoe, what am I going to tell my parents?!"

Hiei gave a grunt of disgust. "You disappeared from existence and you're worried about your _footwear?_ "

Beside him, Yusuke muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "typical."

"Yes, I'm worried about my damn shoe," I retorted. "It was a really nice shoe, and I—wait." I blinked at Hiei. "I disappeared from _what?"_

"You disappeared, Keiko." Kuwabara's voice sounded absurdly small issuing from his large frame; he put his hands on my shoulders again, as if to assure himself I was really there. "None of us could sense you at all. Even Hiei—and Kurama said your scent went cold—" He swallowed, words thick with emotion. "We thought you might be dead."

On that last word, his voice actually cracked. He rubbed at his nose, turning his face away for a minute, and in my throat all attempts at language died a sudden death. I mean, obviously IO thought they'd be worried about where I'd gone and would have trouble sensing or finding me, but—but to think they thought I was dead, or didn't exist, or whatever? Holy shit.

"Oh my god." My hand covered my mouth. "Oh my god. That's. _Wow._ "

Kuwabara just nodded in return. After all, there wasn't much else to be said.

Not that Yusuke got the memo. He swaggered on up and brushed Kuwabara aside, arms crossing over his chest as he glared at me nose to nose. "So tell us. Where the hell were you, exactly? Why are you all bloody and where's your shoe?" He glanced over my shoulder. "And who the heck is _blondie_ over there?"

Kurama said, "His name is Minato, and he is one of Keiko's fellow _aikido_ students."

Yusuke did a double take. "Wait. You've met this guy?"

"Once, and only briefly," said Kurama. He studied Minato like he'd study a plant, green eyes distant but undeniably present. "He struck me as a typical human child at the time. Now, however, I am not so sure."

"Huh?" said Kuwabara.

"He didn't balk in the slightest at Hiei's evil eye," Kurama delicately observed.

The bottom fell out of my stomach as I turned to look at Hiei more closely—and, yeah, he wasn't wearing his bandana, Jagan wide open and visible for the world to see. Rapid-fire calculations sparked inside my head, but my obvious play to solve this dilemma (playing dumb, pretending I hadn't seen the eye) wasn't Minato's style. He made no excuses, nor did he provide any explanations as everyone's gazes shifted to him. He got busy brushing off the navy coat he wore over a shirt and tie, and when he noticed he'd become the object of scrutiny, he merely lifted a brow at the world at large.

"And suddenly I'm popular," he said, adopting a polite smile. "But you're chasing the wrong rabbit, I'm afraid. I have no obligation to reveal to you my secrets."

It was almost uncanny, the looks of displeasure that crossed the faces of Yusuke and all his companions, but I was in no mood to laugh. "How do you know Keiko?" Yusuke said.

Minato waved at Kurama. "He just said—"

" _Aikido_ , like Kurama said," I cut in. "We study under the same Sensei. But can we leave the interrogation for the morning? I'm about to fall over."

And this was true, even if I was more concerned with getting Minato out of here than I was finding my way into a cozy bed… for the most part, anyway. I stumbled to the side, walking carefully on my toes, and sat on a pile of deconstructed cardboard boxes with all the heaviness of a KOed prizefighter hitting the mat. My eyes and foot and back all burned, and with a sigh my head dropped into my freezing hands. The cold really set in, then, shivers igniting in my muscles with the insistence of a hive of bees.

'What time is it, anyway?" I grumbled.

"6 AM," Kurama supplied. "The sun rises in half an hour or so."

"Shit. And I'm supposed to go to the temple with Mom and Dad."

Yusuke snorted. "Fat chance of that. You look like a zombie."

"Can it, Yusuke."

"Make me."

I lifted a hand toward him, knowing it was covered in grime and dried blood. "I'll smear blood on your face if you're not careful."

" _Enough jokes!"_

My head jerked up. Everyone, Minato included, had turned to stare at Hiei after his outburst. He stood with hands in pockets, feet spread beneath him, teeth bared as he shot daggers from his eyes and tried to spear me with his red gaze.

"You faded from existence like a memory forgotten, and you trade jokes with the Detective?" he continued. "Where were you, Meigo? I demand you tell me, now!"

His anger blazed hot enough to warm the alley, cold air heating in time with Hiei's frustration. I lifted my hands up, trying to placate him as I said, "I will, Hiei. I will tell you. I promise I'll tell you everything. Just—I don't know where to start." My voice started to shake, breaths rattling down my throat like swallowed coins. "I don't know what to say. I need to sleep. Please, just let me sleep and I'll tell you everything tomorrow." I swallowed; tried to smile; failed. "Please?"

Kuwabara rushed to soothe, because that is who he is. He knelt beside me and put a hand on my knee, smile warm and comforting. "It's OK, Keiko. You've been through hell so you can have whatever you need." The warmth turned to hard determination when he looked over his shoulder at the others. "We can wait to ask question till later. _Right_ , guys?"

Everyone exchanged a glance. It lasted for approximately ten seconds, and then Yusuke, Hiei, and Kurama sighed in unison.

"Fine," Yusuke grumbled. "Sleep first, questions later." At that a yawn broke through his peeved expression; he lifted his arms, stretching. "I'm dog tired, too."

"As am I," Kurama said, though of course he looked perfect and I couldn't tell if he was actually tired or just being nice. "She's back, and she's safe." His eyes traveled to me, as if promising to follow through on his next words. "I suppose that matters most, and the details can wait until her wounds have been tended to."

"Great. Wonderful. Lovely," I said. To Minato I added, "How far are we from my place?"

"A block or so."

"Good." I reached out. "Help me up."

He came forward to help, though natural Kuwabara grabbed my hands and helped me stand, too. I stumbled a little, legs wobbly, but Minato managed to snake an arm around my waist and hold me up. I looped my arm around his neck; he latched onto that wrist, supporting me in a fireman's carry past my friends and out of the alley.

The rest of them watched in tense silence, the low murmur of their malcontented and confused voices following us down the street, but I ignored them. Walking was hard enough as it was without Yusuke's kvetching dogging my steps—and besides. Getting home had turned into an enormous mess, and I needed time to think and sort this out. They knew Minato wasn't exactly normal. But what did they suspect him of? And how—

I yawned so hard my eyes watered.

Oh, lordy. I was in no shape to strategize, was I?

Luckily no one tried to interrogate me as we walked home. I'd never been so happy to see my parents' ramen shop, eyes watering for an entirely different reason as we entered its warm and dark interior. But eager to get to the haven of my bedroom as I was, I paused at the doorway, unwilling or perhaps unable to make myself move forward.

In the shadows near the stares, I swear I saw something move.

"What is it?" said Minato.

I jumped at the sound of his voice, and the shadows stopped their swimming. I'd been seeing things, I guessed, and to cover my unease I waggled my bad foot. "I'm gonna get blood everywhere."

We shared a look. I knew what he wanted, and I rolled my eyes.

"Fine." I rolled my eyes again. "I swear to Christ you were a knight in your past life."

He shrugged. "I don't think they make armor my size," he said, and he picked me up the way he had the first time. This time I let myself wrap my arms around his neck, keeping my body anchored to him as he toed off his outdoor shoes and began to cross the restaurant.

"H-hey!" said Kuwabara. "What are you doing?"

"Preserving the cleanliness of the floor," Minato said, and as he reached the stairs and began to climb them, I heard Kuwabara whisper: "How does he know where her room is, anyway?"

That was yet another thing I'd have to come up with an excuse for, but just then, I couldn't have cared less about explaining Minato's familiarity with my home. I let him cart me up the stairs and kick open my bedroom door, all but falling out of his grip as soon as we got near my bed. I fell face first onto the mattress and hugged my favorite pillow to my chest with a sigh, leaving my filthy feet to dangle off the edge of the bed. It was like being an exhausted little kid again, because the minute my head hit that pillow, I felt sleep begin to descend like a heavy curtain across my eyes.

But then there came a gasp from the doorway, and Botan said my name.

"Yeah," said Yusuke (I didn't bother to look and see where he was). "She's back."

I think I heard Minato move aside, but Botan's feet slapping across the floor drowned the sound very nearly out. Soft hands alit on my back as Botan babbled, "Keiko, Keiko, I was so worried—!"

I cracked an eye, head angled enough for me to see the barest glimpse of her tear-strekaed face. Blue hair frizzled from her ponytail like static dyed blue. "Hi, Botan," I mumbled against the pillow. "Do you know how to contact Ayame?"

She blinked at me. "Ayame? Why?"

"We'll need her tomorrow."

"Whatever for?"

I shook my head, or at least I tried to. I might have just flopped a little. "Can't. Too tired," I said. "But call her. Please."

Some distant part of me (the part of me still scurrying to do damage control) feared she might resist, but instead she came through in a clutch and was my personal MVP. Good old Botan. Team player to the core. Every fiber of my sleepy self sent her thank-you-vibes as Botan patted my shoulder (carefully avoiding any wounds), gave a brisk and determined nod, and turned away with hands on her hips. Voices murmuring near the door stopped talking, then, but maybe I was imagining it.

"Well, you heard her, everyone," Botan declared. "She's got sleeping to do, and we're not helping by standing around in here. We're all tired, too, and we could use some rest after tonight's excitement." I could just imagine her winking and giving everyone a chipper thumbs up. "Let's hit the hay and figure out the rest tomorrow. What do you say, hmm?"

If there were any dissenters, I didn't hear them dissent, because the murmur of voices dissolved like salt into hot water as sleep stole over me. Botan could take care of everything. She'd put everyone to bed and make them leave me alone, to sleep and to regroup. Yeah. Botan. I loved Botan so much. What a great friend. I…

As I drifted off, one final snippet of conversation floated through the impending haze of my dreams.

"Your hair," Kurama said.

Someone gave a wordless hum of inquiry in return.

"It was much shorter last time I saw you," Kurama said, "and it hasn't been long since we met."

"I'm blessed, I suppose," Minato said.

"Blessed, and evasive," returned Kurama. "If you—"

Worry cut through the mist of fatigue. Minato was alone with my friends, but… he was smart. He was capable. He could get out of this in one piece without me.

Right?

I didn't have time to worry overmuch, because before I could even begin to wonder how he would get himself out of this, sleep dragged me inexorably into dreaming.

* * *

A sob cut the darkness. A sniffle pierced the gloom. A single light shone from above, casting golden highlights on dusky skin and inky hair. Her body shook, wracked with sobs that tasted of salt and despair.

"Do you think she'll come back?" she cried, voice muffled against his shoulder. "Oh, oh, but do you think she'll ever come back here again?"

"I do," he said as he stroked her cheek. "She'll be back, and sooner than you think."

Her chest hitched, a sob catching in her lungs like thorns. "But how can you be sure?" she said.

He didn't look at her, then, although he wore a smile intended just for her. Hands on her hair, stroking and soothing and warm, his eyes lifted. Travelled the room as they searched.

They searched, and then they found.

His eyes met mine in a flash of gold, arresting and aware, pinning me in place as surely as any spear.

"She'll come back," he assured his companion. His teeth gleamed under the good of his growing smile, and then he smiled a smile meant only and completely for me.

"After all," he said, "she _promised_."

And then I was awake, and I saw that vicious smile no more.

* * *

Light streamed through my window, warm again my cool face. A groan escaped my mouth as my lashes fluttered on my cheek—and then the quality of the light, bright and streaming from straight above, sent panic skittering through my chest. I sat up and snatched my alarm clock off my desk, sheets and a comforter tumbling about my waist. The clock read noon, and although my parents always let me sleep in on New Year's Day, they never let me sleep _this_ late because we had the temple to go to and we always ate lunch together first. Cursing, I swung my legs out of bed, but as soon as they slapped against the floor I yanked my right foot up again, hissing in pain from between my clenched teeth.

Clean, white bandages encircled my foot from my toes to my calf, bright and sterile in the afternoon light.

I remembered everything, then.

Sleep had reset me for a minute, sponging away the anxieties of the day before—though it could do little for the physical pains, nor anything for the sudden flood of "what ifs" and "what happeneds" coursing through my brain. I flopped back onto my bed with a sigh, belatedly realizing someone had changed me from my ruined dress and into a billowing pajama top. Hopefully Botan had been responsible for that. And speaking of Botan, where was she? And where were the others? My room was quite empty, door shut and chair by my desk unoccupied. Where the others asleep in the other room, or had they gone home?

Perhaps the note lying on my desk could give me a clue.

I spotted it as I returned my alarm clock to its place on my desk. A small sheet of paper, pale yellow with scalloped edges, sat beneath one of my pens. I didn't recognize the stationary, nor did I recognize the neat, even handwriting in which a message had been inscribed (in English, for whatever reason).

The note read as follows:

_"I told them I was in the area after a New Year's party when I came upon you in your bedraggled state, and that I offered to walk you home shortly before they arrived._

_Tread lightly, Captain. They're curious, and even friends are dangerous when asking questions._

_I leave the rest to you._

_Destroy this note."_

Minato had not signed his message, but I had no doubt he'd been the one to pen it. Short and to the point, containing a warning… but it was brazen of him to leave a message out in the open where anyone could read it. And how had he even snuck it in here? I'd have to ask him when I saw him next, but the note was a good start. At least now my story could be straight with Minato's before anyone tried asking questions.

Questions.

Ones I wasn't at all prepared to answer, because _just what the fucking hell was I going to tell people about last night?_

I'd been able to leverage being tired and hurt (if you can even call "collapsing uncontrollably" an intentional con) to buy myself some time to prepare my explanation, but I'd fallen asleep too soon to really plan my attack. There had been barely time, if any at all, between escaping Itsuki and reuniting with my friends to think about what I'd experienced, giving me mere seconds to prepare myself for the interrogation that was surely about to come. The angle of "be so tired you can't talk" was both a lucky break and a blessing. Now, though, I didn't have that strategy to fall back on, and I needed to get my shit together _fast_. Speaking of: Shit, shit, where was everybody? How much time did I have to think something up and get my story straight? I'd asked Botan to get Ayame, because in my sleepy miasma I'd been able to concoct the barest bit of plan involving her. Ayame was basically a stalling tactic. Asking for her might buy me a little time since surely it would take a while for Ayame to show, but in the meantime how was I going to handle—?

On cue, someone knocked on my door.

Acting purely on reflex, I crumbled Minato's note into a ball, popped it into my mouth, and swallowed it with a vague prayer to the universe that the ink he'd used was nontoxic. Someone said my name, and as I choked down the paper I managed to grind out a strangled, "Come in!"

Yusuke opened the door, Kurama following a step behind, and true to their marching order it was Yusuke who came barreling in without preamble. "So you gonna tell us what happened, or nah?" he said. He flopped down onto the chair by my desk, sitting in it backwards to stare at me with his chin pillowed on the backrest.

"Uh. No?" I said.

A vein pulsed in his forehead. "Excuse me?"

"I—I don't want to say anything without Ayame here. Has Botan gotten in touch with her?"

"How should I know?" Yusuke whined. "And why the hell does Ayame need to be here, anyway?"

"Because I think she'll have answers," I said, and when Yusuke rolled his eyes I added: "And to be completely honest, I don't want to have to explain everything more than once."

It was a haphazard excuse to keep from talking, waiting for Ayame, but as soon as I said that I didn't want to tell the story more than once… well. That was actually sort of true. Getting eaten by that monster had been terrifying; having to describe that ad nauseam sounded like torture. Perhaps this showed in my face, because Kurama settled onto the foot of my bed with a frown.

"Are you all right?" he said. He reached for my knee beneath the comforter covering it. "You look pale."

"No," I said, opting for honesty in that moment. "It, it was just a hard night and—oh god." My eyes bugged out of my skull at a new realization, one that sent chills skating up my back like icy razor blades. "Oh, oh god, _oh my god_ —!"

Yusuke leaped out of the way as I slid from my bed and grabbed at the phone on my desk, hauling the cradle into my lap so I could dial a number with shaking hands. The phone rang twice before someone picked up, and at the sound of a small, cheery voice a measure of relief swept through me—but it didn't last long.

"Hey, kid," I said, desperately keeping my voice even. "Doing OK this morning? Just calling to make sure you made it home safe last night."

"Yeah, Kaito walked me home. He was nice!" said Amanuma, chirping like a bird greeting the dawn. "We're going to go to the arcade next Sunday. I'm really glad we met! It's nice to have a friend who's good at games, y'know?"

His happy and enthusiastic babbling made me sink boneless into bed again. "Nice. I'm glad you'll get to hang out."

"Me too—but are you OK?"

"Who, me?" I said with a bright laugh. "Of course I'm fine; don't be silly! But sorry to cut this short, gotta run, Mom and Dad are making me go to the temple with them today and, yeah, talk to you soon, buh-bye!"

"Uh. OK? But Keiko—"

I hung up before he could say anything else, sagging once again into the pillows—but Yusuke cleared his throat, and at the sound I became uncomnfortably aware of Yusuke and Kurama's eyes on me. I sat up and composed myself, smoothing the bedclothes over my lap with a delicate cough.

Yusuke wasn't fooled by my innocent act. "What the heck was that about?" he demanded. "And was that Amanuma? Why'd you call _him?_ "

"Um. I'll explain soon." I fingered the edge of my blanket without meeting his eyes. "We really, really need to talk to Ayame, though."

I think Yusuke was basically just done with me at that point. He threw his hands in the air with an eye roll so pronounced I feared he'd give himself a concussion. "Ugh, fine! Be annoying and cryptic," he said, shoving out of his chair and heading for the door. "I'll go bug Botan about it, though who knows where the heck she's run off to…"

He shut the door behind him with perhaps more force than necessary, but I didn't have the heart to chastise him. Instead I breathed a sigh of relief, because I'd breathe a hell of a lot easier without Yusuke breathing down my neck.

"And to think," Kurama mused. "Typically I'm the one accused of being cryptic."

He wore a smile, though it looked thin to me, like perhaps its edges might fray and tear at any moment. I ducked my chin with a wry laugh. "Heh. Seems I'm taking a leaf out of your book." My grin went crooked. "Pun intended."

He scoffed at the pun, but his smile thickened some. "I suppose it's nice to hear I'm an influence, at the very least." His head cocked to the side, garnet hair falling silken against his neck. "We're alone."

My heart skipped the tiniest of beats at that. As is my custom, I covered the awkwardness with humor. "Clearly," I said, brow lifting at the very empty room. "If you're trying to show off your powers of observation, try a bit harder."

"I'm not posturing," he said. "You're holding back from the others. Is there anything you can tell me now that we're alone?"

He waited, silent, as I mulled it over. Kurama was not as impatient as Yusuke, though as moment bled into moment, the smile faded from his lips. He eyed me with undisguised intensity, as if trying to read my thoughts in every pull of my mouth, every twitch of my eye. I was tempted to tell Kurama he was likely off the hook regarding Amanuma. The kid hadn't been recruited, Sensui was going to leave him alone… but I'd called in that fit of panic because I didn't trust Itsuki not to menace Amanuma in some way.

Itsuki's parting words to me, after all, had concerned Amanuma directly. There was no way to know how deeply the kid might or might not become involved in light of this. Thus, I could not give Kurama hope, in the event he had to kill the child, after all.

But what, then, could I even tell him?

I licked my lips. Took a deep breath. Said, every word a carefully chosen skirmish: "Things are happening out of order. It's… confusing. And weird. And I worry telling you too much now could throw things even deeper into disarray later—or end them before they can even begin."

His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

I wet my lips again, nervous. "What happened to me last night involved something you are meant to face later—much later. When you're stronger than you are now. I can't let you anywhere near it until you're ready."

"You worry for my strength?" One brow shot up, skeptical. "I assure you, Kei, that I can take care of—"

"You aren't strong enough," I said.

Kurama shook his head. "Kei—"

"No. Listen to me."

I spoke with no malice, no heat—just raw, cold logic, voice bereft of emotion and bias alike. Kurama fell quite quiet at the sound, staring at me from the foot of my bed in undisguised surprise.

"I'm not insulting you," I said. "I'm not being mean. I'm being honest when I say that neither you nor the others are strong enough yet, to face what I faced last night." A metaphor swam to the surface, thoughts of Amanuma's beloved video games coloring my perception. "It would be like sending a level one party against the game's final boss. You have some levels to grind before then, some quests to complete before you get there, some mini-bosses that will prepare you for the final fight. But if you went charging into the dragon's den today…"

I could not suppress the shudder that rippled through me, then. Kurama watched, alarm turning his eyes the color of cool and brittle jade.

"And you faced this alone?" he murmured.

"Yes." Another shudder I could not quash. "The threat wasn't even at full strength. It wasn't ready for me. I avoided antagonizing it—but even so, I barely escaped with my sanity intact."

The shudder turned into a tremble. I wrapped my arms around myself and leaned forward, head near my knees as I curled very nearly into a shaking ball. The tape—Itsuki had gotten so close to playing Chapter Black, had toyed with me as a cat toys with a mouse. The horrors of that tape were stuff of horrific, nightmarish legend. What would have become of me had I seen even a moment of its terrors? Would I have lost myself? Would I have become something, someone else? Abandoned my friends against all that I believe and tried to end the world at Sensui's side? What would have happened had V not arrived exactly when she did? What would—?

Kurama reached for me. He reached for my ankle beneath the covers with a murmur of my name, sliding closer across the breadth of my bed.

Before he could make contact, I slipped out from under his hand, out of bed, and away.

"Look away," I told him.

I trusted Kurama not to watch as I opened my closet and stepped inside. I put on shorts and changed into a fresh shirt, carefully keeping on my toes to avoid my injured foot. I didn't need other clothes, really. The ones I'd been changed into smelled of detergent. Still, I changed my clothes, hoping that the changes to my outside my change how I felt inside, too.

And to cover the fact I'd been about to cry.

Kurama didn't need to know either of those things, however.

I finished changing and turned to find him where I'd left him, face aimed carefully at the window. Platinum light from the noonday sun turned his hair the color of fresh blood, his eyes the hue of new shoots of spring. He looked so out of place in my bedroom, with its record player and rock posters and pink comforter and John Wayne flipping the bird, that I almost laughed.

I didn't, though.

I cleared my throat, and couldn't maintain eye contact when he looked my way.

"Anyway," I said. "Sorry I can't tell you more." I shrugged. "I just—"

"You have no reason to apologize."

My head jerked up from the floor. Kurama laced his fingers together, cupping them around his knee as his chin lifted high and proud.

"I've said before that to interfere in fickle fate is to court disaster," Kurama told me. "I am a proud demon, but I am by no means a demon who underestimates his opponents. Time is my ally, as I believe it is yours. I will face this threat when I am ready, and no sooner." The barest of smiles crossed his lips. "I trust you will help me determine when that day comes."

My throat thickened; I looked away, pressing my fingers into my eye sockets. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." I heard him hesitate, that breath drawn in and held as he decided if he wanted to speak. In the end he decided yes, and said: "Truth be told, Kei, when you vanished, I wondered if you had left this world much the same way you had appeared in it: without warning, without explanation, and with a thunderclap of enigma."

My hand dropped from my eyes. Stars and halos of light danced on my distorted vision, a million tiny sparkles wreathing Kurama in multicolored flame. The lights faded as swiftly as they'd appeared, but Kurama's expression—one of grim uncertainty, haggard determination, and an odd light I couldn't place—didn't falter.

"We wondered if we would ever see you again." He paused. Admitted: "I wondered if _I_ would ever see you again."

My feet moved of their own accord, pushing me to sit next to him on the bed. "Kurama," I said, because I wasn't capable of much else.

He smiled, albeit tightly. "It isn't in my nature to display bald sentiment. Therefore, I will be brief." Kurama turned slightly in my direction. "I am glad you've returned, Kei. Lunch periods at school would be far less enjoyable if you stopped attending them."

My mouth quirked. "I wouldn't leave you alone with Kaito."

"How very thoughtful of you," said Kurama.

"What can I say? I'm a great friend."

"Yes. You are."

My eyes cut sideways at those murmured words. Kurama didn't flinch away, solemn as we traded a long, silent moment of… communion, maybe. I don't have the words for it. I was still thinking about what he'd said, about fearing never seeing me again—but he didn't need to fear that. Not getting to say goodbye, living in uncertainty, it would be _horrible_ , but I'd never let it happen. Didn't he know that I'd never leave them, or him, hanging lost upon uncertainty? Didn't he know I'd never disappear into the night without telling him goodbye? He should know. He should know I'd never do that to him, and that no goodbyes would ever come without forewarning.

He should know. So I should tell him.

I didn't think about it too hard, covering his hand with mine, but I did it. His eyes widened the tiniest fraction as I opened my mouth to speak, to assure him I'd never allow such a nightmare to come to pass, only good dreams allowed in this household—but before I could speak, my bedroom door swung open. Our hands came apart as Kuwabara walked in carrying a tray; I smoothed my hair behind my ears, deep breath filling my chest until it nearly hurt.

Bad timing. Bad, bad timing, Kuwabara.

Still, the scent of food wafted off the tray on his hand, and in response my stomach loosed a ferocious growl. "That for me?" I said, trying to cover the horrific sound, but Kurama's eyes twinkled and I know he overheard.

"Yeah, it is!" Kuwabara said. He placed the tray on my desk and beamed. "Just some leftovers from last night but I think New Year's leftovers are always better the next day, y'know?"

I did know. I let him usher my off the bed and into the chair, where I began to shovel down food in a way I'd normally consider impolite, but to hell with it, I was hungry and this was an enjoyable way to cover the awkward moment that preceded it.

"We told your mom and dad you stepped on glass and probably shouldn't go to the temple today, so they're already there, which means we've got the house to ourselves to talk," Kuwabara said as he settled onto the bed beside Kurama. His small eyes went as wide as they could go, swimming with worry and a plea for understanding. "What happened, Keiko? Where did you go last night?"

"It's… complicated." I drank a mouthful of soup, not looking at him. "I don't want to tell you yet, if that's OK."

"Huh?" Kuwabara said. "But why not?"

"Yusuke isn't here. Neither are Botan and Ayame." I put the soup away to send him a look of apologetic regret. "Sorry, Kuwabara, but I want to tell all of you at once. I don't want to have to tell it again and again. It's just…" I shook my head. "It's not a fun story to tell."

Kuwabara appeared crestfallen by this news, but Kurama's eyes took on a knowing sheen, and he gave me a subtle nod—a nod that said he knew exactly what I was up to, delaying the telling of my story. 'Time is our ally,' indeed.

Kuwabara saw us looking at each other, I think. His head turned between Kurama and I a few times before he slouched and muttered, "You didn't tell Kurama anything either while you were chatting, did you?"

"I have been left quite completely in the dark, as have you," Kurama said.

Kuwabara looked at the fox demon askance, studying him from the corner of his eye, but Kurama's pleasant smile didn't waver. Eventually Kuwabara seemed to think Kurama passed some sort of test, because he shook himself faced me again. "Y'know, I get it. It can be tough to talk about not-fun-stuff a lot. So you just take it easy, and I'll be here to listen whenever you're ready. OK?"

His sincerity filled me with warm fuzzies. "Thanks, Kuwabara. I appreciate that."

"You're welcome." His hands knitted together atop his knees, fingers fidgeting as he slouched even further down. "But, um. I gotta know one thing."

"What is it?"

He stared at the floor. Gulped. Asked with cheeks that had caught flame: "Who was that boy who—?"

He meant Minato, but he never quite got that far, because there came a flash of blue from the doorway. Kuwabara bit back his words with the face of someone who had just tried to swallow a watermelon without chewing, cheeks puffed and red as Botan bounced into the room with a cheerily chirped "Hello, Keiko!"

Yusuke followed behind her with hands behind his head. "Found this one being creepy outside a hospital for some reason. But I got her like you asked, Grandma."

"I wasn't being creepy!" Botan protested. She put her hands on my shoulders and peered over my head at my food with a grin. "Good to see you up and at 'em after the night you had."

"Don't talk like you know anything about it, Botan," Yusuke groused. He flopped to the floor and leaned against the inside of my bedroom door, one leg propped lazily atop the other—a posture belied by the baleful look his sent my way. "You feel like talkin' yet?"

"Nope." To Botan I said, "Hear from Ayame?"

"Yes. I've gotten in touch with her using certain reaper methods I'd rather not divulge." She blanched and gave a nervous laugh. "It's… honestly better no one hears about it."

"… did you send messages through dead people?" I whispered, unable to help myself.

Too bad Botan just shook her head. "Trust me, it's best if you don't know. But I sent a message and I received a response in short order. Ayame is nothing if not prompt. She'll meet you this afternoon at this café." From her pocket she pulled a scrap of paper, which she handed to me. "Was a bit difficult to find something still open on New Year's Day, but leave it to Ayame to find a place. I peeked at the menu and it looks divine. I'll be sure to check it out once this is all said and done."

Yusuke groaned. "Not another café! I swear, ever since she came to stay in Human World, Botan's been obsessed with cafes. And movies, and painting her nails, and—"

"I want the full human experience, Yusuke!" Botan said, rounding on him with hands on hips. "That isn't so much to ask!"

"It is when it's _my_ nails you want to paint!"

"Botan, are you not coming with us?" Kuwabara asked before she and Yusuke could really get into it.

"I'm afraid not." Her shoulders sagged, face falling just a bit. "It's best I don't see Ayame, I think. Even making this contact was risky."

Kurama nodded. "A wise choice, considering your current predicament."

She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. "Agreed. I miss her dearly, of course, but… anyway." A smart shake of her head, ponytail flying like a powder blue flag. "Keiko, I should properly heal your feet, see to your back. Can I help you down the hall? I'll draw up a hot bath…"

Normally I'd balk at the idea of help with a bath, but I didn't protest as Botan kicked Yusuke away from my door and helped me hobble down the hall. A bath sounded good, better even than Botan knew, because bathrooms—where your thoughts and words could echo loudly off the tile—were the best places to think in all the world. And I definitely had a lot to think about. I'm happy to report that by the time Botan treated my feet and left me alone to bathe, the beginnings of a plan had budded in my head.

I just hoped that this plan of mine would… well. Go as planned, I guess.

* * *

We sat in a booth at the back of the café, hidden from view around a secluded corner near the busboy's station. Great place to talk, but too close to the doors to the kitchen to be popular with regulars—AKA, exactly what we wanted for our odd conversation with the head of the underworld's grim reapers. The entire group (minus Botan and the taciturn Hiei, of course) occupied the table, Ayame sitting in a chair at its head in her austere black kimono. She'd gotten a few stars when she walked in, but the fancy café hosted a few people in their New Year's Day best, so she blended in better than she would have any other day of the year. Ayame held a mug of tea in her pale hands and took an uncertain sip as it cooled. A small smile crossed her face afterward, like she'd just had the most pleasant surprise.

Maybe she had. Maybe she didn't eat much, being a grim reaper. Who was I to know?

But that wasn't why we were here.

"Who were the Spirit Detectives before Yusuke?" I said.

Ayame put down her cup, so gently it barely clicked against the saucer, but the careful motion told me everything I needed to know: The question had caught her off guard, and now her walls were up. Yusuke, Kurama, and Kuwabara all looked at me in confusion at the question; Ayame merely patted her lips with a napkin and folded her hands primly atop the table. I'd waited until we'd received our drinks orders before speaking. I'd need something to drink by the time this was through, I was sure of it.

"Why, may I ask, do you want to know?" Ayame said. When I didn't reply right away, still watching for her reaction, she leaned almost imperceptibly in my direction. "I was under the impression you had things to tell me, not the other way around. Botan conveyed precious little regarding the nature of this meeting."

I took a deep breath. Ayame watched with the same calculating gaze I'd turned on her, and beside me, I felt Kurama tense. Kuwabara leaned in with hands balled into fists on the table, stare intent on my face. Yusuke just lounged in his seat looking like he didn't want to be there—but that changed when I finally spoke.

"Last night I was eaten by a demon called a Uraotoko," I said, "and for several hours, my friends thought I'd ceased to exist."

Yusuke bolted upright; in unison he and Kuwabara yodeled: "WHAT?!"

Kurama nearly dropped his teacup, catching it again just before it hit the table. "Beg _pardon_?" he said with subdued astonishment.

"It looks like an enormous living shadow in the shape of a humanoid silhouette, but with a corporeal mouth and eyes," I said, still addressing Ayame—she who had reacted with the smallest of gasps, one hand delicately covering her red lips. "It came into my home and ate me alive."

"What?! No way!" Yusuke stammered. He'd risen almost to his feet and seemed in danger of knocking the table over. "What the hell?"

"That's crazy, Keiko!" Kuwabara said. His look of horror faded into one of understanding after a moment, fingers tapping on his chin in thought. "Though now I see why you didn't want to have to explain that more than once."

"Yes," Kurama murmured. "Your reticence on this matter has suddenly become quite clear."

"There's a method to my madness," I said with a shrug. Taking another deep breath, I told them what I'd decided to tell them, rehearsed words rolling off my tongue like a memorized script (because that's basically what they were): "I sat in the creature's stomach for hours. I assume my friends couldn't sense me while I remained in that prison. There were… remains, in its stomach, of other creatures it had consumed. If I hadn't gotten out, I'm sure I would have starved to death and died."

Yusuke looked green. Kuwabara clapped a hand over his mouth, words muffled when he said, "That's _awful_ , Keiko."

"Yeah, Grandma, are you even OK?" Yusuke added. He slapped back into his seat, staring at me as if fearing I'd catch fire any moment. "Because getting eaten by a freakin' shadow monster doesn't sound like something you should be OK with."

"I'm fine." Another shrug (but the memory of falling, of the creature's horrible mouth, filled my head to bursting, and I had to take a long drink of my tea to center myself again). "I got out, after all."

"And how did you manage to accomplish such a feat?" Ayame asked. Her hand had come away from her mouth, but her eyes gleamed with horrified comprehension. Suddenly this request for a meeting probably made a lot of sense to her.

"I got out by relying on someone else to spring me loose." My features twisted in displeasure. "I didn't know how to free myself physically, but the beast's master decided I was worth sparing after a convincing conversation."

"I see." She picked up her mug of tea again. "And this beast's master would be…?"

"A demon who goes by the name Itsuki." I kept speaking without pause, but I made note of how Ayame's mug stopped midway through its journey to her mouth when I dropped the demon's name. I continued, "Green hair, golden eyes. Handsome, well dressed. But very cold, and honestly, quite disturbed. He made multiple vague references to Spirit World and Spirit Detectives. He has either tangled with one or both before, or knows someone who has."

Ayame's hands still didn't move. Steam from her drink floated over her face, distorting her features the barest, most disorienting bit.

"Well, he's never tangled with me," Yusuke said. He slapped a fist against his palm with a growl. "And if he ever does, I'm gonna—!"

Kurama cut in before Yusuke could promise violence. "What did he want with you, Kei?"

"Information, mostly." I'd ordered bubble tea, which I sipped before once against addressing Ayame. "Does Spirit World often offer details of protection to spiritually unaware humans?"

She frowned, small furrows carved between her thin brows. "Not typically, no. Why?"

"Could they be persuaded to make an exception?" I asked.

"If the situation calls for it."

I nodded. "Then I would like for you to consider giving a protection detail to a boy named Amanuma Tsukihito."

That declaration earned me a round of double-takes and confused stares from the boys, of course; Ayame remained as stoic as ever, though her frown did deepen just a tad. "Amanuma?" Kuwabara asked. "Why?"

"Yeah, Keiko," said Yusuke. "What's this all got to do with Amanuma?" His eyes narrowed. "Does this have something to do with why you called him in a panic earlier?"

"Yup," I said. "Turns out Amanuma is the catalyst for everything that happened last night."

"He's _what?!"_

Yusuke and Kuwabara were shocked, obviously, once again speaking in startled unison. Kurama, however, shot me a sharp look askance. He knew what his future held concerning the kid, after all, and his wily fox brain wasn't about to let this go and refrain from making theories.

"Itsuki and an ally he refused to name had designs for Amanuma, apparently," I said, toying with the plastic lid on my bubble tea. "He did not reveal these designs to me, but apparently our friendship with Amanuma got in the way of their plans. He investigated us, realized I knew the current Spirit Detective, and kidnapped me to determine why we befriended the kid." To Ayame in particular I said, "I think he believed Spirit World was onto him and was interfering on purpose."

"But why was us making friends with the kid a problem?" said Kuwabara.

"You remember how lonely Amanuma was when we met him?" I said.

"Well. Yeah?" He scratched his cheek. "But what's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything," I said. "I think they aimed to take advantage of his state of mind to manipulate him into… I don't know what, exactly, but it can't have been good." A mix of truths and lies, half-facts and total fabrications, but I'd practiced them all enough to sound convincing. "Our interference made Amanuma less desperate for friends, including those who might do him ill. And my interference in particular caused Amanuma to reject one of Itsuki's allies outright."

"Your interference?" Ayame asked.

"I gave him advice. I, uh… I do that sometimes."

Yusuke rolled his eyes. "Understatement. Keiko _lives_ to tell people how to live their lives."

My jaw dropped. _"Hey!"_

"What?" He dodged when I flicked my sodden straw wrapper at him. "Don't be like that! You know it's true!"

"Maybe, but you don't have to say it!" I put my bruised ego aside, then, only partially because people were watching and Kurama had started laughing behind his hand at my expense. I tossed my hair and pointedly ignored Yusuke when I said, "In any case. Amanuma referenced me directly, so this Itsuki blame me most for Amanuma splitting from him and his allies." Spreading my hands flat on the table, I leaned forward. "So, Ayame. I'll ask again. Who are the former Spirit Detectives, and did any of them ever run afoul of a demon who fits Itsuki's description? Or, alternatively, has Spirit World ever run afoul of this demon? Are the current and former Detectives in danger?"

"Oh jeez. Am I?!" Yusuke said. At my glare he corrected himself. "I mean, are _we?_ "

"I don't know," I said. "Ayame?"

She remained silent for a time despite my inquiry, however, taking several long, slow sips of her rapidly cooling tea. We watched her in silence, Yusuke growing more and more disgruntled by the second, but eventually she set her cup back down and folded her hands across her lap.

"What else can you tell me, Keiko?" she said.

The fact that she hadn't answered my questions didn't bother me. I hadn't really expected an answer, anyway. Yusuke, however, bristled at the obvious change in subject, but Kurama shook his head and Yusuke settled back down again.

"Not much, I'm afraid," I said. "Although Itsuki interrogated me about Amanuma, he revealed little of his own goals or motivations. If this demon is a villain, he didn't fall for the whole 'movie villain monologues to the hero' thing, and he even referenced that trope as something he'd avoid." I mimed closing my mouth like a zippered purse. "Guy kept a tight lip," I said, flicking away an imaginary key.

"I see." Ayame paused to take another drink of tea. "How did you escape?"

"Like I said," I said. "He let me go."

But Ayame was too sharp for my evasive answer. "Not from the demon's stomach," she said. "How did you escape Itsuki himself, after you were freed from your first prison?"

Drat, but she was sharp. Even though she and I had recently gotten to be better buddies, I still needed to watch myself around her. Thus, I merely shrugged in response and kept my answer vague. "I ran when the timing was right," I said. "That's all."

Ayame's gaze darkened. "Is it?"

"I mean, yeah?" I shrugged again. "It's not like a regular human like me could've fought him off or something. Eventually a friend of mine happened to find me, and he helped me go the rest of the way home." I picked up my drink and used it to gesture, as if conducting an invisible choir. "All in all, Ayame… I got very, very lucky."

"You are extraordinarily well named," she remarked.

"Thank you."

The grim reaper studied me a minute, like she thought I might say more, but I did not. I sucked down a few tapioca balls and chewed them until she looked away and rose, standing with a small bow of goodbye. "Very well. I will take this to Koenma immediately."

"And Amanuma?"

"We will watch over him." Another bow as relief filled my throat to bursting. Ayame said, "The less you know, the better."

"And of Keiko?"

Everyone looked at Kurama, then, in the wake of this unexpected question. Shutters closed behind Ayame's eyes as she turned on her heel to face him. Kurama did not back down or flinch away, however. He faced her dark eyes head on, boldly meeting her stare with an unforgiving look of his own. I started to speak, to say his name in question, but he raised his hand and gave a subtle shake of his head.

"You have a question for me, Kurama?" Ayame said.

"Yes." He stood, too, expression polite but as firm as a slab of granite. "Keiko was targeted by a demon. Will you not afford her your protection, too?"

"I don't need—" I tried to protest, but this time Ayame shook her head.

"She runs with demons and a Spirit Detective. What more could we offer?" She smiled, but the curve of her lips looked like a honed blade. "Or are you not interested in protecting your friend?"

Kurama didn't rise to her insult. "I will safeguard her as best I'm able, of that you should have no doubt," he said, tone neutral but unyielding. "However, this is a demon of unknown origin and with unknown goals. It would be foolish not to afford her additional protection—don't you agree?"

Man, he was almost as good as a southern grandmother at packing his words with double meanings. If she disagreed with him, she's inadvertently agree with his claim she was a fool. But Ayame, clever as she was with double-speak herself, saw that tactic coming from a mile off. She chuckled, chin lowering demurely toward her chest.

"I will bring your concerns to Koenma as well." Dark eyes traveled to me, then. "Keiko has proven herself a valuable ally. We would not see her taken from us."

Kurama appeared unconvinced, and Yusuke and Kuwabara had no clue in hell how to respond to this oddly polite battle of wills—but I barely paid any of them heed. I only had eyes for Ayame in that moment. We stared at each other, speaking without words, the sincerity in her expression evident but indirect beneath the shrouding influence of her decorous expression. Eventually I gave her the briefest of nods, which she returned before turning from me and walking with short, quick steps out of the bright café.

Perhaps no one else had seen it but me, but as soon as I'd said Itsuki's name, her entire body language had changed. I had no doubt Ayame knew precisely who Itsuki was, and that despite Kurama's claims to the contrary, the reaper was well aware of the dire circumstances underlying my apparent kidnapped.

If memory served, Ayame had been Sensui's handler like Botan had been Yusuke's… and Sensui had been running with a certain green-haired demon long before his tenure as Spirit Detective came to its abrupt end. I just hoped I'd given her enough information to seem convincing in my story, but that I'd left enough unsaid not to derail the plot.

I hadn't trusted myself to make up a convincing lie. The boy would have sniffed it out in time, and if Spirit World hadn't been spying on our group during my abduction, surely eventually they would have gotten wind of it and come to me with questions. No, I'd decided that afternoon in the bath. Lying outright was not the best tactic, here.

Best to tell all truth, but to tell it slant, and hope I'd done the right thing.

* * *

Foot freshly healed by Botan's white magic, I had no trouble keeping up with the rest the group as we walked home from the café—and speaking of Botan, she appeared not long after we left, manifesting out of the downtown New Year's Day crowd like one of the ghosts she so often escorted to the afterlife. Breathlessly she walked ahead of us, but backwards, peppering our group with questions and demands for a recap. Lucky for me Kuwabara and Yusuke took the lead, filling her in with the story I didn't have the heart to repeat. In fact, I tuned most of the conversation out, eyes downcast as we traversed the crowds and made our way toward home. Kuwabara and Kurama flanked my either side, a pair of red-headed bodyguards I was fairly certain I wouldn't be able to shake for the next few weeks.

They'd stuck close to my side ever since we left the café, and I predicted I'd travel with a protective retinue for some weeks yet, now that the truth had come out.

Not that I minded. As Yusuke and Botan walked ahead, bickering and bantering as was their custom, I thought it might be nice to have someone nearby as I came down off the anxiety of meeting Itsuki. Night had begun to fall while we talked to Ayame, shadows lengthening as the sun went down, and in the depths of every one I kept thinking I spotted watching eyes or grinning mouths, though they always ended up being a bit of litter or a swirl in the pavement instead of the features of a lurking demon. How long would I be looking over my shoulder, afraid of every bit of darkness that fell across my path—

Kurama's hand closed around my elbow. Kuwabara stopped walking with a grunt of question. I looked up to find a crowd gathering ahead of us on the packed sidewalk, ringing a shopfront like perhaps something amazing waited behind its front window.

But then there came a crash, followed by a series of shrieks, and I got the sense there wasn't some killer sale about to go down, after all.

The members of our group exchanged a look or three, and then we walked in a knot to join the rest of the crowd. "Get back, get back!" someone was yelling, and as we swam through the onlookers to see the rest of the shopfront, I caught a glimpse of a few men in official-looking reflective vests and hardhats erecting caution tape around the front of a store, bright orange clothes peeking through the onlookers like hunting garb through brush.

"What's going on, d'ya think?" Kuwabara said in my ear.

"Not sure," I whispered back.

"Stay back!" one of the men shouted as a passerby got a shade too close. He waved a bright orange cone, the kind people wave when directing traffic. "Nothing to see here, people! Move along; this area is dangerous!"

"Well, that's certainly a set of mixed messages if I've ever heard one," Botan muttered. "Don't tell people there's nothing to see and then say there's something exciting and dangerous!" She squeezed her blue head between two people, then retreated backward toward our friends with a gasp. "Oh, my! What do you think could have done _that_ , do you suppose?"

"Done what?" said Kuwabara.

Botan pointed ahead. "That, _that!_ You have to see it for yourself!"

Kuwabara, human bulldozer that he is, had no trouble gently nudging people aside and clearing a path to the front of the crowd for the rest of us. We edged right up to the barrier of caution tape ringing the storefront, but when something fell to the ground with a cloud of dust and a loud thump, I worried we'd gotten too close, after all. Other people fell back with shrieks of surprise, but Botan gaped at the scene before us and clapped a hand over her mouth without retreating.

"What could have done this?" she said, eyes wide with horror.

Kurama, beside me, shook his head. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it resembles… but, no. There's no way."

"Resembles what, Kurama?" Kuwabara asked.

Kurama hesitated.

Reluctantly, he admitted: "It looks like marks left behind by a fist, almost."

To the right of the store stood a pillar. It, and pillars like it, supported the awning hanging over all the shops on this downtown street. They were made of concrete, covered in tiles polished to a mirror sheen, beautiful and functional at once—only the pillar surrounded by frantic construction workers had been robbed of both these qualities. An enormous, circular hole had been punched clean through the center of the pillar, and below and above the hole it appeared as if entire chunks had been ripped from the structure by enormous hands. Rubble coated the ground with bits of metal and concrete. The pillar buckled and swayed, awning above listing precariously forward; the crowd reacted with a series of screams, scrambling backward and away over the sidewalk in fright. On their tide we were carried away from the odd scene, made to stand near the curb some feet out of harm's way. Botan was babbling something about how we should leave, this was clearly not a safe place—but I barely heard her as I counted us off one by one in my head.

"Hey." My voice rose high above the murmuring of the throng. "Where's Yusuke?"

Everyone paused. Looked around. Looked back to me.

"Yes, Keiko, you're right." Botan planted her hands on her hips, searching the street with her bright eyes. "Where did that boy get off to?"

The tallest member of our clique, Kuwabara craned his head and peered over the mob, eyes screwed up in concentration. His expression cleared after a moment, though, and he lifted a hand top point as he said, "Oh, there he—" Black eyes flew wide open, white showing all the way around his irises. "Wait. That can't—?"

Standing on my tiptoes, I looked in the direction he had pointed. Keiko is short, but through a gap in the crowd I caught sight of a familiar, garish green windbreaker with orange lapels, its wearer standing way across the street on the opposite sidewalk. I started to speak, to call out his name—but then Kuwabara's hand closed around my wrist.

I looked up at him with a frown, but he wasn't looking at me. Rather, he stared at Yusuke, and before my eyes a bead of sweat formed on his temple despite the chilly New Year's Day. Muscles pulsed in his jaw like a visible heartbeat. But why—?

"Kurama." Kuwabara's gravelly voice cut through the din around us like a jackhammer through a pillow. "Kurama, take Botan and Keiko and you _get them out of here_."

Kurama made no move to obey, however, and merely frowned. "Kuwabara, what are you—?"

"Just _do it,_ man." The sweat on his temple shuddered and fell, streaking down his cheek and over his jaw in a glistening trail, but still his eyes did not waver from Yusuke across the street. "Get them out of here," he growled. "Now!"

Kurama started to protest.

His eyes followed Kuwabara's.

His words died, and his eyes—they narrowed.

"Understood," Kurama said. An arm snaked around my shoulders, and with his other hand he reached for Botan. "Botan. You, too."

But she shied away from him. "Kurama, Kuwabara, what's gotten into you?" she said—and I would have concurred with her and demanded an explanation had the crowd not parted at that exact moment, revealing to me the unfurling tableau on display across the street.

Walking down the sidewalk, away from Yusuke where he stood with fists balled at his sides, I spotted the broadest pair of shoulders I had ever seen. The rose above the rest of the humans at an unnatural height, as obvious and unmissable as a gaping wound or an empty spot on a crowded shelf.

The bottom fell out of my stomach at the sight of them, a deathly drop into unending black.

I had seen him only once before, lying still and motionless upon the ground, but the moment my eyes connected with his olive trench coat and the slick sheen of his black hair—I knew. I knew him the way I seemed to know all canon characters on sight, the truth of his identity ricocheting inside me like a bottle rocket in a cage. Even before Kuwabara murmured his name ("No, no, it can't be him, _we killed him_ , dammit!") I knew who he must be, as easy to recognize as Keiko's reflection in the mirror.

Toguro, the younger—in the flesh at last.

I couldn't keep the gasp inside my chest. It ripped from me as biting as a scream, and then Kurama steered me down the sidewalk with his arm tight around my shoulders. I clung to his hand, grasping tight to his fingers like a girl tossed by waves during a storm, afraid that if I let go (even for a moment) I'd be swept away into the distance and cast into depths of anxiety that could drown.

I'd told Kurama only hours ago that we had a side quest to complete before we faced the final boss. A mini-boss, if you will—only when I'd said that, I thought we had more time before the quest begun. I thought we'd have more time to grind up levels, to advance and to prepare before facing this misnamed mini-boss.

I thought there would be time, dammit.

But I was wrong.

The next battle was upon us—and much like Sensui, this man, too, was a dragon in his own right.

At this stage in the game, there was nothing "mini-boss" about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between migraines and travel (14 hours of driving this weekend, ugh), this had to be late. Necessary evil, plus it's a huge chapter. Hope you liked it.
> 
> Time to sleep and then drive 7 hours, uggghhh.


	79. Training Montage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keiko feels embarrassed. A lot.

Kurama looped his arm tight around my shoulders as we all but power-walked through the bustling streets of Sarayashiki's glittering downtown. If it hadn't been for the blue-haired woman walking backward ahead of us so she could frantically prattle out the story of Toguro (a story she didn't know I was already aware of), maybe someone would've mistaken Kurama and I for a couple walking close together to keep warm on a chilly winter day.

The dire expressions on our all faces probably shattered that pretty picture like a brick through rose-colored glass, though.

We reached the stoop of my home quicker than expected. The streets passed in a blur of colors and lights, scenery blending together on the whirring blades of my anxiety. Stray thoughts like "Toguro is here?" and Already? So soon?" had filled my head too full to notice the passing of time or streets. Kurama stopped a few feet from the door, pulling Botan and I close to the front windows of the restaurant so he could address us with low urgency. A few patrons walked past us and entered the ramen shop; some looked at us with raised brows, but no one said anything. We were just teens on the sidewalk, after all, gathered to socialize on New Year's Day. Nothing to write home about.

"Don't go anywhere," Kurama said to me. He'd released my shoulders, but his hand gripped my upper arm as if to keep me from flying away. "Stay inside, in your room. Keep away from the windows. Do you understand?"

It was all I could do to nod.

"Good." His eyes cut to the reaper huddled next to us. "Botan, with me. We need to check on Atsuko."

"R-right!" she said, and without another word or warning or well-wish, Kurama turned on his heel and walked quickly away into the descending twilight.

I stood on the sidewalk, motionless, until they disappeared around the corner at the end of the street. My heart beat like a battering ram against my ribs, but it started to slow as a feeling of surprise replaced it with bubbles in my chest. For Kurama to willingly leave me alone the night after my abduction, so soon after everyone panicked when I vanished—wow. That must mean he took the threat of Toguro quite seriously indeed, leaving me alone like this.

But thinking about that only brought back the anxiety-ram, so I shook myself from my stupor and headed inside.

Mom met me almost the minute I walked through the front doors and shrugged out of my coat. She carried a potted plant under her arm, leaves broad and shiny and a shade of deep, rich green. A purple flower with slender petals crowned the stalk jutting from where the leaves converged. She juggled it to her other side and kissed me on the cheek; as she did so, scent wafted from the plant in a wave of… something. Sugared mint mellowed out by an earthy smell I couldn't quite place. It was a pleasant scent, if not a little cloying.

"There you are!" she said with an enormous smile. "How's your foot feeling? They told me you stepped on something sharp. And Happy New Year, Keiko."

"Happy New Year to you too. It's fine. I'm all bandaged up." I pointed at the plant. "What's that?"

She transferred the pot to both hands and beamed. "Isn't it lovely? Shuichi-kun left it for us as a gift, as thanks for the party last night. He said it's from South America and if placed by the front door will bring us good luck. Isn't it lovely?"

My brow shot up. "Shuichi left it."

"Mmm-hmm. Though where he found a flower like this at this time of year, I haven't the faintest idea."

Mom didn't have any idea, but I sure had a few. As she placed the plant on the table by the front door, next to the lucky cat statue and a stack of menus, I considered that maybe Kurama hadn't left me alone, after all. Maybe that flower, like so many of Kurama's plants, possessed a function beyond looking and smelling lovely. I shot it an expression of "I know what you're up to and you're not sneaky" just in case Kurama could see me through its flower before going upstairs and collapsing onto my bed. The dark lit up with stars when I pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets and sighed. Although I still felt tired from the night before, being alone for the first time since my abduction had my mind racing in circles. Where were the others? Was Yusuke OK, talking to Toguro alone? Had Kuwabara followed or was he watching from afar, as he'd done in the anime? And where the heck was—?

I didn't have time to finish asking that last question; it was answered almost immediately. The sound of my window rattling open sent anxiety scattering, panic taking its place inside my chest—but as a cold wind ripped through the room and I sat up with a frightened gasp, a black-clad leg thrust its way onto my desk. Hiei crawled through the open window without once looking at me, shutting it behind him before he hopped off the desk and stood in the middle of my bedroom.

"Well? What's wrong?" He finally looked at me when I didn't reply and instead gaped at him in confusion and shock. His eyes flashed. "You're worried. I could feel it down the block. But why?"

"You could feel—?" My eyes narrowed. "Were you spying on me?"

Hiei turned away with a "tch," abrasive sound like sandpaper between teeth. "You really think I wouldn't keep an eye on you out after what happened last night?"

"Pun intended?"

He glared over his shoulder. "Quit making jokes."

"Fine, fine," I said, holding my hands up in surrender. "Oh, just so you know, last night I was—"

"I listened in on your conversation with Ayame," he cut in. "I know what happened and you're a fool if you think for one second I wouldn't—" He stopped and bared his teeth before taking one quick step toward the window. "Never mind. Forget it. I'm—"

"Hey. Wait." I scrambled off the bed and hooked a finger into his sleeve; he looked down at it and then up at me with a scowl, but the scowl faded a smidge when I said, "Thank you. I feel safer knowing you're looking out for me." A wry smile. "And frankly, I wondered why Kurama would leave me alone so soon afterward, and with what just happened downtown…"

Hiei's scowl returned in full force. "What happened downtown?"

"Toguro's back."

He bristled at once, hair standing even more on end than usual. "The thug who kept my sister—?"

"Yeah," I said, weight gathering leaden in my chest. "That guy."

But Hiei was not so easily convinced, or perhaps he was experiencing some shock of his own. "The Detective killed him," he said, as if in protest.

I nodded. "Yeah, well, apparently death didn't stick. It doesn't stick for so many in our circle, it seems." I sighed. "Anyway. He appeared and got to Yusuke after we finished telling Ayame about last night."

"But why is he here?" Hiei asked. Wheels turned behind his livid gaze. "For revenge?"

"Sort of. And that's why I was worried." My smile tasted as bitter as a lemon. "I was worried for Yusuke."

Hiei opened his mouth to reply.

Someone else replied first.

"Smart girl," they said. "You _should_ be worried."

Hiei's eyes widened the barest fraction of an inch before he vanished, disappearing and reappearing with his back to me, both hands raised high and wreathed in bright, hot flame. It billowed orange and gold and brilliant red, singeing my eyebrows and drying out my eyes and skin with a wave of scorching heat. I staggered back and fell onto my bed with a cry, looking at Hiei through my fingers to shield myself from the fire. The shadows in my bedroom lengthened and deepened to darkest black in the light of that hot flame—and then one of the shadows in the corner rippled, drawing my eye to it like a magnet. This shadow warped and buckled and moved upward over my wall, and for a second my chest tightened because oh no, _oh no,_ the Uraotoko was back and coming for me again—

"Meigo," Hiei said. "Calm down."

In stark contrast to the fire coating his hands, Hiei's voice was as cold as the icy wind outside, and at the sound of his calm words the nauseating rush of terror in my blood went quiet. I climbed back onto my feet, edging as near to Hiei as I dared while the shadow in the corner grew darker and darker still. Eventually it appeared to step forward, pushing off of the wall and gaining solid form. The shadow congealed into three distinct shapes—the shapes of three robed figures of varying heights, faces concealed beneath the hoods of their strange outfits. One was tall, head nearly brushing the ceiling; another was quite short, even smaller than Hiei; the last was about Yusuke's height. This one stepped away from the others with the brush of very solid feet against carpet. Not a living shadow, after all.

"Hello, Hiei," the figure said. "We've been looking for you."

Hiei brandished the fire in his hands with a low growl as the hooded figure approached, but seeing the fire, it stopped cold. The figure paused, hooded head tilting to one side as if studying the dancing flames. Hiei took one menacing step forward, but the figure did not retreat. "Stay back, or I'll—"

The figure held up a hand—a hand with skin tinted pale green, fingers tipped with hooked claws and possessing perhaps one too many joints to be human. "You can relax, demon traitor," they (he, she, it?) said in a light, nasal voice, one to which I could not affix a gender. "I'm not here to fight. Quite the contrary—I'm here to offer _you_ a chance to fight." The hand disappeared as the figure folded its arms to perform a formal bow. "You are cordially invited to attend this year's Dark Tournament."

"Sorry," Hiei spat. "Not interested."

The figure straightened up with a snap. "Oh, my," they said with saccharine sympathy I didn't buy for even a second. "It seems you're rather uninformed."

"I know what the Dark Tournament is, fool," said Hiei. "It's a chance for humans to revel in demon blood sport and I want no part in it."

"Oh _ho_." Now the demon (because I'm sure that thing was a demon under their cloak) just sounded pleasantly surprise. "So you still hold some ill will toward humans, even though you shelter one behind you?" They shook their head. "Well. It's no matter. Your lingering resentment for the human race won't save you from this invitation." Another curious head tilt. "Did I mention it's compulsory?"

"You have a greater chance of winning a beauty contest, you ugly miscreant, than you do making me do anything," Hiei said in a voice dripping with venom.

The thing's head tilted even further. "Is that so?"

"No one makes me do anything."

"I see," the demon said with a long sigh. "Very well. I'm certain your sister treasures the steel of your spine."

The demon's silken words bore instantaneous effect. Hiei stiffened, the fire on his hands flickering as if in time with a frantic heart. I eased closer to him even though the heat made my hair fizzle, but I did not dare reach out to touch his shoulder—not even when the demon in the hooded cloak gave a laugh that made me shiver despite the heat.

"That's right," the demon simpered. "We know all about her. And if you refuse to comply… Well. You can catch my drift, I think."

I heard Hiei's teeth grind before he spat, "You _bastard._ "

"Tut tut, Hiei," said the demon. "Save that aggression for the ring. You and the other demon traitor, Kurama, have been named guests of and by the Tournament Committee—along with those upstart humans Urameshi Yusuke and Kuwabara Kazuma, of course." That hand the color of sickly seafoam raised again, this time holding a small card between two fingers. "The details are printed on this invitation for your convenience."

"I assume you're threatening the other into participation, as well," Hiei said.

"We have our methods." With a flick of their wrist, the figure tossed the card onto the floor, and then it raised one admonishing finger in the air. "Don't try to think about running, traitor. Our reach is much longer than you might think." They stepped backward, rejoining the ranks of the two other cloaked creatures in the shadowy corner. "Until the Tournament, Hiei. We look forward to seeing you."

Hiei did not share their sentiments, apparently, and spat, "Fuck you."

"No, thank you," the demon said—but before Hiei could react to the polite joke at his expense, the featureless hole beneath the hood swung slightly to the side.

Toward me.

Even though I couldn't see the face of the creature that lay beneath the hood, I knew exactly upon whom their eyes had affixed. I knew even before their hand raised and pointed one many-jointed finger in my direction, and they said, "Oh. And you."

Hiei reacted with lightning speed, blurring out of sight and reappearing only inches from the robed demons. "Don't fucking touch her," he growled in a voice that sent an even greater chill through me. "Touch her and I'll—"

"I won't touch her," the demon said, as if Hiei were stupid for suggesting they might. "In fact, I was warned against it—provided she is indeed one Yukimura Keiko, of course."

My heart lurched. "She is." I kicked myself. "I mean, I am."

Hiei rounded on me with a snarl. "Meigo!"

"It's OK, Hiei." I took a deep breath to steady myself, and even though Hiei glared at me, I asked, "How do you know who I am?"

"A few ways." The demon held up two fingers. "Reason the first: You're one of the ones we hold over a barrel in the event your friends refuse to participate. Considering how this one guards you, I think their participation can been guaranteed." He put down one of the fingers and waved the other lazily through the air. "Reason the second: You have a friend on the Tournament Committee, you lucky child."

To say I froze solid is an understatement. Hiei stilled, too, but I'm the one who truly imitated a glacier just then. Only because I'd frozen with my mouth just slightly parted was I able to whisper the phrase, "I have a _what?_ "

At my words, Hiei thawed. "You lie," he said with more heat than even the flames in his hands. "Keiko knows no one in the human underworld."

"Maybe." The demon shrugged. "But someone in the underworld certainly knows her. And he told me to tell her hello."

"Who?" Hiei took another step forward, so close I had to think he could see the demon's shadowed face. "Who told you to do that, damn you?"

Was it just met, or did I catch a faint glimpse of light glinting off rows of smiling teeth beneath the gloom of that concealing hood? Either way, the demon said, "I'm afraid I can't say."

But that wasn't good enough for Hiei. One hand lifted high, fire in it flickering—and at the threat of my room becoming a charred warzone, the ice around me melted. "It's OK, Hiei," I somehow found the will to blurt. When he looked at me with one red eye, iris reflecting a raging inferno in my dark room, I said, "I think I know exactly who he's talking about." To the demon I added, "Pink hair, blue eyes? Smiles to the point of looking like a gleeful serial killer?"

But the demon wasn't at all thrown by my joke. He, she, it, they just shrugged and said, "I'm afraid I can't say." Their body rippled, feet melding with the shadowy floor as they and their retinue faded into the landscape of the wall again. "Au revoir…" they said, voice distant and fading fast—and then the shadows returned to normal, and the demons disappeared.

Hiei and I waited a beat.

The fire in his hands went out.

I walked on legs that shook to my desk. I flicked on a light. Braced my hands on my desk. Sneezed as the scents of fire and smoke tickled my nose. Although the demons hadn't confirmed the name of the person who'd said to tell me hello, after what Yusuke had seen on the video feed at Tarukane's mansion, could there be any doubt about who—?

"That boy from your memory."

I snapped upright with an eloquent, "Huh?"

"Pink hair, blue eyes, a smile that never dims. That's the boy I saw in your memories the night we met," Hiei said. Although he'd let his summoned fire fade, he was all menace when he took a step in my direction, eyes lit from within like coals. "Meigo. Am I wrong?"

I passed my hand through my hair. Wondered if I should lie. Wondered if I should even bother hiding the truth from him.

Decided it didn't matter, and spoke the truth anyway.

"No," I said. "You're not wrong. That's the guy."

Hiei took my statement with a nod. He didn't demand I elaborate, and even if he tried to, I have no idea what I would have said—because even though I now possessed zero doubts as to whom Yusuke had seen on that video, I still had no idea what it all _meant._

At that realization, a quiet dread filled my stomach, and it did not fade even after a good night's sleep.

* * *

Leaves crunched under the soles of my boots as I muttered, "These woods are lovely, dark and deep—but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."

The rest of Robert Frost's poem, which I began with its proper opening line as a crow cawed in the trees above my head, rattled off my tongue like foliage falling from a barren branch. The words were born in puffs of vapor, chill January air turning stanzas to steam with every uttered syllable. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. Although I wasn't traveling with the goal of sleep, I did have promises to keep, and about a mile before I could make good on them.

The backpack on my shoulder tapped heavily against my spine as I navigated the tangle of roots and fallen boughs decorating the path through the woods. Winter had stripped the leaves from the branches above; bits of grey-blue sky showed behind the thick latticework of twigs, my path dim but not quite dark. It was only midday, after all, or very near it. Every shift of the backpack felt like the beat of a clock's swinging pendulum, counting down seconds one by one.

I wasn't sure I liked that feeling—that feeling of a clock ticking against my back. It reminded me that I wasn't the only one who'd made promises recently, and that mine were the least dire promises of all.

They crow, invisible amidst the tangle of limbs overhead, cawed once more.

"Oh, shut up," I muttered, and I quickened my pace.

It had been only a week since Yusuke learned of Toguro's resurrection—or rather, his original deception and playacting of death, but the semantics hardly mattered. However you want to parse it, the clock had begun its inexorable ticking the moment Toguro tracked Yusuke down and invited him to the Dark Tournament. Although "invited" is also another word you could argue the semantics of, but that hardly mattered, either. Time marched us toward our fate any way you care to slice it. I just felt lucky the boys had been given nearly three months to train for the tournament instead of the mere two weeks they'd been allotted in the anime. The Dark Tournament, whether by fate or by design, coincided with our spring break at the end of March. At least Yusuke wouldn't have to miss more school than he already was inevitably going to…

The crow cawed again. I scowled and glared up at where I thought the crow might be hiding, a telltale flash of oily black flitting between the trees, but my gaze jerked back down again as from up ahead there came a noise—a distant crash, like twigs breaking under a heavy weight.

On reflex I broke into a trot, thumping backpack counting seconds even faster now.

Soon I came upon a clearing, path ending in a large section of empty space amidst the greater press of looming forest. Kurama had something to do with the clearing's presence and clean borders, no doubt, and I suspected he'd been the one responsible for the uncommonly neat path through the woods, too. No game-trails were that easy to follow, and the forest was too remote (and unmarked) for a proper hiking path. I stood where path met clearing and didn't move, scanning the clearing for movement—but then to my right I heard another round of creaking, breaking limbs. I stepped to the side just as a shower of twigs and bark rained down from above, and then with a mighty thud Kuwabara came plummeting to the ground. He landed in a heap before rolling onto his back, barrel chest heaving with labored breaths. Despite the day's cold, he wore only a white tanktop and jeans, bare arms showcasing a network of scratches and scrapes, some of which oozed fresh blood. Eyes tightly shut, he mopped his face with a hand and then let it fall, lying spread-eagle on the ground as he tried to catch his breath.

"Wow," I remarked. "I didn't realize flying was one of your training goals."

Kuwabara's eyes popped open. He stared at me, blinked, then sat up with an enormous grin and a nervous chortle. "Oh, hi, Keiko! Is it lunchtime already?" he said as he rubbed the back of his broad neck.

"Near about." I pointed at the conspicuous hole in the twig-canopy. "But you oughtta look alive there, partner."

"Huh?" He glanced up, then scowled. "Oh. Right."

Above, perched on a thick limb, crouched Hiei. He peered down at us like an overgrown gargoyle who'd discovered Hot Topic, red eyes nearly glowing in his tanned face. He dropped from the trees and landed a few feet away, hands jammed deep in the pockets of his black cloak.

"Get up, oaf," Hiei said.

Kuwabara made a sound of growling frustration and scrambled to his feet. "I told you to stop calling me that, short-stack!" He extended a hand and curled his fingers; between them bloomed a pinprick of yellow light that burst outward from his fist like a lightsaber summoned by a cranky Jedi. Slicing the Spirit Sword through the air, Kuwabara shot Hiei a triumphant grin and said, "How do you like this?"

Hiei just sneered. Kuwabara turned a distinct shade of puce and leapt at him with a bellow, but Hiei blurred from sight and cut around behind him, aiming a swift kick to the back of Kuwabara's knees. Kuwabara yelped and stumbled, sword flickering in his grip, but it didn't disappear as he regained his footing and rounded on Hiei for another strike.

I stayed back as they dodged and leapt and attacked their way into the clearing proper, but I watched the fight as intently as I could from a distance. I'd seen Kuwabara's sword in passing once before this new round of training began, but in the past week I'd been able to see it up close for the first time. Its yellow-hued light and the sparks of power leaping from it were impressive, like he wielded a blade forged of lighting—but when I stared at it directly, I could see trees and rocks behind it, like it wasn't a solid object but instead some sort of insubstantial hologram. I wondered if what I saw was indicative of reality, however, and not a reflection of his strength. I wasn't psychic, and I suspected that someone with psychic powers might be able to perceive more about the weapon that my ungifted eyes could not. Maybe I should ask someone. All the boys were here, after all, and—well. All the boys but _Yusuke_ were here.

At the thought of him, and specifically his absence, an ache opened in my chest like the gap left in the wake of a missing tooth.

My moment of melancholy didn't last, and of that I was glad. A heel crunched over a fallen twig at my back, Kurama perhaps intentionally signaling his approach. "Hello, Kei," he said with his usual smooth tones. "It's good to see you."

"Hi, Kurama," I said. Kuwabara shouted an insult at Hiei behind me; my lips twitched. "How's it going?"

"Well enough, I suppose." Green eyes narrowed. "But you needn't worry about our training, if that's what's on your mind."

I gave him the stare of a dead fish. "Asking me not to worry is an exercise in extreme futility and you know it."

"Perhaps," he said. He then changed the subject, not bothering with subtlety. "Thank you for bringing us lunch. Kuwabara will need a break before he begins his afternoon training with me."

"Ominous," I said. I slung my backpack off my shoulders and pulled the rolled-up picnic blanket from the straps keeping it in place atop the bag. "Well. Try not to kill him, I guess."

"I make no promises."

"Ha ha, very funny." Once I laid out the quilt, I unzipped the bag and drew out a thermos. "Soup?"

"Please."

He sat next to me on the blanket, long legs stretched before him across the blue and green-patterned cloth. We drank miso soup from cups and watched Hiei and Kuwabara spar—or rather, we watched Kuwabara chase Hiei around in circles and try to defend when Hiei lobbed a counterattack. Hiei had a clear edge in the fight, mainly because Kuwabara couldn't actually hit him, but were my eyes deceiving me or did Kuwabara seem to be a bit faster, a touch more agile since the start of their newest round of training?

"Do you think he'll be ready in time?" I murmured, hands tight around my cup of soup.

"We'll make every effort," Kurama said.

"Good. Keep me posted." My hands tightened a little more, plastic creaking under tense fingers. "It's just. Y'know. I worry. Especially since the stakes are so…"

"I know," came Kurama's soft reply.

We didn't need to say anything more on the subject. Not right then, anyway.

Kurama and I both knew what lay at the end of these three months, and what dangers awaited us at the end of that long road.

We watched the fight in silence until Hiei finally saw fit to grant Kuwabara a break. He lay on the ground recovering while I brought out the bentos (Hiei heated them with a blast of his power, bless the little rascal) and served our food. The scent of it revived Kuwabara in short order; he shoveled it down his throat in way fewer bites than seemed healthy, then launched into a conversation with Kurama about… something.

I confess my mind wandered to thoughts and questions and concerns about the upcoming tournament, and between wondering how canon might change and what Hiruko was up to, sending me a message the way he had, I quite lost track of the conversation. Not that Kuwabara let that oversight last.

"Keiko?" A hand waved in front of my face. "Hey, earth to Keiko!"

"Huh?" I shook my head, wincing at the look of amusement of Kuwabara's face. "Oh, sorry. What were you saying?"

Kuwabara laughed and launched back into the story he'd been telling, his points artfully embellished with waves of enthusiastic chopstick. That time I actually listened, catching the last bits of his tale before he reclined on the quilt with a sigh, dry winter grass crunching beneath his weight. Internally I resolved to stay in the moment from there on out. Lord knew I wouldn't be seeing much of Kuwabara once school started at the end of winter break in a few days..

"So." I set my bento aside and rearranged my legs beneath me. "How's the training going?"

"Oh, fine, fine," Kuwabara said with a dismissive shrug.

"Kuwabara progresses quickly," Kurama added. "We're quite proud of him, aren't we Hiei?"

Hiei rolled his eyes. Kuwabara glowered, but he smiled when he looked at me.

"Don't you worry, Keiko," he said. "I'm going to kick Toguro's butt six ways from Sunday at the tournament, you'll see!"

"Glad to hear it."

"Heh." Hiei smirked at Kuwabara over the top of a mug of soup. "You can't even kick my ass yet. What hope do you have of besting Toguro in a fight?"

"Hey, I did it before!" Kuwabara said. "I can do it again, too!"

"And yet he managed to come back from the grave. Seems you did a poor job exterminating him."

Kuwabara sat up, brandishing a fist. "Why, you—!"

"Now, now," Kurama chided. "Injuring our teammates hurts all our chances of survival."

Kuwabara hesitated, but eventually he lowered his fist with a grumble. "Fine. But I'll be strong as hell but the time the tournament comes." A glare he aimed at Hiei. "Just you wait and see, shrimp."

Hiei rolled his eyes. "I won't hold my breath."

Kuwabara started to yell something, but then he caught sight of Kurama's scolding expression and swallowed the aggression down. Instead he turned up his nose with a harrumph. "I'm going to ignore you now," he informed Hiei, and then he pointedly angled himself toward Kurama. "So, Kurama, you said we'll start our really special energy exercises soon. Can't we start today?"

Kurama shook his head with a regretful smile. "I think it's wise we continue to focus on the physical for the time being."

"But Genkai always started us off with energy and meditation training before physical training!" Kuwabara protested.

"Perhaps she did. I am sure her methods have their merits," Kurama (ever the polite tactician) said. "However, utilizing one's energy reserves during battle makes one aware of their own power, and of how it ebbs and flows. Perhaps becoming aware of your energy before trying to harness it could have benefits, as well." He smiled with kind confidence. "In any case, exposure to many kinds of training is no doubt beneficial. Perhaps you'll learn which works before for you."

"I mean, I guess," Kuwabara said, and then he grinned. "I mean, I'm not complaining. I'm just happy you agreed to help me train at all, y'know?"

Kurama nodded, offering a murmured affirmation of his promise to help Kuwabara train, but I barely heard him. I set down my food again and frowned. "Say, Kuwabara? Why didn't you go with Yusuke to Genkai's to train, anyway?"

"Easy—she said I shouldn't, and I'm not about to get on her bad side." He shrugged, looking at once regretful but also resigned. "Genkai helped me get way stronger and learn to harness my powers, but Yusuke is her true apprentice. She has to teach him what she knows, and if I showed up I'm sure she'd train me a little… but I don't want him to miss out on anything. He's the one Toguro is targeting the most." His fist clenched, resolution gleaming in the depths of his dark eyes. "I won't be the reason he doesn't learn every last scrap of what Genkai can offer."

His reasoning made sense, even if I was internally sad that Kuwabara wouldn't get to work with Genkai again—at least not right away. "That's good of you to keep Yusuke's needs in mind," I said. "You're a good friend."

Pink tinged Kuwabara's cheeks; he scratched his chin and looked bashfully to the side, smile breaking across his face like the sun through clouds. "Heh. Yeah. I'm pretty cool," he said—and his smile faded, jaw jutting in a look of blocky determination. "But if I wanna keep up with Yusuke after his super special awesome Genkai training, I'm gonna have to work twice as hard as I have been." He held up his hands and started ticking off fingers. "Let's see. Three, two… I wonder how many days a week I can take off of school before they make me fail a grade?"

I was shaking my head before he finished talking. "Nope. No. Nah. No way. You are _not_ skipping school to train."

His hands fell like stones into his lap. "What?! But why not?!"

"Because you have to get into a good high school, that's why," I said. "You can't fail now, not with so few semesters left to impress. You only just got your GPA back up and whatnot!"

"I mean, yeah, I guess. But you don't see Yusuke getting all hung up on that stuff." Kuwabara ducked his chin toward his chest to grumble, "I don't think he's planning on coming back for weeks, and our winter break'll be over in just a few days."

"That's true," I said. "But unlike you, Yusuke has no desire to get into a good college someday, and he doesn't give a crap about going to high school, either." I picked up my food and took a bite with a sigh. "Sometimes I wonder if he'll even finish middle school, given how much he skips."

Kuwabara looked like he grudgingly agreed with me, but he said, "I'll probably wish I'd skipped more school and thought less about my grades if I don't get strong enough to survive the tournament…"

"And if you _do_ survive and you've tanked your grades while training, you'll probably wish you'd died in the ring." I smiled a crooked smile. "Because that would probably be less painful than any punishment _Shizuru_ could dish out."

"Eep!" He clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes huge with horror. "I forgot about her!" And with that, he nodded so hard I feared he might break his neck. "I will be at school on Monday, like I'm supposed to."

"Good. It's settled." After a delicate bite of sashimi, I asked, "Speaking of which. Is your sister at home today?"

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Need a trim." I grabbed the end of my bangs between my fingertips and stared at them, cross-eyed. "It's amazing how often you need to visit the salon when you have a short style, and your sister is basically the only person I trust to come near me with scissors."

Kuwabara shuddered. "Me too. But only when she's in a good mood."

I hid a laugh behind my knuckles, but Kuwabara's grave expression didn't change. In fact, it just got a little darker; Kurama and I exchanged a look. He shrugged. I, however, had an inkling as to what was wrong, so to Kuwabara I said, "So, you still haven't told her about all of this?"

Kuwabara sagged like a balloon under the point of a needle. "No," he admitted to his knees. "I will later, I swear, but for now… she'd worry. So it's gotta be a secret, OK?"

He looked so sad, dejected, and conflicted that I could resist reaching out and patting his foot, offering him a sympathetic smile as he looked up at me. "I understand," I said, because I did understand what it was like to keep secrets for the good of your friends, and Kuwabara returned my smile with one of his own. I patted his foot and stood, shooing the boys off of my quilt once I saw they'd all finished their meals. "All right, then. I should probably head back. Was just here to drop off lunch, anyway." I turned around and leveled a finger at Hiei. "You play nice, you hear me?"

He just tossed his head with a smirk. "Sorry. Nice isn't in my nature."

"No, but eating is," I deadpanned. "Next time maybe there won't be a bento with your name on it."

His eyes popped open. "You wouldn't da—"

"Ha! Just kidding!" I stuck out my tongue; he glared at it. "See you tomorrow, huh?"

"Hmmph." Another head-toss as he spun on his heel and marched back into the clearing. "Kuwabara, with me."

"Ugh, do I gotta?" Kuwabara moaned, but he dragged himself after Hiei anyway. Walking backward, he waved at me and said in much, much happier tones, "Bye, Keiko! Thanks for the food. Can't wait to see your new cut tomorrow!"

"You're more into hair than I am," I joked as I raised my hand. "Bye!"

Another wave, and he was off clashing with Hiei once again. I knelt and gathered up the empty bento boxes and thermoses, and as I stuffed them back into my bag Kurama knelt at my side. He gathered up the rest of the cutlery and said, "Let me walk you to the road?"

Normally he just did it, rather than ask if he could, and when I met his eyes I saw in them a subtle light that said he was asking for a reason. I nodded, earning a satisfied smile in return, and once we packed up all of the dishes Kurama and I began the long walk back through the woods.

It didn't take him long to make his reasons for asking known, though of course he was very indirect about it at first; that's Kurama for you, I guess. "So," he said once the sounds of Kuwabara and Hiei fighting faded into the distance.

"So?" I replied when he did not continue.

"What are you doing after your hair cut?"

"Catching up with a few friends," I said, shrugging. "Nothing too interesting."

But apparently I was wrong. "Friends," Kurama repeated, and then his eyes narrowed. "That boy, Minato?"

"Maybe," I said. "What's it to you?"

I'd spoken with a hint of tease in my voice, but if Kurama noticed, he gave no indication. His reply was, instead, perfectly sincere when he said: "I'm glad you have a friend like him."

I blinked. "Eh?"

"One who must be even more of a peer than I am," he explained. "One you can undoubtedly confide in."

I stopped in my tracks, voice rising to a higher register when I yelped, "Eh?!"

"Yes." Kurama walked a few paces ahead before looking at me over his shoulder. When he saw my stunned face, he frowned. "He's like you, isn't he?"

_"EH?!"_

That was all I was capable of, after all: Standing stock still, knees knocked and arms akimbo, staring at Kurama as if he'd sprouted another arm from his chest, bellowing a sound of confused, aghast astonishment to the trees. Somewhere overhead a crow cawed, wings beating as it beat a retreat into the sky. Kurama, however, didn't appear at all perturbed.

"He's older than he looks, in the same manner as you, correct?" he said. When I only stared, pulse beating out of my chest, he frowned. "Was I not supposed to know?"

"Wh-what?" Stammered words squeaked out of my mouth syllable by syllable. "I don't—did he tell—how do you—?"

A range of emotions crossed Kurama's face, starting with surprise and ending with amusement. "No, he didn't tell me. I merely deduced. And to be honest, I thought you dropped a hint on purpose."

"Nope," I forced out from between my teeth. "No hints were dropped. None at all. Nope. Nooooope."

"I see," Kurama said in a grave tone that only barely covered the laughter building behind his eyes—and at the sight of that cheer, my cheeks flushed. I found myself stalking forward and past him on stiff legs, putting him behind me after a few quick steps.

"Where are you going?" Kurama called.

"You're too smart for your own good and I'm mad at you!"

At that he outright laughed. I kept walking, not stopping even when he called my name. Footsteps crunched over the twiggy ground; a hand closed gently around my arm, pulling me to a gradual stop. I wouldn't look at Kurama as he stood across from me, though, eyes fixed intently on his shoes as I tried not to let my head explode with embarrassment, shock, nerves—

"That night he helped you home—you told him he must have been a knight in his past life," Kurama said. "Was that not a message for me? To the others it seemed like a passing remark about his obvious chivalry, but in context…"

"It… it was more of a figure of speech than a hint. It's not like he was originally born in the 1500s or something." I groaned and covered my face with my hands, flesh heating even more beneath my fingertips. "Me and my big, metaphorical mouth."

"Kei," Kurama said, but gently.

"I chose too literal a metaphor and you and your stupid, enormous brain ran with it straight to the correct conclusion." I glared at him from between my fingers. "Isn't that just like you?"

"Well," he said. "Perhaps it will make you feel a little better to know that I didn't make the connection until a day or so ago."

I eyed him with outright suspicion. "Oh, really?"

"Yes. After you fell asleep that night, I spoke with him, but he was too discreet to let anything slip. And at the time I was too concerned with safeguarding you against further attack to truly dissect your language." A delicate shrug. "He seemed mature for his age, however, and he did not balk at the sight of the supernatural. Then, later, when I recalled what you said about a past life…" At that, a small smile graced his lips. "I further recalled that you were clearly nervous that day I met him unexpectedly at _aikido_. I doubted you would be nervous to introduce a friend of mundane consequence."

It was true. Damn him, every last observation and word of it was true, and at the sound of those truths my teeth started to grind. "Two and two makes an inconvenient four," I said.

"Indeed." Now Kurama looked at me with outright interest, scanning my face over again with glittering green eyes. "Is he another of our eventual allies or enemies met too soon?"

I covered my face with my hands again. It was with the greatest reluctance that I admitted: "Um. Kind of?"

Thanks to my unfortunate attempt at a too-real joke, Kurama had figured out almost everything. He didn't know about Minato's connection to another canon, mostly because Kurama wasn't aware there were other canons in this world at all, but his inconveniently gargantuan brain had still come to an alarmingly close conclusion. Should I tell him the real truth? Let sleeping dogs lie? Pretend he'd hit the nail on the head and just let him think what he wanted? Because telling him about Sailor V was probably a bad idea despite how nice it would be to just be honest, and—

Warm fingers curled around my wrist, finding that single stripe of exposed skin between the cuff of my jacket and the ends of my winter gloves. With only the barest suggestion of force, Kurama encouraged me to lower my hands and look at him, although I did an admirable job of avoiding eye contact (for the most part; every time we looked at each other, his mouth quirked like he wanted to laugh, and that made me cheeks heat up in an unending cycle of _oh my god what the fuck do I do?_ ). Kurama didn't pry, however, nor did he demand my honesty. Instead his thumb traced a single, comforting circle over my wrist before he let go of my arm.

"I know better than to press," Kurama murmured. "Tell him hello for me, however."

It was a reprieve and I knew better than to question it or to tempt his greater curiosity. I saluted with comical eagerness, trying to dispel tension with humor. "Will do, sir. See you tomorrow. I can walk the rest of the way, solo-mission style."

"See you," he said as I turned away—but before I could get far, he spoke again. "And Kei?"

I stopped and eyed him skittishly over my shoulder. "What?"

"I'm sorry for stumbling upon that secret."

Looked like he meant it, too, or at least was playing at pretending to mean it—although his expression seemed sincere enough, that wicked sparkle in his eye was hard to ignore. I sighed, shoulders sagging, and said, "No apologies necessary. It's not your fault you have a brain the size of Mongolia and I lack any and all semblance of self-awareness."

Kurama let out a sudden bark of laughter before putting a hand to his mouth to stifle it. He looked as surprised at the laugh as I felt; I grinned crookedly and trotted off with a wave, bolting away down the path with another shouted farewell before he could decide to ask more questions.

I was no match for Kurama's Einstein brain, but at least I could disarm him with humor.

* * *

Shizuru's strong fingers rubbed delicious circles across my scalp as she washed my hair. She'd invested in a proper beautician's chair and shampooing sink during the past few months, allowing her to even better run her business out of her family's home—and holy _shit_ did I love that chair. The padded neck rest and seat were wonderfully relaxing, though of course they weren't as relaxing as the feel of Shizuru's massage or the scent of the shampoo she'd lathered through my hair. I probably could have gone another week or two before visiting her for a cut, but I needed to do something just for me, dammit, and a haircut and scalp massage were just what the doctor ordered. Hell, I deserved a full body massage after all I'd been through in the past few weeks. I'd have to ask Shizuru if she knew of a good place to visit for just such a treatment…

Eventually, as all good things must come to an end, Shizuru's ministrations came to a close. She rinsed conditioner from my hair with warm water before telling me to sit up and draping a towel around my shoulders. I stood and followed her into the kitchen, where she bade me sit in a swivel chair (another recent business investment) and don a smock. She unrolled a canvas bag of equipment on the counter and selected a comb from its contents, then moved to stand behind me and out of sight. I closed my eyes as she tugged the comb through my hair, enjoying the feel of the tines against my scalp.

Shizuru very casually remarked, "You gonna tell me where my baby brother's been getting off to every day this week?"

At first I thought I hadn't heard her right. Upon replaying what she said, I realized that, in fact, I had. My eyes snapped open and I breathed an eloquent, "Huh?"

One hand appeared over my shoulder. Between Shizuru's fingers was a small sprig of pine needle. "Found this in your hair." The hand retreated out of sight. "Kuwabara keeps coming home with them in his pockets."

"… does he, now?" I said, hyperconscious of the fact my ears had started to heat up and Shizuru had a perfect view of them.

"Yup." The comb passed over my head a few times. "And he keeps wearing turtlenecks."

I frowned. "Turtlenecks?"

"Yup." She whistled low between her teeth. "And I walked in one him getting dressed the other day. It's funny. It looked almost like he had a bruise on his neck."

"… a bruise on his neck?"

"Mmm hmm. So tell me." An impact reverberated through the chair as she kicked it around, spinning me to face her so she could lean on the armrests, nose to nose with me, expression absolutely ice cold. "Was it a hickey? You two been making out in the woods lately or something?"

I stared at her.

She stared at me.

I stared at her.

One of Shizuru's brows lifted.

I went supernova.

"Oh, hell no!" I shrieked, voice at least three octaves higher than usual before I buried my face in my hands. "Shizuru, please! Don't be gross!"

From between my splayed fingers, I saw her stand up straight and shrug. "Hey, you never know. Maybe baby bro final developed some game." Her arms crossed over her chest. "But if it's not a little romantic rendezvous…"

"Uh." I let my hands drop, because now that she'd dropped the notion of me having secret trysts with her little brother ( _I will not date till I turn 18!_ I wanted to shout) I needed to supply an alternate theory. Kuwabara had only just finished telling me he'd tell his sister what was up eventually, but on his terms. Thus, I wracked my brain and eventually managed to blurt a hurried: "Study sessions."

Her brow lifted again. "Study sessions."

"Yeah."

"In the woods?"

"We're. Uh. We're studying leaves."

"You're lying," Shizuru said, voice completely blank. "And you wouldn't lie about something small, which means it's big. So…" She tapped her fingers on her bicep, scanning me from toes to teeth with agonizing indolence. "It's something about Spirit World, I'm guessing, because otherwise you'd probably just blurt it out."

I froze, shocked into it by her astuteness, but soon I forced a bright laugh. Channeling my inner Botan, I waved a hand in dismissal and said through a laugh, "Spirit World? _Spirit World?_ Why in heaven's name would it be anything about—"

Shizuru reached into her pocket while I spoke. She pulled out a cigarette and lifted a lighter to her lips. "Hysterical laughter, right on cue." My words died as the lighter clicked, fire blazing into life. "Looks like I hit the nail on the head." She slipped her lighter into her pocket and took a long, slow drag. "So what does Spirit World want this time?"

I gaped at her, then buried my face in my hands again. Something I was doing quite a lot of these days, but what the hell else was I supposed to do when I got called out? "Oh god, Shizuru, please," I moaned. "I just got the whole psychanalysis bit from Kurama, so please, not you, too—"

"So you were with Kurama today, at the place with all the pine needles," she cut in, seizing at once upon my godforsaken slip of the tongue (and whoops, there went my big, enormous mouth getting me in trouble again). Shizuru continued, "If I had to bet, my brother was probably there, too. You kids tend to stick together these days. Damn teens." She took another drag, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke to the side because even when interrogating me, she knew I didn't like smoke in my face. "Pine needles, pine needles... somewhere remote, I'm guessing. Deep in a park, or maybe on the outskirts of town." Her lips curled when she smirked. "Judging by the color of your ears, I'm close."

I covered my face again. "I hate you."

"Liar." A third drag. Her hip cocked to the side, weight resting on one foot as she regarded the ceiling through cool eyes. "Spirit World, remote place, Kurama was there… which means this has past week has been a secret mission, or you've been out in the woods preparing for one." Satisfied by her own deductions, Shizuru cracked an understated grin. "Somebody's been training, it seems. Which I guess explains the bruises I mentioned."

"Oh, god." I flopped backward in the chair and threw my arm over my eyes, groaning. "Oh, fuck me _sideways_."

"Maybe when you're older," Shizuru said. She ignored my mortified sputterings and the scandalized cry of her name and asked, "So where's he been, kiddo? Spill."

"OK, look." I threw up my hands. "I _specifically_ asked if he told you and he _specifically_ said he didn't want to tell you yet." At Shizuru's look of cool murder I held up a frantic and pacifying hand. "Yet! _Yet!_ Which means he _will_ tell you soon. Um. He'll tell you eventually. Someday?" Rubbing the back of my damp neck, conscious of the wet hair clinging cold to my hot cheeks, I said, "And I really think you should hear it from me instead of him because betraying his trust wouldn't be a good look and then he'd never trust me again and you'll be out of a spy, so it's really in your best interests to not make me tell you. OK?"

Shizuru didn't reply right away. In fact, for a long time, she didn't reply at all. Her face bore no expression, brown eyes distant but assessing as we traded a look that lasted for much longer than I saw reason for. She stood there and stared at me until her cigarette burned down and she had to discard the filter in an ash tray. When its trail of acrid smoke went cold, Shizuru blotted out the cigarette and kicked the chair back around, once more going over my damp hair with her comb.

With my back to her, she spoke.

"I understand your heart is in the right place, here, but I'm his sister." Her gruff voice did not falter, did not stutter as she spoke. "Our mom's dead. Our dad's too busy providing to be around much. I'm all my baby bro's got, in some ways." A moment's pause, so slight as to be imperceptible. "There's been a tight feeling in my chest since New Year's Day. Like there's a weight on the air, and it's getting heavier every day."

I drew in a breath, sharp and short. Shizuru spun the chair around. Her face still bore no expression despite what she'd said to me, and it continued to remain blank and distant as she put down the comb and exchanged it for scissors. Shizuru used her pointer and middle fingers to comb through my bangs; she snipped at the ends of them with her other hand, transforming them from shapeless shag to punk-rock awesomeness with just a few clips.

"And baby bro… he thinks he can hide it, but he can't," she said, voice so low I had to strain to hear it. "I can see it in his face. There's something coming. A storm, maybe. Would explain that feeling in the air. Whatever it is, Kazuma knows what's on the way—and I want to know about it, too." She stood back, both to admire her handiwork and to better look me in the eye. "So, Keiko—I'm not asking you to betray his trust. I'm asking you to let me be there for him." Her mouth curled the barest fraction. "Baby bro has a good head on his shoulders. I just want to stand behind those shoulders to catch him if he stumbles."

She'd let her mask slip a little, talking about her brother like that. I could see it in her eyes, in their subtle shimmer of affection and exasperation, which betrayed everything she wasn't saying even after this admission. It was, perhaps, the most vulnerable she'd been in front of me, and it laid out everything she was feeling in just a few neat sentences.

Now, who the hell would I be to say 'no' after a speech like that?

An asshole, that's what. But even if I felt Shizuru deserved to know _something_ , I still needed to honor Kuwabara's request for discretion. How to balance these things? What to do, what to do…

"OK." I took a deep breath to center myself, then looked Shizuru dead in her impassive eyes. "I'm not going to tell you anything. I'm just going to confirm that your guesses—well, that they were uncomfortably on point. So really I'm not giving anything away. You did all the guesswork yourself." Another deep breath. "You're right. It's Spirit World shit. And it's going to be the single most dangerous thing your brother has ever faced."

Her eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"We have till Spring Break, and then… they fight." I shrugged. "Until then, they train."

"Who's 'they?'"

"Kuwabara. Yusuke. Kurama. Hiei. Y'know, the usual crew. Oh, and a fifth fighter they haven't nailed down yet, but Yusuke has a lead."

"You don't say," she said, looking far less than even moderately impressed. "Too bad I've got even less faith in Yusuke than I do in my brother to pry favors out of people…"

She trailed off, one hand on her hip, the other hand hanging loose at her side with scissors dangling from her fingertips. It wasn't often Shizuru stared off into space, but just then that's exactly what she did, gazing past the kitchen and into some metaphysical distance beyond it I could not begin to fathom, nor one I could hope to follow. All I could do was reach out and touch her hand, to bring her back to the here and now and try to comfort her as best I could.

"They'll be fine, Shizuru," I said when she looked at me at last. "They'll be fine. I promise."

She shut her eyes and heaved a laugh through her nose. "Yeah, kiddo. If you say so—but forgive me if I'm not convinced."

Shizuru finished cutting my hair that day without saying much else, and without demanding that I give her more information. I left that day sporting a fantastic haircut, and I was followed out the door by Shizuru's quiet assurance she wouldn't let slip the fact that I'd blabbed when Kuwabara told me not to. Of course, I wondered what she would do with the information I had given her—but thankfully, I didn't have to wait long. A few days after my haircut, Kuwabara gave me a call and asked, "Hey, did my sister mention any plans to you?"

"Plans?" I said. "What kind of plans?"

"Travel plans, I guess? I woke up today and she was gone—not gone-gone like you were, though. There's a suitcase missing and she left a note."

"Interesting. What does the note say?"

Paper rustled over the phone line. Kuwabara pitched his voice high, mocking his sister's when he dutifully read, "'Gone to beauty school seminar in Hokkaido. Be back in a few weeks. Eat your vegetables. Will send pocket money.'" He heaved a sighed, paper crumpling again. "And that's fine, she can do whatever she likes, but I dunno, Keiko. It just seems weird for her to go running off without telling me first."

"Yeah," I said. "That is weird."

Weird—but I had a hunch I knew exactly where she'd gone. As soon as Kuwabara and I hung up, I dialed the phone number of the Sanada family, and I was not at all surprised to hear young Fubuki confirm that Shizuru was already in the mountains with Kuroko, training to face the unknown danger looming long and dark before us.

* * *

Soon winter break came to a close, and school started back up again.

To explain Yusuke's continued absence, Atsuko crafted a lie that Yusuke had mononucleosis and was too contagious to come to school. I, of course, made a joke about how no one would possibly believe that dweeb caught the kissing bug, let alone that he could find anyone to spread it to, but the joke wasn't nearly as fun without Yusuke around to react to it. Sure, he called every now and again to tell Atsuko he was still alive, but he never called me personally and I never seemed to be at the Urameshi residence when one of his occasional calls came through. Me being me, I couldn't help but wonder why I wasn't on his contact list. Genkai had never given me her phone number and caller ID wasn't really a thing yet, so I didn't know how to reach Yusuke short of marching into the mountains to confront him myself—and of course my pride refused to let me do that.

Figuring out why he'd left without saying goodbye to me would have to wait until he came back, much though that hurt to admit.

In his absence, I concentrated on school and on keeping Kuwabara's grades afloat as he balanced training and his studies. Kurama helped some with this, advising Kuwabara on his classes in between practice bouts and on the nights he wasn't meeting up with me. I carried on with my usual weekly parole meetings with Kurama and Hiei through visiting them at the training site most of the time, but Kurama and I enjoyed our weekly walks and dinners together and did not let them die despite the circumstances. When I wasn't watching them train or tutoring Kuwabara, I was at _aikido_. With fewer friends to hang out with, I had more time to increase my number of weekly lessons, something I felt I needed to do if I was to defend myself against demons at the tournament.

Hideki didn't ask about these increased lessons, of course. He was too private to pry. He merely commented that I seemed more focused than usual, and that perhaps having a new sparring partner in Minato (who now attended lessons with us regularly) had expanded my repertoire of fighting moves.

All in all, a new routine had emerged, one marked both by a change in my daily activities as well as my continued anxiety. Knowing what was coming, barreling toward us along the tracks of the passage of time like a runaway train, often kept me up at night, and often I had to force myself to lucid dream to keep the nightmares at bay. At first I had been happy we had more than a few weeks to train, but as the days crept by, I wondered if the extended timeframe was a blessing, after all. Two and a half months was a much longer time to (over)think about things and to get wrapped up in your own head.

Speaking of which, my thoughts remained chock full of various mysteries as the weeks went by. What did Hiruko intend to accomplish at the Dark Tournament remained chief among them, of course. Some secondary worries (how to get there, for one thing) and potential changes to canon given this extended training session also dogged my mental steps. I confess I spent pretty much all my time mulling over my myriad questions, endlessly tossing and turning at night as I tried to suss them out. They popped up when I watched the boys train, or when I daydreamed during class, or when my nightly dreams turned dark and boding. But what the heck was I supposed to do about it, other than wait for the answers to come as they would?

Too bad I hated waited.

Even when Hiei popped up for a random meal, the questions pestered me. We would sit on boxes in the alley in silence, him slurping noodles while I stared into space and thought endless thoughts, snake eating its tail in an infinite loop. During one of our first solo dinners after the Toguro incident and the night the robed trio invited Hiei to the tournament, I'd wondered if he might ask about the pink haired boy in my dreams and perhaps join me in asking my infinite questions, but he did not. He just sat down to eat without a word, and when I started to talk and ask him if he wanted to know something, he put down his chopsticks and glared.

"I said I don't want to muck about with fate, Meigo," he'd reminded me. "Do I _really_ need to spell that out for you again?"

And so I'd let it go, and I continued to ask my questions on my own.

That's the state of mind he found me in about two weeks after school started, when he appeared in the alley on the night of one of our scheduled parole meetings. Without a word he sat down to eat (as was his custom), giving me a curt nod of recognition as we dug into our food. We ate in silence for a time, but the silence eventually began to weigh on me (mostly because I couldn't get my damned questions out of my head when it was quiet). I opened my mouth to talk, to just spout some random shit about my school day, but before I could get going, Hiei sat up straight. His eyes swung to his left, down the path of the alley toward the street beyond. I looked, too, only to feel my eyes widen when I saw someone standing there.

She walked forward with a nervous wave when she saw us looking at her. "Hello Hiei, Keiko," she said with a bright, but nervous, giggle. "It's good to see you both."

"Botan?" I put down my bowl of soup. "What are you doing here?"

Since Yusuke left, Botan had bounced around between the Urameshi, Kuwabara, and Yukimura residences at random. She often showed up at training sessions on weekends and evenings, and more than once she and I had hung out for a girl's night out (or in, if we weren't feeling too social). Botan loved to hang out, but while she was quite the social butterfly, it wasn't like her to show up unannounced. She always called first, ever the very careful and considerate houseguest—so why was she here now, standing awkwardly before us and fidgeting?

"You hungry?" I stood up and made a move toward the door to the restaurant. "I could make a plate—?"

But she was already shaking her head, so I sat back down. "No, thank you. I've already eaten. It's, ah…" She ducked her chin. "It's Hiei I want to talk to, actually."

"… oh." That was certainly unexpected. Wondering if I should leave or something, I picked my food back up and dug in. "Well. Go ahead."

Hiei, however, was not as welcoming. "What in the hell do you want?" he said, looking Botan over with a sneer.

She bore his ire with dignity and took a deep breath. "I think—I think I'm ready to start learning to master… well." She gestured at her forehead. "You know."

Hiei's face screwed up. "Why?"

"I want to be useful. And I think I can be useful if I master this, you see." The words burst from her mouth the moment he asked his question, as if maybe she's prepared herself ahead of time. Clasping her hands over her chest, she looked at Hiei with wide, bright eyes and said, "Hiei, I asked you before to teach me, and you were skeptical that I was serious. But I took your words to heart, and ever since then I have been working on developing my spiritual power. Kuwabara and Yusuke helped me learn the basics of power manipulation, you see. I was even able to take on a strong demon named Miyuki recently, while on a mission for Spirit World."

She seemed proud of that victory. Hiei didn't even blink, though: He just stared, eyes enormous and expressionless and reflecting eerie red in the dark. She gave another nervous chuckle and pulled her ponytail forward over her chest, fingers running down its length to soothe her nerves.

"I know I'm probably not going to be amazing," she continued with a chipper smile that only looked a little forced. "But I think I can be good. And with the tournament coming up, I think it's important I contribute to the team's well-being. I can heal, but I should also learn to fight, and better than I can now."

I bit the noodles hanging from my mouth and hurriedly swallowed them down. "Hey, Botan? You want to go to the tournament with them?"

She gave an emphatic nod. "I do."

"I mean. I support you, but is that wise?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But maybe if they boys could ever use backup, and if I could be that backup…"

Hiei's eyes narrowed. "What makes you think we can't handle it on our own?"

Botan bit her lip. "I didn't say you couldn't, Hiei. Don't be silly. You're very strong. Just…"

"Just _what?_ " he growled.

Botan shook her head, though what she was trying to deny I could not say. "The tournament is bloodthirsty. And you're being sent into battle so suddenly. If Koenma had never made the team tangle with the Toguro brothers, you never would have had to fight in the tournament. I knew that mission was a bad idea, and yet—"

She shook her head again. Hiei smirked.

"I see," he said, void resonating with a note of impish triumph. "So even Spirit World's own lackey can see their incompetence."

" _I'm no one's lackey!"_

I froze, noodles hanging from my mouth in a streamer. Without moving my head, my eyes cut between Botan and Hiei—Hiei, whose eyes had widened at Botan's outburst, and Botan, who stood with hand over her mouth, cheeks pink with embarrassment. Eventually she cleared her throat, hand balling into fists at her sides.

"After I was cut with the Shadow Sword," she said, voice soft and measured and thrumming with tension, "Spirit World locked me in what was, in no uncertain terms, a prison. And if they had the chance, they would drag me back and lock me away all over again. I need to be strong enough to resist them. But more than that—I want to help, because Spirit World…"

She trailed off. It wasn't often Botan wore anything besides a smile, so the haggard cast to her magenta eyes had my hackles raising in alarm at once. I reached out and hooked my hand into hers, gazing up into her face with a look of concern.

"What is it, Botan?" I said.

She shook her head another time. Drew in a breath. Let it go. "Koenma does his best. But there are rumblings of manipulation behind the scenes. I never used to believe the rumors, but…" She looked at Hiei again. "Hiei. You're gruff, sometimes, but you're a good person."

He nearly dropped his damn bowl of ramen, that took him so off guard, but he caught the bowl again before it could spill. "What in the seven hells are you babbling about, woman?" he snarled.

"You and Kurama both worked so hard to rescue Keiko the night she went missing," Botan said. "You've aided Yusuke at risk to your own well-being more than once. You aren't bad people. But some in Spirit World would have me believe that because you're demons, you can't be trusted. And those people would be wrong." Her neck drooped, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry for judging you before now."

Hiei just shook his head at the apology. "I don't care what you think about me."

"No. Of course not," she said with a sad smile. "And I don't suppose anything I said just now has any bearing on asking you to train me, so let me change the subject." At that she pulled her hand from mine and bowed, long and low and beseeching. Botan said, "Please, Hiei-san. Please consider training me to harness the powers of my third eye, so that I may aid you and my other friends in the battles to come."

But Hiei only scoffed. "Did you rehearse that little speech?"

Botan straightened up with a nervous chuckle. "Maybe?"

If that bothered him, he didn't show it. He just harrumphed under his breath and glared at her. "I asked you why you wanted to train, but tell me. Why should _I_ want to train _you?_ "

Botan stared, mystified. "Why should you…?"

"Why should I waste my time training the likes of you?" Hiei said. "You won't be at the level the tournament requires even with months of rigorous training. And why should I take time out of my own training to cater to you?" He shook his head and scoffed, turning from Botan as if to dismiss her. "I'm already training the oaf. You're a waste of my time."

"But Hiei—you have a third eye, yourself," Botan said, voice edged with pleading. "There's no one else I can ask!" When Hiei did not turn around or acknowledged her, she stepped toward him and put a hand to her chest. "I did what you said, Hiei. I trained my body and my mind just like you said I should. I showed initiative and I worked hard. But now I need specific help harnessing the powers of the Jagan, and you're the only person I can count on to help me!"

Still, Hiei did not budge. Desperation gleamed in Botan's eyes like molten silver.

"You don't have to train me," she said in a small voice. "You can just… you can give me tips, and I can show you my progress. That's all I ask."

"You ask too much." Hiei bared his teeth. "I have no interest in—"

"Only true masters of an art can teach it to another."

This came from me, slipping from between my lips like a cartoon character on a banana peel. Still, the quick murmur caught Hiei's ear at once, and he turned toward me atop his crate with a pronounced scowl.

"What did you say?" he said. "Do you have an opinion to share, Meigo?"

I shrugged. "Not really? It's just something my grandmother used to say." I held a finger aloft and used my best imitation of an old lady voice to clarify, "If you can't teach something to someone else, or explain how to do something in simple terms, you're probably not a master of that subject, yourself." The finger dropped. "That's about the gist of what she meant."

Hiei bristled like an angry hedgehog. "Are you suggesting I'm not a master of my evil eye?" he said, disdain dripping from every syllable.

"Oh, nah, nothing like that. It was just a quote that popped into my head, that's all. Although…" I shrugged again. "It would reflect well on your mastery of the subject if you were able to mentor a capable protégé. Make you look like you know what you're doing, y'know?" I hefted my bowl of ramen to my face and readied my chopsticks. "But that's all I have to say about that."

Botan shook her head. "It's all right, Keiko. You don't have to fight for me. Hiei's right. He has to prepare for the tournament, himself. If I were to distract him, and he went to the tournament unprepared and got hurt—"

And then Hiei was rounding on her with murder in his eye. "Are you suggesting I can't handle training someone else and myself at the same time?" he demanded.

Botan backed up a step. "N-no, Hiei, I'm—"

"I mean. She's right, though," I interjected. When Hiei's head whipped toward me I said, "Don't you have a lot of preparing to do in terms of your own strength? If you spend time on her and neglect yourself and lose a match…"

Hiei shot to his feet, ramen sloshing as he set it roughly on a crate beside him. "I will not lose no matter my handicaps!" he snarled at me, and then he raised one finger toward Botan. "You, girl. Meet me tomorrow night, at moonrise, here."

Botan did a double-take. "What? Really? You're willing to train me?"

"Did I _say_ that?" Hiei barked. "No, you fool. I'm going to test you. If you pass, I'll _think_ about training you, but don't hold your breath." He marched forward, finger still level with her nose, and she went cross-eyed to stare at his offending digit. "Heed this warning: Should you somehow pass, the moment I tire of you, or the very minute you annoy me, I'm gone and I will teach you nothing. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, of course," Botan said, nodding like a bobblehead on a bumpy road. "Yes, Hiei- _sensei_ , I will do as you say!"

"Don't call me sensei!" Hiei snapped.

"Hiei- _shisho_!"

"Not that, either!" He flung a hand at the alleymouth and stalked away. "Get out of my sight!"

"Y-yes Hiei- _sen_ —I mean, Hiei- _san_. Good night!" She dipped a bow to him, and then a bow to me. "And thank you, Keiko."

"You're welcome," I said, though why she was thanking me I wasn't exactly sure.

But then, as she rose from her bow… Botan winked.

As she ran out of the alley with a giggler, I had to wonder if her concern for Hiei's well-being was mostly an act, and if she hadn't been playing along with my attempts to manipulate his pride, after all.

Not that Hiei had noticed her deception. He returned to his crate and sat down heavily once again, grumbling into his soup, "She should be thanking me, not you."

I kept my eyes fixed carefully on my ramen. "Sure."

"I'm the one who's going to train her, not you."

"That's right."

"So the thanks should be—wait a minute."

Hiei stared at me through narrowed eyes. I whistled between my teeth, avoiding making eye contact. A low rumble of frustration bubbled in his throat after a moment of tense silence.

"Don't think for even one second you manipulated me just now—" Hiei hissed.

"Wouldn't dream of it." I pointed at his ramen. "Now eat your food before it gets cold."

Grudgingly, and only after watching me with outright suspicion for at least two minutes, Hiei began to eat again.

I picked at my food. It had been gratifying to help Botan get what she'd been after for so long, and for her to get what I'd tried (and failed) to help her get before, but knowing that she was about to start her own training regimen put the slightest of sour tastes in my mouth. Both Shizuru and Botan were now in training to help our ragtag little bunch, and here I was sitting on my ass getting regular old fighting lessons that would only help me beat the crap out of the lowest common denominator of demon. Sure, I had a few ideas about how to get powers and stuff, but none that I could pursue before the Dark Tournament rolled around. That meant everyone else was going to get their own lovely little training montage, their own moments to be Rocky Balboa, but I was just… I mean, what was his love interest's name? The fact that I couldn't remember tells you all you need to know about how pathetic my situation was. What a joke, right? I felt like an utter joke because I was as useless as a wet dish rag and—

"Stop that."

I looked up to find Hiei glaring at me. "Stop what?"

"Brooding," he replied.

It was my turn to glare. "You don't have a monopoly on brooding, Hiei."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

I sighed. "Nothing."

"Thought so." But his triumphant smile soon turned to a look of longsuffering impatience. "Well. Go on," he said as he waved a hand in my direction.

"Huh?"

"Go on and—what do you call it? Vent?" He rolled his eyes. "Pitiful human custom, but it seems to be the only thing that ends your annoying brooding, which means I'll endure it if I must."

"How kind of you," I muttered.

He scoffed. "Now that's one thing I've never been accused of."

"Really? Never? But you're such a softie!" I crooned—and Hiei shot me a look of absolute murder and put his hand on his sword. My hands shot up between us at once. "OK, OK, I take it back, you're a mean ol' demon feared far and wide and you've never done a kind thing for nobody and your heart is as hard as a rock."

Hiei waited a beat, and then his hand eased off his sword.

"OK. As for venting, I'm frustrated," I said, grateful to express myself no matter what Hiei's justification for listening to me was. "I don't have a way to help the four of you. I can't train with you, I can't heal, I can't do anything useful," I said, ticking off the options on my fingers before throwing my hands into the air. "It's annoying and I don't like it."

"Yes," Hiei remarked. "You are remarkably useless."

"Oh, fuck off!"

"Heh." He pointed at me with his chopsticks and smirked. "That. Hold onto that."

"Onto—?"

"Onto the anger. Anger is useful. Forget the worry and focus on nurturing that fire, instead." He dug the chopsticks into his food. "Maybe we can find a use for you yet."

I stared at the floor as he took another bite. Wheels turning in my head, I swirled my chopsticks through my soup and watched the noodles dance, ropes tangling and untangling like threads winding around a spindle, until I worked up the gumption to voice the thoughts that had been rattling around in my head for days.

Thoughts Hiei had already told me he didn't want to hear.

I took a deep breath. Said: "Hey, Hiei?"

His dour eyes cut my way. "What?"

"I think I know of one way I could be useful to the team," I said, keeping my voice as casual as possible. "But… it's going to make one of us angry."

He set down his bowl and straightened up. "Meigo."

"And that person isn't me, sooo…"

"Meigo," Hiei repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"OK. Look." Another deep breath, and this time I looked at Hiei and smiled. "If I'm going to be useful, I'll need your help with something."

"My help?" he repeated, nose wrinkling with distaste. "First the oaf, then Botan, and now you. I'm not a charity!"

"I know," I said. "But I think you might be the only person who can help me be useful—"

"Now where have I heard that before?" Hiei muttered.

"—and the thing is, you're probably not going to like _how_ you can help. Hence the whole 'one of us will be angry' thing. So. Um?"

"You know what's _really_ making me angry?" Hiei said, every word laced with ire. "You dancing around whatever it is you want to ask me. Just spit it out and be done with it, Meigo, I insist."

"OK, fine!" I said. I set aside my ramen and stood, pacing back and forth as I spoke. "Here's the situation. I think I know a way to help all of you out. It's a small thing, but it might be… important? I'm not sure, but that's really whatever. Anyway." I shook my head, trying to get back on track. "In order to be of use, I need to remember something I have apparently forgotten, and I think you're the best person to help me knock some cobwebs loose."

His eyes widened as he began to catch on. "Meigo," he said, voice thrumming with danger. "You don't mean—?"

But I didn't let him finish. This was my request, and if I wanted to see it through, I needed to face the reality of what I wanted head on—not let Hiei beat me to the punch and do the hard work on my behalf. I held up my hand to silence him, and then I took another deep, deep breath while he looked on in silence, rising to his feet in a surge of fluttering black cloak. We stood face to face as a chill wind swept through the alley, teasing my hair like the fingers of some icy specter.

"Hiei," I said, "if you're willing, I could use your help remembering what death feels like."

And then I held my breath, and I waited for his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having a really, really hard day today, supremely stressed, but this chapter was a perfect and welcome distraction from the other stuff that's bothering me. Thanks for reading and for making LC such a joy to write. You're the best; thank you!
> 
> Many thanks to all of you who chimed in this week and made my day a hell of a lot better in the process: cptkitten, Masked Trickster, Gerbilfriend, Eternalevecho, AngelFish1214, Atsuyuri_sama, Tewdrig, Unctuous, activelyapathetic, MageKing17, Kuramag33, EMMStAr, scallionite, amarielah, Laina Inverse, I Am Prism Cat, The Interim Vector Chronos, and kintinca!


	80. Know Your Enemy; Know Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: LOTS of talk about DEATH AND DYING AND CAR WRECKS. Some violent imagery and gore near the end. Please be careful reading this and skip to next week if you have trouble with this content. This chapter will affect stuff further down the line, but if you're really uncomfortable with talk of violent death, you can skip it for the time being. I'll write a summary of this chapter in the chapter notes for your convenience.

Crumbs clung to Kuwabara's chin as he put his finger to it and asked, "Hey, Yusuke—can I ask you a weird question?"

Yusuke looked up from the cookie he'd been gnawing with one brow arched sky high. "What kind of question?" His brow descended, eyes hooded and dark. "It better not be pervy!"

"What?! No, ew!" Kuwabara shuddered. "I just. It's just?" A long paused; his gaze drifted to the tabletop between us. "Well."

At that point I'd put down my fork, and even Botan had set aside her cup of steaming tea to watch this odd interaction play out. We were at Botan's favorite café, one of the seventeen she'd dragged us to since gaining her Evil Eye and coming to Human World to live—permanently, we assumed, unless something changed about her situation, but we had no real suspicion that it would.

Botan and I sat across from one another. As Kuwabara hesitated, biting his lip and staring into his bubble tea like it might provide him answers instead of Yusuke, she and I exchanged a Look. It was a long Look, and neither of us seemed more or less confused than the other.

This scene at the café had happened long before Botan and I tag-team manipulated Hiei into training her, maybe even before we'd gone to rescue Yukina; I had trouble remembering the exact time, but as I asked Hiei to help me remember death, this is the memory that sat at the back of my mind like a persistently aching tooth.

"Um." Kuwabara shifted nervously in his seat. "So it's something I've been meaning to talk to you about for a long time now, and—"

But Yusuke had no patience for Kuwabara's explanation. He hunched in his seat with a scowl and shoved the rest of his cookie in his mouth, cheeks distending like a chipmunk. "Spit it out," Yusuke said in a spray of crumbs.

Kuwabara's eyes rose to meet his. "What was dying like?"

A moment of silence followed the question, and then Yusuke gave a sharp inhale—one that turned into a hacking cough as he inhaled crumbs of the treat still sitting in his mouth. I pounded him on the back as he guzzled water and tried not to die again, this time via choking.

Botan, meanwhile? She didn't move an inch. Her eyes merely narrowed, cutting over to carefully watch Yusuke as he choked. Sensing another death of his, maybe? Or just gauging his reaction? Either way, Botan's critical gaze did not escape my notice.

"Why the hell would you go and ask me something like that out of the blue?" Yusuke grizzled out once the threat of asphyxiation passed. "Warn me next time, dammit!"

Kuwabara bared his teeth. "Hey, I  _did_  try to warn you! And you told me to just spit it out." He crossed his arms when Yusuke grumbled that, oh yeah, that did happen. Kuwabara said, "I've met a lot of ghosts, but none who ever came back from the dead, you know?"

"And did you ask any of those ghosts, huh?" Yusuke said with an accusatory glare. "Or just me?"

"Who do you think I am? Of course I asked them! But none of them had much to say." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "They either avoided the subject or said they didn't remember much. So I thought…"

"Yeah, well." Yusuke hunched over the table like a dejected gargoyle. "You thought wrong, because I don't remember much, either."

Botan finally moved, then, sitting up a little straighter with a frown. "You don't remember anything?" she said with odd hesitance. Usually Botan didn't hesitate to say anything, at least not to Yusuke.

Yusuke nodded. He rested his elbows on the table and hunched over his cookies, encircling the plate with his arms. One of the cookies he took between two fingers, slowly crumbling the edge of it over the plate, confection disintegrating bit by bit. Although I sat next to him, I had trouble reading his expression, proximity offering no help when it came to deciphering the darkness brewing in his eyes like roiling storm clouds.

"I remember leaping into the road to push that kid, and there was a squeal of tires and the world sort of… spun?" He shook his head, eyes momentarily closing. "I think I was spinning and I saw the street and me and the car and the kid flipping like laundry in a spin cycle, but… that's all." Yusuke pushed away from the table with a shrug and wiped his crumbed fingers on his pant leg. "Next thing I knew, I was floating in the sky with Botan. I don't remember leaving my body or anything. Hell, I don't even remember any pain."

"Huh." Kuwabara put his hand on his chin again. "I wonder why you don't remember much else. Because it was a quick death?"

"Beats me. But I saw the coroner's report. They thought I probably died of internal bleeding."

"That doesn't sound fast," I observed under my breath.

"Yeah. Who knows, though?" Yusuke leaned back with a shrug, one arm lying along the back of the booth above my shoulders. "It's not like they went through with an autopsy."

As Kuwabara and I nodded, solemn as we considered Yusuke's words, Botan took a long drink of her tea. As the cup clacked against its accompanying saucer, she grimaced. I'm not sure why.

"To be honest, I'm not surprised to hear this, Yusuke," she said after a time. "Most ghosts don't remember the moment that they died."

Everyone at the table blinked in surprise, and it was Yusuke who found the willpower to say, "Really, Botan?"

"Yes." She sat up a little straighter, voice pitched low beneath the hum of the café's other chatting patrons. "Death is a traumatic experience for most. That moment when a heart stops, but the brain is active for just a moment longer as blood continues to circulate… and then the soul must peel away from its skin and leave the warmth of life behind…"

She trailed off, looking pensive—and perhaps a bit wistful? Kuwabara edged an inch or so away from her in the booth. "That's creepy, Botan!"

Magenta eyes rolled. "Oh, don't be that way. Death is perfectly natural when you get right down to it." She lifted a finger into the air and cleared her throat, clearly preparing herself (and us) for a nice long lecture. "Death is just as much a part of life as life itself. But when a soul has lived in human flesh for its entire existence, suddenly exiting can be quite a shock. Most ghosts I've met report a slight gap in their memory, between the moment they died and the moment their consciousness resolved itself into a ghost." She cupped her hands as if to protect and support a fragile egg, reverence showing clear on her pretty face. "Between those two states you exist as a naked soul, fragile and open to all the energies of the world. Humans who slip peacefully from life at an old age remember the process and that state of in-between, but ghosts who exited quickly or painfully tend to block the moment out."

"And that's what happened to me, huh?" Yusuke said. He forward across the table, frowning but clearly curious. "That gap between dying and meeting you, I can't remember because I was just a soul?"

"Either that, or because your death was traumatic and painful." Botan gave a thoughtful nod. "Both explanations account for your missing memory."

We absorbed this. Soon enough, however, Yusuke declared the entire conversation way too creepy and weird for comfort; he was alive now, he said, and could we  _please_  not talk about dying any more than we had to? Thus the conversation moved on, per his request, and we left the talk of death behind.

The subject took quite a lot longer to leave my mind, of course. And over the following weeks, as we rescued Yukina and lived our lives as best as we were able, the memory of that conversation appeared in the forefront of my thoughts with uncommon regularity.

It should come as no surprise, therefore, that the conversation echoed in the back of my head as I spoke to Hiei in the alley, when I asked him to help me remember what death feels like.

* * *

While I quite literally held my breath, Hiei regarded me in utter silence—a quiet broken only by the flap of his coat as it moved on the wings of the wind, not to mention the frantic beat of my heart. Soon enough, however, Hiei's wide eyes narrowed, the red in them almost completed obscured by his lowered lids. "You want me to  _what?_ " he said, voice a distinct rumble in his chest.

"Help me remember how it feels to die," I repeated, realizing too late it was probably a rhetorical question.

Hiei took a step toward me. "Meigo, if you're sick—"

He cut himself off, words lingering on the air, but I knew what he was getting at even if he couldn't finish his sentence. I tossed my hair and took a deep breath.

"I will admit I have mild suicidal ideation from time to time," I said with careful precision, "but I have no plans to die or any actual desire for my life to end, Hiei." A shake of my head to clear the cobwebs and get us back on track. "You remember the night we met, right? You burrowed your way into my brain using the Jagan and saw—"

"That you aren't what you seem, yes, I recall," he snapped. "You've made it exceedingly difficult to forget since you keep bringing it up."

I soldiered on as if he hadn't interrupted. "And of course you remember that boy with the pink hair—"

"Stop." Hiei shook his head as I bit my words back. "I have told you more than once that I want no part in whatever it is that makes you so attuned to the machinations of fate. I am not so foolish as to toy with destiny, Meigo. I choose to make my own." He delivered unto me a glare most pointed, nearly sharp enough to cut. "And so should you."

"Hiei, I'm not asking you to toy with destiny," I protested. "I'm asking you to help me remember something I've apparently forgotten—something you managed to uncover that night you rooted around inside my skull."

"And what does remembering death have to do with recovering your lost memories, I ask you?"

"Context. We best remember things through context." At his unmoved expression, one that said he either didn't understand what I meant or just didn't buy what I was trying to sell, I scrambled for an example. "Like—I don't remember the name of the girl who bumped into me on the subway last week, but I remember we had a long conversation about cake shops afterward and that she was wearing a green shirt, not to mention that her favorite band is Megallica." I spread my hands, trying to appeal to Hiei somehow. "Stories provide us with context. Psychology has proven that stories help us remember things. So, to better remember what I've apparently forgotten, I need context. I need story. Remembering death…"

A light sparked behind his livid gaze. "You died right before you met him."

"Yeah." I nodded emphatically. "So maybe if I get close enough to the thing that led me to him…"

Hiei nodded, too, understanding—but then a low growl built inside his chest and his nod turned into a shake. "But that thing is  _death_ , Meigo," he said, voice taking on an edge of mockery. "You think nearly dying will unlock something inside you? I guarantee that it will not. This is a terrible idea and frankly, I thought you were smarter than this."

I glared, fists balling at my sides. "I think it's a pretty good idea and that I'm still pretty damn smart, actually." At that I shrugged, trying to diffuse the situation with a bit of humor. "And besides, it's not like I'm asking you to stab me."

"Trust me, if you were asking that, I would have no problems acquiescing," Hiei said.

My jaw hit the floor before slamming back up again with a clatter of incensed teeth. "Hey! Rude!" I warbled.

"If not a stab of this sword, then what?" Hiei pressed. "Poison? Asphyxiation? Push you off a building and catch you at the last second?"

I pretended to look thoughtful. "Hey, that might actually—"

"Meigo.  _No."_

"Gosh, Hiei, I was kidding," I snarked. "Can't you take a joke?"

I rolled my eyes, but when Hiei did not laugh or fire back another quip, I heaved a sigh and composed myself. If I wanted him to help me, I'd need to give him a good reason to do it—really prove this wasn't some lark I hadn't given great thought to over weeks and months of constant scheming.

And trust me. I had thought about this long and hard even after Hiei told me he had no desire to learn more about that boy from my forgotten memories.

"Like I said," I said, voice measured and even, "I don't have a deathwish." I paused. "Well. I mean.  _Technically_  I do, but I don't want to actually die, and that makes a difference."

"Get to the point, Meigo," Hiei growled.

"Fine." I drew myself up and said, "I've been thinking a lot about it in the past few days. When I say I want you to help me remember death, I mean that very literally. I want you to go back inside my head and make me remember."

Alarm lit his eyes like candles igniting. "Meigo."

"I want to relive my death," I continued. "I want to relive it over and over again until I remember what happened afterward. That's how you uncovered that memory, after all. You made it replay in my head, out of my control, and then—poof. The new memory happened." Before he could point out the obvious, I held up a hand to stop him in his tracks. "But I don't think just replaying the events in my head by myself will do it. I've done that on my own with no results. No—I need you to guide me, to make me remember the way you did last time, so I can't shy away from the pain of what dying must have felt like. Because that's why I think I can't remember anything." Remember what Botan had said of Yusuke's death, I told him, "Death was too much of a shock, and my brain blocked it out. You can help unblock it."

Hiei didn't say anything. He just stood there, staring at me, enormous eyes unreadable and on fire.

"I've gotten good at lucid dreaming, too," I added when the silence stretched too long and too thick. "I think with your help I can recreate the scene of my death and really get into it, really relive—"

"But why?" Hiei cut in. "Why do you want to do this?"

"Well. Like I said. I want to uncover—"

"I know  _what_  you want to do, imbecile," Hiei said. "I'm asking  _why_  you want to do it. What motivates you?"

It was a valid question, of course, and Hiei was right to ask it. Lucky for me he waited as I stood in place and fidgeted, trying to get my thoughts straight before giving him an answer. It would not do me well to misspeak in front of him—especially when the stakes were so high.

"That boy with the pink hair put me in this place in history, Hiei," I said when I found the words. "He did it for a reason. I don't know that reason, but I think I need to. He will be at the tournament, apparently. You heard what that demon said." My smile felt thin, and I'm sure it looked that way to Hiei, too. "Isn't it best to know as much about our enemies as we can?"

Hiei's eyes narrowed. "That boy is your enemy?"

I nodded.

"But he called you his friend. He smiled at you in your memory, and you were not afraid of him." His eyes narrowed further. "What makes him your enemy?"

Hiei was full of good questions—and although this was indeed an excellent question, one Kagome and Minato and I had discussed at length, I was not prepared to answer it. My mouth worked around empty air as I struggled for words, hands twisting restlessly together as I battled the nerves building in my chest.

I had begun to think of Hiruko as my enemy a long time before—because what else could he be but an enemy? But how could I make Hiei understand, when he had asked to not to know so much?

"I—I didn't ask to come here," I blurted.

Hiei pulled back, as if I'd struck out at him or something. "What?"

"To be here. To be Keiko. I didn't ask for this." I swallowed the lump in my throat, or tried to. "You saw that I was someone else before I was Keiko. The truth is that he put me here, into her body, and he… he keeps encouraging me to break the rules."

He only scowled. "What does that mean?"

"He wants me to intentionally waylay fate, and at the expense of the people I care about. You, Kurama, Yusuke, Kuwabara, everyone. He wants me to break the rules of destiny for his sake." Breath, when I took one, made my chest shudder. "If he doesn't care about you, about all of you—well." Another smile, this one a little brighter than the last. "That makes him my enemy."

Hiei did not reply. At least, he did not reply right away. He stood there and looked at me for what felt like an hour before slowly walking over to his crate and sitting down. I followed suit, sitting across from him as he reached once more for his ramen.

"I'll think about it," Hiei murmured, face partially obscured by the steam rising from his bowl.

"That's all I can ask," I replied, wondering what expression he read in mine.

We ate our dinners and parted ways, as we always did, but I didn't have the heart to admonish Hiei for stealing a bowl that time. I simply trudged up to my room and fell asleep, exhausted after our verbal battle and hoping, perhaps naively, that Hiei might show up in my dreams to begin the excavation of my memories.

But he did not appear that night.

I waited, but he never came.

The next night, I sat at my desk and did my homework, and at moonrise I looked from my window down into the alley. The radiance of the stars glinted off Botan's blue hair as she and Hiei stood in the alley, talking about who knows what, and soon they turned and walked away, out of sight into night's dark grasp.

He had not appeared to me, but he had kept his word to Botan.

Happy for her thought I was, my heart couldn't help but sink—because now, no doubt about it, everyone was training but me.

* * *

Minato's smooth, light voice brushed through the air like a fine-toothed comb. "And he still hasn't given you an answer?" he asked, each word a delicate needle against my skin.

Tracing the edges of my cake with my fork, I shook my head.

Kagome sighed. "I can't believe he's kept you waiting this long. What's the holdup, anyway?"

It was all I could do to shake my head again. Kagome ate a big bite of cake in response, chewing and glaring at the table as if she could make it give her an answer on Hiei's behalf. We hadn't gone for yogurt after aikido lessons (it had finally gotten too cold) and had instead opted for a warm café—coincidentally, one of the seventeen Botan had made me visit with her in months previous. Small world, I guess, or did we simply live in a small town? Well. It wasn't nearly small enough. I hadn't run into Botan but for once since she started training with Hiei, and as for Hiei…

"It's been three weeks since you asked him to help you," Kagome said. She put down her fork with a clatter. "Why is he keeping you waiting this long?"

"I ask him exactly that every time we have one of our meetings, but he always just grunts and doesn't say anything, or tells me he'll answer when he's ready." My voice couldn't help but adopt a certain whining quality. "I hate waiting."

Kagome, sitting next to me in the booth, sighed and leaned her head against my shoulder. "I feel ya there, girlfriend."

"I mean, we still have a ways to go before the Tournament, but it's better to get it done early so we don't rush at the last minute. Why wait, y'know?" I threw up my hands exasperated beyond measure. "And to add insult to injury, every few nights I hear Botan out in the alley and they just head off together to train. He's secretive about that, too. So's Botan. I think she's been avoiding me because I haven't been able to pin her down for a social hour in weeks." With pronounced aggressiveness I stabbed at my plate of cake with my fork. "I just feel useless. This is the one thing I can do to be useful and I've hit this roadblock!"

"Oh, Eeyore," Kagome said. She curled her arm through mine and squeezed. "I'm so sorry."

"As am I," Minato said. He drank coffee, black, and over the rim of his mug he said, "Although I admit that the delay isn't entirely unpleasant, at least for me. I have some reservations about your plan, as I have expressed."

Kagome rolled her eyes. "And expressed, and expressed, and expressed…" she muttered in my ear. At that I had to suppress a giggle. Minato had been as shocked by my plan as Hiei, and while he supported my efforts, he had not been shy about voicing his skepticism regarding my methodology. Like, not shy  _at all_. Sometimes he sounded like a broken record, but in the end it just meant he cared.

He put down his coffee cup. "But regardless of my feelings, I see your reasoning, and I know remembering your death is a necessary evil."

"Thank you for understanding," I said.

He replied with a curt nod and a quoted proverb. "'If you know your enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.'" He took another drink of coffee. "I have never even met Hiruko. Neither Kagome nor I have uncovered evidence we are missing memories. It is only logical, therefore, that you should be the one to explore this facet of our existence in this world."

"Plus, neither of us has a handy-dandy-three-eyed-demon to ask for help," Kagome cheerfully observed—and then she sagged against me with a mournful half-wail. "Aw, man, Keiko. You get to have all the fun!"

Minato stared at her. "You think reliving death is fun?"

"Well, it sure beats sitting around on my ass all the live-long day," she replied. "Your canon as Sailor V is underway already and Keiko is going to go to the Dark Tournament in the spring and I'm here for another four goddamn years before anything neat happens!" With another dramatic moan she collapsed in her seat, one arm thrown across her forehead for good measure. "It's just not fair!"

Minato picked up his mug again. "Your taste is absolutely mystifying," he muttered, but his drink could not quite obscure the smile threatening his lips.

"Well, at least you have something to look forward to, Tigger," I said. "In four years you'll get to be a badass warrior priestess with magic arrows. And what'll I be?" I stabbed at my cake some more. "Normal. As usual."

"… oh." Kagome sat up, regret painted across her face. "I'm sorry, Keiko."

"It's OK. It's just hard to watch literally everyone but me get powers or get to train with an extra special sensei." My slice of cake had mostly been destroyed at that point, so I set about mashing the crumbs into a dense, flat patty. "Don't get me wrong. Hideki- _sensei_  is amazing. It's just that from here on out, powers trump muscle, and I'm not getting powers anytime soon."

Minato's eyes narrowed. "'Anytime soon?'" he echoed. "Not never?"

Kagome perked up at his observation, too, hope gleaming in her dark eyes. Smile small and secretive, I explained: "I have at least one option I haven't gotten to explore yet. I'll get to try at the Tournament, but…" I shrugged. "We'll see. I'm not sure he'd want to work with me, anyway."

"Dare I ask who you're talking about?" said Minato.

"It's a secret," I said, putting a playful finger over my lips. "In any case, thanks for letting me rant about this, guys. I appreciate it."

"No sweat!" Kagome chirped. She leaned against my side again, beaming up at me. "What are friends for?"

"Captain." Minato pushed aside his mug and saucer, lacing his hands together atop the table. "If you feel it necessary, I'd be willing to supplement your training with Hideki- _sensei_  with krav maga lessons, as well."

He looked serious, blue eyes unwavering on my face, but I wasn't sure if this was a pity-training offer or what. "Really?" I said, trying not to sound skeptical.

"Yes." He turned to the girl beside me. "And you're welcome to come too, Tigger."

She launched a fist into the air. "All right! I'm so down." She struck at the air, a series of quick one-two punches aimed at an invisible enemy. "Anything that can help me kick demon ass when it finally comes time to head through the well, I'm game for!"

Minato chuckled at her antics—and as he pulled his coffee cup back in front of him, I decided it wasn't a pity-offer, after all. Minato wasn't one for pity, nor was he one to offer something and not mean it. Minato meant what he said and said what he meant, straightforward and honest even to a fault. As Kagome kept punching the air and Minato made a comment about her form, I felt myself smile.

"What would I do without the two of you?" I said.

"Suffer and die, probably," Kagome supplied with a cheery grin, and at that Minato and I both burst out laughing.

We left the café shortly after that, when the proprietors began cleaning tables and stacking the empty chairs atop them. It was still cold, but as February came the weather got a little bit less frigid. We piled on our coats and hats and scarves and set out, carefully picking our way over patches of ice on the sidewalk. Kagome ran ahead and skidded over the ice, cackling with glee as she turned the roads into her own personal skating rink. Minato and I hung back and watched, laughing when she slipped and fell and popped back up again like a particularly exuberant jack-in-the-box.

"You know, Captain." Minato's words came in a puff of airy vapor. "I must admit I admire you."

I looked away from Kagome with a start. "Eh?"

"Your drive to learn. To grow. To help. It's admirable," he said. "Whether it's gaining a power, learning a new martial art, or simply unlocking a memory—you have ambition."

"Yeah, well. That's why the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin, I guess."

His eyes softened, their color deepening to the color of the night sky overhead as he continued to watch Kagome slip and slide across the frozen ground. "My wife was a religious person. 'God helps those who help themselves,' she'd say, and you have a way of helping yourself she'd find commendable." Finally he looked at me, a smile tugging at his mouth. "I think the two of you could have been friends, in another lifetime."

Minato did not often get sentimental, and I recognized his words for the rarity they represented. Cheeks flushing against the cold air, I ducked my chin and hid most of my face in the coil of my scarf where he could not see.

"Thanks, Minato," I mumbled. "I—I really needed to hear that, I think."

He started to reply, probably to tell me I was welcome, but Kagome's voice rang out through the cold and echoing city streets. "C'mon guys, keep up!" she called, taking a running start at a long patch of ice.

"Perhaps you should slow down," Minato replied, and when Kagome hit the end of the ice patch and tumbled to the ground, he ran forward to help her find her feet again.

I hung back to watch. Minato pulled Kagome up; she grasped his hand tight and pulled him to another strip of frozen concrete. They skated across it together, nearly losing their balance at the end and clinging to each other to keep upright. Kagome cackled with glee while Minato grinned, and when she caught me watching them, she lifted her hand in a wave and shouted, "C'mon in, Eeyore; the ice is fine!"

And despite my reservations, I believed her. I took a running start at some ice with a shout of. "Incoming!"

We had fun that night, turning the world into a skating rink—but as I climbed into bed after all was said and done, it wasn't the happy memories of our cold slid-n-slides that I carried with me into sleep. No. I carried with me words, instead, spoken by Minato's wife back in another lifetime.

"God helps those who help themselves," she'd advised.

Even if I didn't believe in any gods, I knew wisdom when I heard it, and I knew better than to ignore a piece of good advice when it fell into my lap.

* * *

In the end, waiting around on Hiei just wasn't my style.

Minato's various proverbs had been the exact kick in the pants I needed to strike out on my own—and not to toot my own horn or anything, but I'd gotten pretty dang good at initiating lucid dreams over the course of the previous months. I'm actually rather proud of myself, no false modesty to be had where my dreams are concerned. I could build whole worlds, fly, reconstruct places from both my old and current lives—you name it, I could basically do it. Dreams are like a gigantic canvases where you can be anything you want to be and create anything you want create.

Well. I could create  _almost_  anything, I guess I should say. I will allow myself no false modesty, but I will also not allow myself any false pride, either. It was difficult to make versions of people from my old life or my new one. I could create versions of them that were identical in looks, but there was always something… off, about them. Like the dreaming equivalent of the Uncanny Valley, if you know that term. They might have the same face and same voice as someone you know in real life, but the words they speak don't sound like something they'd say (maybe they were a bit OOC, to use a term from fanfics). Not exactly, anyway. The way they move isn't exactly how they'd move in real life, evidencing slight changes in body language you can't pin down by name but just feel  _wrong_ , regardless. And it always got a lot worse when you tried interacting with them, too. Just have them walking around, not really paying attention to you in the dream? Sure. That wasn't so bad. But trying to have a conversation with a dream-doppelgänger (a dream-pelgänger?) was absolutely disturbing, and after my first few failed experiments, I stopped trying to create them altogether.

Lucky for me, though, cars and highways don't have any personality to replicate.

Reconstructing the highway upon which I met my untimely fate wasn't terribly difficult. I'd driven down it a million times, and had even worked for a year in one of the four office buildings that stood in a knot near exit 741. That was right about the place where I'd died, as I recalled, so the night after I met with Minato and Kagome at the café, I set about recreating that specific stretch of highway in the landscape of my dreams.

It wasn't a difficult stretch of road to conjure up, although it was quite large and necessitated manifesting quite a bit of detail. Six lanes of highway on each side of the HOV lanes, plus shoulders, a four-lane feeder road lined with  _bodegas_ , noodle shops, that giant furniture store with the funny name, the derelict mall no one ever went to, at least three tattoo parlors, that one Brazilian restaurant and the army surplus store—this area of my home city represented a hodgepodge of cultures and walks of life, and I remembered as much of it as I possible could. I colored the sky a deep shade of orange, stars obscured by the glare of city lights and a haze of thin smog. Even at night my city had smog, inescapable as the air itself. I populated the road beneath the hazy sky with cars zipping north and south, occasional honks and the rush of wheels over pavement adding the texture of sound to my dream's tapestry. I stood on the roof of one of the office buildings by exit 741, the one I had worked at once, as I added billboards and road signs where applicable, stepping back to admire the scene I'd crafted with a low whistle of appreciation. The recreation wasn't perfect, small and unnamable details I couldn't recall nagging at the edges of my mind, but I pushed them aside as best I could.

"OK," I said as I hung the bloated supermoon in the sky and set the iconic downtown skyline against the distant horizon. I turned to the highway below with a grin. "And now for the finishing touch."

From the north, headed south, a red car rushed down the middle of the highway.

It wasn't difficult to remember my old car, a red Nissan I'd named "Rachel" after the character from 90s TV sitcom "Friends." I'd taken some obsessive photos of her back when she first became mine, and I'd seen her model ride past me on the street before. It was not difficult, therefore, to conjure her up and send her speeding down the road. I added a throb of bass, one that issued past her windows and metal plates, because I knew I'd been listening to music as I drove and was killed—but I couldn't recall which song I'd been playing, so I kept the tune a simple bass beat, no singing or melody in evidence. I watched Rachel fly down the highway and over the distant hill of an overpass toward the downtown skyline and out of sight, then hesitantly stripped all other cars off of the highway below. I adjusted the placement of the moon in the sky, to indicate the late hour.

I had been driving down a mostly deserted highway when I died. It had been so late, and I hadn't seen whoever had hit me coming. Still, even if I didn't know exactly how my accident had been triggered, I could replicate getting into one.

"Here's hoping this works," I muttered.

I summoned Rachel to the north again, but before she could go tearing down the road, I froze her in place at the top of an overpass. With a snap of my will I flew through the dream-air, and since this was my dream and my rules applied, I phased through the roof of the car as if it were made of mist and inserted myself into the driver's seat. It had been fifteen years since I last drove a car, but it had to be like riding a bike, right? As in, you never really forget (not the number of wheels, which is of course different)? And this was a dream, after all, so how badly could I fuck this up?

Taking a deep breath (sort of, considering this was all happening in my head; maybe it's best not to dive too deep into the particulars here) I put the car in drive and pressed my foot down on the gas pedal.

Rachel rolled forward down the highway at my command, responding as much to my actions in the dream as she did my unspoken will. The speedometer ticked up and up, the stripes marking the highway lanes steaking past faster and faster through the dark. I wasn't sure precisely where I should get into the accident, but did it really matter exactly where? If I just imagined the crash from my memory and set the car tumbling—

There came a thump from above me, and the car shuddered as if under a great weight.

My dream-heart started to pound; I gave a shriek, the wheel of the car jerking out of my control under my hands, which made me shriek all the louder—because _I wasn't in control of this_. I wasn't the one making the wheel twist about, the car sway from side to side as I slammed on the brakes and tried to stop, and I most certainly wasn't in control of the horrific metallic screeching coming from above. It wasn't even the same kind of metallic screech I'd heard the night I died, but if it wasn't that, then what the hell was it? I looked up in a panic to see the roof above me buckle, and to my immense horror the top of the car peeled back and was ripped off the lower chassis like the top of an aluminum can.

My screaming stopped.

There, atop the car and silhouetted against the bloated supermoon, stood Hiei.

He hauled me out of the ruined car by the back of my shirt, the seatbelt slipping around me like so much water, and then we were flying through the orange-dark sky to the office building where I used to work and upon which I'd perched to get a good view of my crafted world. Hiei dropped me in a heap on the gravel-covered roof; I sat there, breathing hard, until I found the strength to stagger to my feet and glare at him.

He was glaring at me right back—and not in the oddly muted way of one of my dream constructs, either. He wore a full-on, patented Hiei glare that contained real heat, heat that had me stepping back a pace, dangerously close to the edge of the fifteen-story office building upon which we stood.

This wasn't some subconscious manifestation of Hiei come to stop me from doing something I didn't want to do.

This was Hiei himself—and the minute I'd seen him on top of my car, I'd known him exactly for what he was.

"What were you thinking?" Hiei snarled.

I swallowed. "Hello to you too, Hiei."

" _No jokes_ , dammit. What were you thinking, Meigo?"

"Oh, you know." I twiddled my thumbs. "Just thinking about death and dying and car wrecks, that's all."

Hiei took a step toward me, eyes absolutely ablaze. "You should not have done this on your own. You should not have—"

"—waited around on you for another month?"

Hiei stopped talking when I interrupted. For a minute he stood there with fists clenched, and then he ducked his head with an audible grind of teeth. "It hasn't been a month," he said, but some of the fire in his voice had abated.

"It's  _almost_  been a month," I said. "It's been three weeks since I asked and I was done waiting around on you, so I took matters into my own hands."

He just shook his head. "This is insane. Stop this foolishness at once."

"I will not," I countered. It was my turn to advance on him, and to poke him in the chest with the tip of one accusatory finger. "And you can't be around every time I fall asleep to bully me into stopping, either. I'm going to try and uncover my memories one way or another, with you or without you, so if you care about how I might be hurt by this—"

Hiei loosed a growl, but he said nothing.

"—if you care at all, you'll help me." At that I looked at his shoes, chin lowering as my voice dropped, too. "I need help, Hiei. I don't ask for it often." I met his eyes even though it was difficult, pride stinging with every admitted word. "But this time, I'm asking."

Hiei said nothing. We stood there on that imagined rooftop for what felt like an eternity, the hot and humid wind of the swamps of Houston washing across us in a wave of sodden air that barely cooled. Perhaps it was my subconscious mind that made the hem of Hiei's black cloak swirl on that breeze, but it did, undulating the same way it had moved that night I asked him for help in the alley.

"Fine," Hiei grunted.

I did a double-take, startled. "Really?"

"It's not like you left me much choice," he snapped. "Either I don't help and you traumatize yourself, or I help and mitigate the trauma where I can." Another of his growls cut the sticky air. "We'll see how it plays out."

I smiled at him. "Thanks, Hiei."

He just rolled his eyes, though. "Thank me once we've succeeded and you're not a traumatized wreck."

"Fair enough."

He harrumphed, hands jamming into his pockets. "So what's the plan?"

"Um…" I scratched my cheek and gave a nervous laugh. "Well, I don't know precisely how your Jagan works, so…" I waved a hand over the scenery below. "As you can see, I've tried to reconstruct the night I died, which I think is a start, but…"

He looked out over the highway, too, but frowned almost at once, Jagan flaring deep purple behind the bandana on his forehead. "It's not wholly accurate. At least, it's not accurate to what I saw in your memories of that night," he said. "The subconscious retains more than the conscious. And you didn't have a bird's eye view of your own death."

"No. My perspective was in the car." I couldn't keep the hope from my voice when I asked, "Think you could flesh this place out a bit?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead he just looked out over the highway, Jagan once again flaring bright—and everything shifted. It shifted like the moment you realize someone has played a prank on you and moved everything on your desk one inch to the left, and you move it back to its proper place again, only all at once instead of piece by piece. Exits on the highway moved north or south a few feet, and signs grew bigger or smaller, and the subjects of the billboards changed completely. A few of the shops I'd imagined traded places, and more of them sprang into being between the others. A pizza place, an  _abogado_  office, cash bonds and a pawn shop and a hair salon, they grew from the ground like plants and bloomed into themselves, fitting into my conscious memories with a subtle click of  _rightness_  I can't put into words.

I think I stood there with my mouth open, marveling, for almost a minute. Eventually I shut my mouth, swallowed, and managed to say, "Nice."

Hiei just smirked.

"Now, I think the next step is to just dive in and recall what happened to me that night." I hesitated, looking at him askance. "Can you make me relive it? And if I try to shy away, can you make me keep looking at the memory head on?"

He nodded—but before I could spring into action, he said, "Keiko. You want to recall that boy from your lost memory. What makes you think remembering your death will do that?"

"Like I said the night I asked," I said. "Context—"

"You remember things better with context and story, yes, I know," he interjected with obvious impatience. "But what makes you think reliving your death specifically will unlock memories of that boy? Perhaps that memory was from another forgotten place in your life. You can't know for sure."

He had a point, but he didn't know what I did about death. "It's… it's something Botan said," I told him, picking my words one by one. "There's an in-between state, after a human dies and before they become a ghost. It's a state people forget. It's too traumatic to stick in the mind for long, too naked and raw to be remembered. It's that state I want to remember, and it's in that state I think I met that boy for the first time."

"And you don't think this could harm you?" he said, brows shooting way, way up.

I shrugged. "It might. But I have to try. For the sake of everyone, I have to give it a shot."

Hiei considered this for a moment.

Then he harrumphed, raised his hand, and said, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

And with that, Hiei snapped his fingers.

I was back in the car again as if I had never left it, Rachel's roof intact as I speeded down the highway. Dimly I tried to call out for Hiei, but my mouth refused to move. I tried to look out the window, but my head did not turn from the sight of the road disappearing beneath the hood of my car, pavement like dark water under the hull of a boat, and—

_Music._

_Music blares from the speakers of my car, bright synthetic pop keeping me awake on the long drive home. Something by Nicki Minaj, fast lyrics pouring off my tongue and keeping my brain engaged with every quick syllable. I sing along and try not to glance at the bouquet of white flowers bound with blue ribbon sitting in the passenger seat._

_I'd caught the bouquet at Denise's wedding._

_Tom will laugh when I tell him, I think. Tom will laugh and kiss me and say well, of course you caught it. Because we just talked about the future last night, and marriage, and how neither of us wants kids, and how we're perfect together, and how the future looks so bright when viewed side by loving side. The bouquet is too perfect, too perfectly timed to be anything but a sign from fate._

_A car with its brights on roars up the highway behind me. I adjust the rearview mirror. My face reflects back at me for just a moment. I see blue eyes, champagne-colored glasses, and loose brown curls falling against my red dress with the long sleeves, cheeks flushed pink from a night of dancing (my face, my face, my old forgotten face, not the face I have anymore but I can't think of that, the thoughts slip away at once). The moon reflects in the mirror, too, full to bursting next to my flushed cheeks. Denise had gotten married on the night of the supermoon, and I'd caught the bouquet she'd thrown._

_I think of calling Tom, to tell him._

_The impact comes before I can pick up the phone._

_My spine undulates; my head snaps atop my neck. Soprano screech of metal on metal drowns out even my blasting music. A quick flash of dashboard illumination, sparks on the pavement lighting up my hands, and the world turns over and over again. I catch the barest glimpse of my terrified face in the rearview mirror again, features pale and glowing like that bloated moon before there comes a crunch and a flash of sharp, hot pain. I look down and see—_

With a horrific wrench of willpower I pulled myself away from that memory, hard. A force like a magnet, invisible but undeniable, tried to hold me back and keep me in place, but I struggled against it and refused to look at the scene in the car—and it relented, water slipping between fingers of a lax hand as it released its grip.

Suddenly, I was on the roof again.

Hiei stood at my side. The highway below us stretched from south to north in an endless strip, disappearing into the horizon as the moon floated large and eerie overhead. No cars drove past. Quiet descended like a winter blanket, thick and heavy.

"You pulled away," Hiei said.

"Why'd you let me?" I said.

"I didn't let you." He sounded annoyed, like he'd explained this before or something, though of course he hadn't. "This is your dream. Try though I might to corral you, you are the master of this place. I couldn't keep you in there unless I exerted enough force to hurt you."

I shut my eyes.

Swallowed the nerves in my neck.

Said: "Then try that."

Hiei drew in a sharp breath. "Meigo—"

"I'm not made of glass, Hiei. I won't break. I need to remember past that point." I opened my eyes and smiled, hope and helplessness congealing in my gaze. "Please. Please, just hold me in place a little harder, and little longer the way you did that night in the alley."

It took him a while to reply.

Soon, though, he grunted, "Fine."

And I was back in the car again, stripes on the pavement disappearing under the hood. This time I didn't bother trying to call for Hiei, or glance out the window. Instead I leaned into it, leaned into the sound of the radio—

_Music._

_Music blares from the speakers of my car, bright synthetic pop keeping me awake on the long drive home. "Super Bass" by Nicki Minaj, fast lyrics pouring off my tongue and keeping my brain engaged with every quick syllable. I sing along and try not to glance at the bouquet of white flowers bound with blue ribbon sitting in the passenger seat._

_I'd caught the bouquet at Denise's wedding. It has baby's breath and lots of greenery, a few gardenias standing out stark white against dark green._

_Tom will laugh when I tell him, I think. Tom will laugh and kiss me and say well, of course you caught it. Because we just talked about the future last night, and marriage, and how neither of us wants kids, and how we're perfect together, and how the future looks so bright when viewed side by loving side. We'd talking about how since our families were from different states, we should just elope, and we were only half kidding when we said it. The bouquet is too perfect, too perfectly timed to be anything but a sign from fate._

_A silver truck with its brights on roars up the highway behind me. I adjust the rearview mirror. My face reflects back at me for just a moment. I see blue eyes, champagne-colored glasses with the scratch on one lens, and loose brown curls falling against my red dress with the long sleeves, cheeks flushed pink from a night of dancing (my face, my face, my old forgotten face, not the face I have anymore but I can't think of that, the thoughts slip away at once). The moon reflects in the mirror, too, full to bursting next to my flushed cheeks. Denise had gotten married on the night of the supermoon, and I'd caught the bouquet she'd thrown._

_I think of calling Tom, to tell him._

_The impact comes before I can pick up the phone._

_My spine undulates; my head snaps atop my neck. Soprano screech of metal on metal drowns out even my blasting music, Nicki's crooned "boom boom boom" sputtering with static as the speakers are damaged on impact. A quick flash of dashboard illumination, sparks on the pavement lighting up my hands, and the world turns over and over again. I catch the barest glimpse of my terrified face in the rearview mirror again, features pale and glowing like that bloated moon before there comes a crunch and a flash of sharp, hot pain in my ankle, bones compacting as something slams into the driver's side door and dents it inward, pinning my left leg in place with what feels like pure fire. The steering column in front of me buckles and breaks and my gut erupts in flames; I scream, but then my breath catches and the scream dies. I look down and see—_

I tried to pull away again, to shy instinctively away from the pain and the violence, but the magnetic presence from before bore down like the great weight of the cold ocean and kept me in place, kept me fixed there, and I couldn't move.

_—and see the fractured steering column speared through my stomach just below my ribs, spray of blood spattering against the windshield, which abruptly shatters and peppers my face with slicing glass—_

I bucked and kicked to get away. The magnetic presence held on tight for one horrifying moment, but my mind snarled a denial and batted it aside, and then I was out of the car and flying whole and undamaged through the sky, back to the roof where Hiei waited with a dire expression on his face. He said nothing as I crouched next to a spinning A/C unit, breath heaving from my lungs, every nerve ending lit up with electricity.

"You," I somehow ground out. "You—you let me go again."

Hiei scoffed. "You didn't exactly want to stay."

"No. But I have to." I rose shakily to my feet. "Again."

But Hiei shook his head. "No, Meigo."

"Please, Hiei," I said. " _Please_. If I can just stay long enough to—"

He growled, fists balling up as his Jagan flared bright and dark at the same time. "I will do that one more time but I will not try it again!" he said.

And I was back in the car again.

I didn't look around. I didn't think of Hiei. I sank into the memory and let myself live and breathe its every detail, not thinking of what lay ahead, not thinking of what I was about to—

_Music._

_Music blares from the speakers of my car, bright synthetic pop keeping me awake on the long drive home. "Super Bass" by Nicki Minaj, fast lyrics pouring off my tongue and keeping my brain engaged with every quick syllable. I sing along and try not to glance at the bouquet of white flowers bound with blue ribbon sitting in the passenger seat._

_I'd caught the bouquet at Denise's wedding. It has baby's breath and lots of greenery, a few gardenias standing out stark white against dark green. I can smell them, flowers sweet in my nose, I know my mother would make a joke about the baby's breath if she saw it._

_Tom will laugh when I tell him, I think. Tom will laugh and kiss me and say well, of course you caught it. Because we just talked about the future last night, and marriage, and how neither of us wants kids (screw you, baby's breath!), and how we're perfect together, and how the future looks so bright when viewed side by loving side. We'd talking about how since our families were from different states, we should just elope, and we were only half kidding when we said it. Why piss off one side of the family when we could piss off both? The bouquet is too perfect, too perfectly timed to be anything but a sign from fate that we should go to Vegas just as we planned and get married by an Elvis Impersonator at the Little White Chapel. It's just hilarious enough to suit us, after all, and—_

_A silver F-150 with its brights on roars up the highway behind me, spitting smog from its exhaust. I adjust the rearview mirror, bracelets jangling on my wrist. My face reflects back at me for just a moment. I see blue eyes, champagne-colored glasses with the scratch on one lens, and loose brown curls that have fallen out of their style resting against my red dress with the long sleeves, cheeks flushed pink from a night of dancing (my face, my face, my old forgotten face, not the face I have anymore but I can't think of that, the thoughts slip away at once). The moon reflects in the mirror, too, full to bursting next to my flushed cheeks and smeared mascara. Denise had gotten married on the night of the supermoon, and I'd caught the bouquet she'd thrown, and all I could think of was Tom as a few single groomsmen tried to ask me for my number._

_I think of calling Tom, to tell him I caught the bouquet._

_The impact comes before I can pick up the phone._

_My spine undulates; my head snaps atop my neck. Soprano screech of metal on metal drowns out even my blasting music, Nicki's crooned "boom boom boom" sputtering with static as the speakers are damaged on impact. A quick flash of dashboard illumination, sparks on the pavement lighting up my hands, and the world turns over and over again and tries to rattle me to pieces. I catch the barest glimpse of my terrified face in the rearview mirror again, features pale and glowing like that bloated moon before there comes a crunch and a flash of sharp, hot pain in my ankle, bones compacting as something slams into the driver's side door and dents it inward, pinning my left leg in place with what feels like pure fire. The steering column in front of me buckles and breaks and my gut erupts in flames; I scream, but then my breath catches and the scream dies because I've looked down and seen_ _the fractured steering column speared through my stomach just below my ribs, spray of blood spattering against the windshield, which abruptly shatters and sends glass slicing across my cheeks—_

_Something descends onto the top of my head like the hand of some vengeful deity and dents it inward. I see this happen in the rearview mirror, which has inexplicably stayed affixed to the ceiling of the cabin. The oddity of that strikes me even as I see my head dent and my eyes bulge outward and I feel my jaw slam shut so hard my teeth break and sever my tongue in half like the blade of serrated carving knife. I try to breathe but I choke on broken teeth and my own bubbling, iron-rich blood as my visions darkens, the glow of the supermoon (or maybe it was a street lamp) turning livid red._

_The car stops rolling, soon._

_I lay there, broken and crumpled and in pain._

_I feel my heart go out and my brain burn through the last of my oxygen like a bulb through a final twist of filament._

_And then I die._

_There is a moment of darkness._

_And then, inexplicably, there is light._

_All around me, now, is white. Brilliant, unending, ceaseless white, as far as the eye can see. There is no pain. There is only white like snow fallen on a world made of nothing. It hums with hush, with utter quiet, a stage before a riotous performance, forever-white-field stretching around me up and down and north and east and west and south into infinity—and beyond, Buzz Lightyear. The white goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON_ _**AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON** _ _—_

"Meigo," Hiei said. "Who is Buzz Lightyear?"

At the sound of his voice, something inside me jolted and snapped. I screamed and sobbed at once, falling to my knees and clutching my face as I heaved and vomited on the ground. Only the vomit was gone when I opened my eyes, endless whiteness descending unmarred into the pale infinity below. I knelt on nothing I could see, but in my mind's eyes I could not shake the image of my gut stabbed through like Wash from  _Firefly_ , shards of teeth spraying from my ruined mouth, my head caved in, stench of blood thick in my nose even now—

A hand touched my shoulder.

Hiei kept his hand there while I cried and screamed and heaved and wretched, for how long I do not know, but I'm sure it would have been much longer if it wasn't for his presence grounding me to that white space. I clutched at his fingers when the crying stopped. He gave my hand a light squeeze.

"Where is this?" I somehow choked out.

"This is the in-between," he said. Both his voice and mine sounded too loud in this quiet place. "This is the in-between place you wanted to find, between life and ghost." He drew his hand away to gesture at the bright abyss around us. "That blow to the head killed you. This is what you remember next. And it goes on forever."

I swallowed down the taste of dream-bile. "Where's Hiruko?"

"Not here." His hands disappeared into his pockets. "Like I said. He wasn't where you thought he was."

I was shaking my head before he even finished speaking. "No.  _No_. That can't be. This can't—this can't be the only thing—"

"It is." His voice, hard as stone, was somehow not cruel when he told me, "Give it up, Meigo. Give up this quest of yours."

"No." I shook my head and shot to my feet, even though the motion made me stagger. "No, Hiei,  _no!_ I refuse to believe this is it! Not after I went through all of—"

I stopped talking.

Hiei stared.

I stared back.

I began to run.

I ran and I ran, dream legs incapable of getting tired if I didn't wish to feel my muscles burn. I ran for about a minute, frantic with arms flailing—but before even a minute past, Hiei reappeared as if I'd simply run around a circular track. I skidded to a stop and chose another direction and ran that way just as fast, but like before, I found myself beside Hiei once again. Loosing a scream of frustration to the white sky, I didn't stop. I just ran past him and kept running, until he reappeared, and I ran some more, past his frowning visage so fast I barely saw it—

"Meigo," he said. "Stop."

"No, Hiei," I threw over my shoulder. "I have to figure out—"

He disappeared behind me into distant whiteness, but then he was ahead of me again just as quickly, appearing from the depths so abruptly it hurt my eyes. He was too solid, coated head to toe in black, anathema to the white that hurt my eyes in a different way. I wasn't sure which hurt worse, but I suspected the latter even when Hiei grabbed my arm and dragged me to a halt.

"Meigo, stop!" he said.

I wrenched my arm from him. "What do you want?"

"This place—it should be as endless as your dreams, as depthless as your mind itself," he said with a wild wave. "And yet you run, and are back next to me in a heartbeat."

He blurred from sight, reappearing beside me in a flash of black that burned my retinas.

"This place isn't infinite," Hiei said, spinning on his heel to look around us. "It's much smaller than that."

My heart stuttered, and not because of my mad sprinting. "How?"

"Someone has—someone has taken your memory and repeated it, looped it," he said, and he bared his teeth. "Stitched it together at the corners in a circle. It keeps you here, trapped in this moment, so you can't move on." With a look of dawning realization, he met my eyes. "You have more memories past this, Meigo. You just can't reach them."

It was both a triumph and a defeat, hearing that from Hiei's mouth. I had been right: There was more to discover. But I had been foiled in my attempt, because this unnatural memory of mine barred my way to the truth.

But after everything I'd been through, I'd be damned if I let what was most likely Hiruko's interference stand between me and revelation.

My hands tightened into hard fists, like hammers made of skin. "Have you ever been in a hall of mirrors?"

Hiei frowned. "No."

"Mirrors are tricky. They can make it look like you stand in an infinite space, when really you're in a tiny room." I raised my hand high above my head. "But there's one thing a mirror illusion can't stand up to."

"And what is that?" Hiei asked.

"A sledgehammer."

Like a magical girl summoning her magical weapon of choice, the sledgehammer appeared in my hand in a burst of brilliant magenta light (because this was my dream, dammit, it was my fucking head and no one could stand between me and what was mine). I twirled it in my grasp with a flourish and spun, hurling the sledgehammer up and away like an Olympian flinging shotput. Hiei let out a hard bark of a laugh as it sailed, saying that would teach whoever did this to my mind who they answered to—and the sledgehammer hit something shortly after, colliding with the white that was not, in fact, as endless as it had first appeared. My dreamed-up sledgehammer froze in space, a huge network of black cracks blooming like a mirror hit by a hard brick. The cracks spread outward, racing away from the hammer as if trying to see who was fastest, snaking over the walls and then hitting a corner, changing angles and racing until it hit another corner, the cracks forming the shape of a huge square room around Hiei and I, cracks circling it and then converging behind us in a black web—

And then the white fell away, shards of the mirrored white room falling to pieces on the floor. Hiei and I stared in silence at what lay behind the white, neither of us able to speak as bit by bit the truth was revealed.

"What in the  _hell_  is this?" Hiei said eventually.

"I—I don't know," I replied.

Behind the mirrored white lay red. Thousands, no, millions of pulsing red thread the color of my spilled blood covered the walls, a web so thick I could not see through it, pulsing and undulating and keeping whatever lay beyond them from view. The air in the room turned the color of those threads the moment they appeared between bits of white, their movement like the sound of moth wings on the air, and as we watched them tangle and twist together, sometimes small gaps appeared between them.

I walked closer. Stared at the red threads from only an inch away, until a gap appeared.

Behind it gleamed black stone, hard and impenetrable as night.

I lifted my hand and reached for it.

"Don't," Hiei said in the voice of a dagger. "We will work on passing this another night."

My hand dropped.

Hiei was right. We'd try again some other time.

For now, I was far too tired—both mentally and emotionally—to continue past this point.

* * *

My jaw cracked as an enormous yawn climbed up my throat. Kaito set aside his half-eaten lunch and remarked, "You look terrible."

I yawned again, elbow on my knee, chin pillowed on my hand. "Shut up," I grumbled as I closed my bleary eyes, but it was no use.

"Bags under the eyes," Kaito continued, "sallow skin, limp hair—"

I cracked one eye and glared. "Way to make a girl feel pretty."

"It's a gift." His brows knit together above his glimmering glasses. "But in all seriousness, have you slept?"

Truthfully, the answer was "sort of." It had been a week since my first rendezvous with Hiei, and even though we'd been making attempts all week, we hadn't made a lick of progress unraveling the thicket of red threads blocking my memories—let alone breaking through the barrier of solid black stone beyond them. Even though I was asleep through the each night's ordeal, I always woke up feeling like I'd slept no more than an hour. We'd have to back off the attempts, or at least stagger them out a bit, if I wanted to not keel over dead from exhaustion.

And that's not even considering that thanks to my lack of proper rest, I wasn't on top of my mental game. I probably could've at least come up with a few more explanations for the red threads and black rock if I was running on a full tank of sleep. As it stood, my weary mind could only theorize that the red threads were a metaphysical block the red-wearing, thread-weaving Hiruko had woven around whatever truths he wanted to conceal from me. The black rock, though? I had very few explanations for that, meanwhile, and after a week of wondering, I had one single lead to go on.

The last time I had seen a smooth black stone, it had lain in the middle of a puddle of blood coughed up by a certain Fate.

Which made me think that even if I did manage to break through Hiruko's red tapestry and see what lay beyond the black rock—well. If I spoke of the truths I found there, would I cough up a fountain of blood and a smooth river stone like Cleo?

It was no use trying to use logic when my brain was too fuzzy to even come up with a snark-back to the prying Kaito. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes and whined, wordless in my exhaustion. Kaito sighed.

"And you," he said, volume of his voice changing as he shifted his attention to Kurama. "You haven't heard a word I've said. Normally you're first to notice whenever Yukimura looks unwell."

I looked up in time to see Kurama—who had been staring into space as he lounged on the stairwell's steps—look at Kaito with a start and a small, contrite smile. "Apologies; my mind drifted," he said. "You were saying?"

"So I was right," Kaito said, not bothering to hide his displeasure. "You  _are_  distracted."

Kurama adopted a puzzled expression I knew damn well as an act. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," he said, eyes wide and innocent.

Kaito and I both snorted. Kaito didn't know about Kurama's constant training in the woods outside of town, but he was no idiot. Kurama was indeed distracted—something I was rather grateful for as I battled my sleepless nights. Having Kurama pry into my business would likely end in disaster, or at least the end of my foray into my blocked memories.

"Likely story," Kaito said when Kurama's innocent look persisted. He crossed his arms over his chest and glanced between me and Kurama in turn. "Well, spit it out, the both of you. What secrets are you keeping this time?"

Kurama and I spoke in unison: "I'm not keeping secrets, Kaito."

We looked at each other in shock. Kaito's fingers drummed against his arm, eyes narrowing in disgruntlement.

"Uh-huh," he said. "How very  _believable_."

"Sorry, Kaito," I said. "I'm just exhausted. I'm taking dance lessons this semester and they've got me beat." A completed true statement, even if it wasn't the whole truth. "Plus with all this German homework, I'm just not getting enough rest."

Kaito harrumphed, but gave no indication he believed me. To Kurama he said, "And what's your excuse, Minamino?"

"I have none, I'm afraid," Kurama replied with another of beatific smiles. "Simply that I'm occupied by schoolwork, as is the regrettable fate of most high schoolers."

If Kaito hadn't believed my lie, he most certainly didn't believe Kurama's. His glasses slipped straight down his nose so he could glare at Kurama over the top of them unimpeded. "Oh, please. School comes as easily to you as breathing." He tuned the glare my way. "And you. You mean to tell me  _German homework_  has you up at night to the point of looking like some dreaded revenant from a horror story?"

My cheeks colored; I tucked my hair behind my ears, hands slapping back down against my thighs as I tried not to look too guilty. "Well. I—"

"Keiko?"

I stopped talking, my head (along with Kaito and Kurama's) swinging toward the sound of my name. Peering hesitantly up at us from the bottom of the next flight, one hand perched on the railing, was Amagi. She dipped a shy bow at Kurama, which he awkwardly returned from a sitting position, then she gave Kaito a nod, too, before looking at me. I waved; she waved back, eyes flickering once again to Kurama as she cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry to bother you during your lunch period," she said, "but I have a favor to ask."

"Oh, sure thing." I stood up and trotted down the stairs to stand beside her. "What's up?"

Her voice sank low, trying to be subtle. "Are you free Sunday?"

"Uh, yeah. I am. What's up?"

"I was wondering if you have any plans, and if not, would you be willing to accompany me on an outing?"

"Uh. Yeah, sure, I'm down." I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. "Do you want to invite—?"

She shook her head, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I was hoping it could be just the two of us, if you don't mind."

My spine stiffened at Amagi's whispered words, and I was unable to keep a blush from heating my ears beneath the short fringe of my hair. Somehow I thought maybe she'd want to invite Kurama since at one she'd had a crush on him, but—wait. If she wasn't asking Kurama, and she was asking me—?

Oh.

Oh boy, this was potentially a very awkward situation about to happen, I should probably cut this off at the pass and just say no, I can't—

But Amagi's huge, dark eyes had widened, liquid and black against her alabaster skin and midnight hair, and my heart gave a wee little pang inside my chest and my resolve crumbled like cake under a fire hose.

"Oh. Oh?  _Oh_." I fidgeted in place and stared very hard at my shoes. "Um. Yes? Sure. Yes. That's fine."

"Good." I heard the smile in her voice even though I didn't dare look at her to see that expression cross her pretty face. "I'll stop by your place to pick you up. Is noon all right?"

"Uh." I looked at the ceiling. "Sure thing."

"Good. I look forward to seeing you." She moved, probably bowing at the boys behind me since she said, "Kaito. Minamino. I hope you're both well."

"We're fine," was Kaito's curt reply, and with another bow at me (one I only barely managed to return), Amagi turned and descended the stairs.

Eventually, far below us on the ground floor, a door shut. I only moved when its peal echoed up the stairs, turning back to Kurama and Kaito with a cool smile—one I hoped to hell didn't betray the fact that my pulse still thudded in my ears like a freight train.

Apparently my poker face betrayed me, though, because both Kurama and Kaito stared at me with brows lifted threateningly close to their hairlines. I coughed into my fist, ignored them both, retook my seat on the window sill and tucked dutifully into my lunch.

"So," I said. "Where were we?"

"You tell me," Kurama murmured.

"Indeed," Kaito concurred.

But I just shrugged, and didn't look at either of them—because I had no idea what Amagi wanted to do on Sunday, truth be told, and this was another bit of my personal business I wasn't keen on my friends interrogating me about.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's Amagi want? Find out next time!
> 
> We're in "Grand Tour/Reunion" mode as the Dark Tournament approaches. Need to check in with the secondary and tertiary characters before leaving them behind and focusing on the main cast. Kaito, Amagi, Ayame, Hideki, the other switch characters, etc. Basically just tying up loose ends before we lose the chance to address them and get stuck on an isolated island for STARS KNOW how many chapters.
> 
> Any predictions as to how long this fic will be in terms of chapters? Taking bets now!
> 
> I'm guessing we have two chapters (three if things veer off track) before we make it to the Tournament.
> 
> Next time on Lucky Child: "Amagi reveals to Keiko a glimpse of the future to come. A certain friend pays Keiko a visit. Keiko receives a badly timed phone call."
> 
> CHAPTER SUMMARY, AS PROMISED IN MY STARTING NOTE: Keiko asks Hiei to help her remember details of her death so she can unlock more memories of Hiruko, who appears to have messed with her memories after her death in her past life. Keiko meets with Minato and Kagome for support. At Minato's unwitting encouragement, Keiko tries to relive her death on her own, but Hiei intervenes to keep her out of trouble. With his reluctant help she relives her gory final moments and manages to see what happened afterward—sort of. Her memories appear to have been blocked off by some unnatural force, and Keiko has no idea what lies behind the barrier placed inside her head. It is clear, however, that her memories have been tampered with.
> 
> I was so grateful to everyone who reviewed last week. It was a tough week for me, and you made it better. Still figuring some stuff out but I'm feeling much better. Thank you so much to the following: (list will be up shortly)


	81. Pants on Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which NQK realizes her friends have inconveniently sharp eyes...

After the fire that destroyed her home and nearly burned her comatose son alive, Atsuko had gone apartment hunting.

At first they'd simply needed a place to live. They moved into a standard apartment building, the one the insurance agents said she could afford after a modest payout. One bedroom, a living room, a kitchen, and small bathroom—less than what they'd had before, but perhaps in a better part of town. However, six weeks later I came to check on Yusuke and found her small apartment beset by movers, possessions squirreled away in boxes that were placed dutifully into the back of a large truck. The truck took them to an even better part of town and deposited them in an even better apartment, one with two whole bedrooms (without a doubt a luxury in Japan) plus a living room, a dining room, and a bathroom with a separated shower and full-size tub.

It was well beyond what Atsuko could afford, of course.

But upon seeing the men with full sleeves of traditional Japanese tattoos driving the suspiciously unmarked moving truck, I knew better than to ask questions. Atsuko's connections were mysterious at best and downright alarming at worst. Thus, I kept my mouth shut, and I accepted a key to Yusuke's new place without comment.

After school on the day Amagi asked me to accompany her somewhere as mysterious as Atsuko's connections, I used that key to let myself into Yusuke's house. Atsuko sprawled across the couch in the living room, air hazy with smoke from the cigarette dangling between her lips, beer bottle hanging precariously between too loose fingers. The TV blared some sitcom or another, one I didn't recognize at first glance. She didn't even bother looking away from it when I walked in and shut the door behind me.

"Hey there, Keiko," was all she said. She waved her bottle at the doorway to the dining room, "Yusuke sent a new packet for ya."

Atsuko mostly used the dining room, and the long wooden table within it, as a depository for her unopened mail—and she had a mountain of it. It covered nearly half of the table; the other half I'd cleared away myself the last time I sorted out her bills. The packet Atsuko mentioned sat in the middle of the clear side. Waiting for me, more or less. Atsuko hadn't bothered to open the thick manila envelope marked with her address in bold black letters, so I tore into it and found the usual assortment of worksheets, photocopies of lecture notes, and syllabuses that filled all these packets. Yusuke had been sent one every week since he'd gone training in the mountains, his school dead set that their worst student not fall behind while he was gone.

Talk about futile, though.

Even before I opened the packet, I knew what I'd find: half-finished worksheets marked with random answers, blank essay sheets, and the most pitifully half-hearted short answer questions imaginable (when they weren't totally snarky, of course). The handwriting matched the penmanship on the envelope, sloppy but bold enough to be legible. The school sent Atsuko a packet, Atsuko mailed it off to Genkai's compound, and then Yusuke sent it back completed—well, sort of completed, I guess. As I spread the work out before me and fetched a pen from my book bag, I couldn't help but wonder if Genkai had to stand over Yusuke brandishing a crowbar to get him to do even this paltry amount of homework. Something told me he wouldn't touch it without proper motivation.

Pressing my fingers to my temples, I heaved a weary sigh. Normally I'd turn up my nose at the idea of looking over Yusuke's work for him, but after the day I'd had, it was kind of a nice distraction.

And besides.

This glimpse of his blocky handwriting was the only contact I'd had with him since he left. Was nice to know he was still alive and well enough to write bad jokes into the margins of his worksheets…

A few minutes after I'd started working, Atsuko wandered into the room and put a hand on my shoulder. "How'd he do this time?" she asked, craning her neck to look at the worksheet before me.

"Not great. But that's normal." I eyed the mountain of mail on the other side of the table. "Were there any other packets?"

Atsuko's hand left my shoulder; she sat in the chair next to mine and shook her head, brow knit in a questioning frown.

"There's a gap in the makeup work." I slid two worksheets toward her and pointed at the dates at the top. "Just a few days' worth, but I was wondering if maybe they forgot some stuff and sent another packet…"

"Nah." She shook her head. "That's it."

"Hmm." I tapped my pen against the table. "Either he forgot to put something in the envelope, or the school must've forgotten something."

Atsuko laughed. "He's missed so much school, that's not surprising. Pretty sure you're the only reason he'll pass this grade."

"Probably," I agreed.

Yusuke's work was undoubtedly F material, but with my help his grades got within an acceptable range—AKA, I doctored his answers just enough to earn him a D or even a low C grade in lieu of failing outright. I didn't dare give him better answers than that, though. Teachers wouldn't believe it if he got anything higher than a low C, and that was honestly pushing it. Best to stick to the D range, was my thinking, and I stuck as dutifully to it as I could.

"You told them what I said to tell them, right?" I said, gesturing at the packet. "About the handwriting?"

Atsuko took a swig of beer, then clasped her hands atop her chest and fluttered her lashes. "Sweet, loving, responsible former student Keiko is writing for Yusuke as he dictates, taking control of the pen whenever he becomes too weak to hold it." She gave another of her harsh laughs and grinned. "Even if that one teacher hates you, the rest of them bought that story hook, like, and sinker."

"My reputation lingers, it seems."

"I'll say." Her grin widened. "They think him getting sick is the best thing that's ever happened to his grades. Takenaka assumes you're tutoring him while he's bedridden, and that's why his grades aren't at the bottom of the gutter."

It was nice to know Takenaka still thought well of me—but my smile faded as I considered he might be the only one who did. I couldn't help but grimace when I asked, "You hear from Yusuke much lately?"

Atsuko shrugged. "He called a few nights ago. He's alive, but he sounded beat to hell. No telling when he'll actually put in an appearance at home, but that's Yusuke for you."

"Yeah." I stared at my hands. "Atsuko?"

"Hmm?"

"Has he, ah." I lost my nerve and had to take a moment to compose myself, running my fingers over my bangs to self-soothe. "Has he said anything to you? About me, I mean."

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why do you ask?" Atsuko said.

I swallowed. "He—he left without saying goodbye," I said, unable to look at Atsuko when I made that admission. "Hasn't called me once. Makes me wonder if he's pissed or something, but…"

But Atsuko only laughed, a harsh bark of hard humor that drew my attention at once. "Ha!" she said, slapping a hand on the table. "All the times you've stuck your neck out for him, if he's pissed at something you did, he can go kick rocks!"

Her eyes glimmered with too much mirth for me to think she was taking me seriously. "Atsuko, I'm serious," I said.

"So am I," she countered. She crossed her arms again and nodded, stubborn and certain as a mule. "Right before he left I told him to go tell you goodbye and he said no, you'd just feed him lies again, but I said that you'd done nothing but look out for him since you were kids and if you told a lie, dollars to donuts it was for a good reason."

My stomach shot into my shoes. Carefully I pulled my hands into my lap, so Atsuko couldn't see them shake, and so I wouldn't dot Yusuke's homework with my nervous sweat. "And did he buy that?" I managed to grind out despite the weight lodged firmly inside my chest.

"You bet your ass he didn't," Atsuko said (the weight in me got heavier). "But I smacked him upside the head and said to get over himself." She leaned across the table to check me on the arm, her fist hard against my bicep. "Oh, cheer up; you look like I told you he died again or something. Whatever it is, Keiko, it'll pass. Yusuke doesn't have the attention span to stay mad at you!" Another of her merry cackles. "He's got the attention span of a goldfish, and you know it!"

Atsuko seemed confident about that—but I wasn't so sure. If Yusuke was mad at me (and now I finally had confirmation that he most likely was) I hadn't heard the last of it. Though to be honest, the fact that he was angry and had left without a word on purpose was the least disturbing thing about what I'd just discovered.

Yusuke thought I'd lied to him about something.

Too bad I'd told him so many hundreds of lies over the years, I hadn't the first clue as to which one he'd managed to catch.

The question of which lie he'd picked up on dogged my steps after I finished doctoring his homework, bouncing around the case of my skull like a song stuck in your head. I went home and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to play back all of my most recent interactions with Yusuke one by one. He hadn't seemed suspicious or weird in any of them, though. So which one had he—?

Growling under my breath in frustration, I rolled onto my side and grabbed my phone off my desk. Operating on feel alone, I managed to dial a number without looking at the keypad.

"Hey, Kuwabara," I said when the line engaged. "It's me."

"Oh, hi Keiko," he said. "How you doin'?"

"Fine, fine." I took a deep breath. "Just—"

He interrupted me before I could get going. "Wait, hold on a sec." Something rustled, probably a hand covering the receiver, and in the distance I heard Kuwabara call, "OK, Dad. Bye!" Another rustle and his voice came through clear again. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

I had lost my nerve, unfortunately, and changed the subject. "Was that your dad?" I asked. "He's not normally home this time of night."

"Yeah." A hint of annoyance crept into his tone; I could imagine him glaring at his bedroom door, shooting daggers at his tight-lipped father. "He got off a bit early today, but I don't know where the heck he's going at this hour." His tone cleared. "Anyway. Enough about him. What's up?"

"Um. Well—" But again I lost my nerve, and I didn't ask what I most wanted to. Instead I said, "I won't be able to make it to practice this Sunday. I already told Kurama but I wanted to let you know to bring your own lunch, too."

"Oh." A pause. Then, brightly: "Well, if it can't be helped, then it can't be helped! No worries, Keiko, promise!"

He almost chirped when he spoke, chipper and friendly and light—not at all disappointed that I we wouldn't get to see each other like we normally did on Sundays, when I took Hiei, Kurama, and Kuwabara lunch during their training session. I'd kind of thought he'd react glumly, and for a moment his happy reaction bereft of any disappointment rendered me mute. He'd been warm and friendly and nice with me at practice, not to mention when we got together to get some studying in, never once distant or weird or cold or suspicious that maybe I'd lied about something… but maybe I was reading into it. Kuwabara wasn't Yusuke, after all. I was clearly just being oversensitive. That was it.

"Well. Cool, I guess." Taking another deep breath, I said, "Say, Kuwabara?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Have you heard from Yusuke much?"

It was much harder to ask that simple question than it should have been, words eking from my mouth with undue effort. After I spoke there followed a moment of silence, some rustling on the other end of the line signaling that perhaps Kuwabara had sat up in bed, or sat down, or something similar.

"Yusuke?" he repeated, as if he hadn't heard that name in a while. "Uh. Well." Another pause. "Why do you ask?"

"He left without saying goodbye. And I haven't heard from him at all since he left, either." I had to swallow in order to keep talking, nerves a lump in my tense neck. "Not even a phone call. And of course no letters. He hates writing." Even though Kuwabara couldn't see me, I shrugged. "I know, I know, he's busy. But—"

Kuwabara snorted. "Well, he doesn't call _me_ on the phone, either, if that helps."

"It… actually kind of does." In fact, the weight in my chest lessened quite a bit, the nervous lump in my throat easing up a little, too. "Thanks, Kuwabara."

He cleared his throat. "Ah. Don't mention it, Keiko, really."

I giggled. "Well, anyway. Want me to bring you some rations for the rest of the week?" Shizuru was the main cook in his family, and in her absence I'd been bringing him food pretty often. "Let's see. I can make—"

But Kuwabara stammered something, cutting me off before I could make an offer. "Nah, nah, that's OK, I'll be fine," he said with odd haste. "Don't want you to come out of your way or anything; Dad and I can survive just fine and besides, I don't want to trouble you. So I'll see you next week for tutoring? Yeah?"

"Uh. Yeah. Will do"

"OK, great!" he said. "See ya then!"

He hung up the phone before I could tell him goodbye.

* * *

Per her instructions, I met Amagi outside the train station. On Sunday the place was crowded, but it didn't take long to spot her standing off to the side by a ticket kiosk, out of the way of the rest of the foot traffic on this busy weekend. I stopped short when I saw her and stared, a bit surprised by her appearance. It was rare to see Amagi in something other than a uniform, her cream-colored cashmere turtleneck, brown corduroy pants and tan trench coat looking unexpectedly elegant, or even timeless, as she waited for me. Next to her I felt a bit silly in my jeans, Megallica shirt, and puffy red jacket. Honestly, between Amagi's conservative haircut and my rocker bangs, we didn't look like we should be running in the same circle of friends at all, as different as earth and sea.

However, it wasn't just her outfit that stopped me in my tracks.

The bundle of red carnations tucked against her side is what really did the trick.

She spotted me about the same time I spotted her, smiling her delicate smile before walking in my direction. "Keiko," she said as she came within earshot. "I'm very glad you could make it."

"Me, too." I swallowed, unable to keep my eyes off the flowers. "So. What's the occasion?"

"You'll see." She turned toward the train station. "Come with me."

We scanned our passes at the turnstiles and boarded a train, standing toward the back of a crowded car full of people headed out on a weekend getaway. Amagi made no move to hand me the flowers, not even acknowledging their presence beneath her arm; at that realization, I calmed a little. If she'd handed me the flowers I would've had to put my foot down, ruining whatever this day was about before it could even begin—and frankly, I was glad not to have to do that. Amagi was a good friend at this point. I'd hate to lose that over something as fleeting and innocent as a teenage crush.

… but if the flowers weren't for me, who the heck were they even for?

So focused on that question was I that I didn't quite remember to note which train we boarded, only registering that we were bound for a destination outside of Sarayashiki once we had to change lines—a line marked with a big sign that said "Mushiyori City," in fact, and at that name my stomach did a few flips. Once we entered a new car and found a place to stand, way at the front next to a window, I looked at Amagi sidelong with a frown.

"Mushiyori, huh?" I said, keeping my voice whisper-quiet in the crowded car. "What's out there?"

She smiled. "The reason for our outing today."

I stared at her.

She stared at me, smile unwavering.

"You're not going to tell me what it is until we get there, are you?" I muttered.

"That's right." She concealed a laugh behind the high collar of her sweater. "I admit, it's almost fun watching you squirm."

"Sadist."

She laughed again, and I had to look away as my cheeks flushed and my ears heated—but my eyes wandered to the window next to us, where our images stood reflected side by side. Amagi was two years my senior, but we looked practically the same age in that window pane. In fact, we looked like peers. Classmates. Friends, albeit from different social circles, a pretty preppy chick and her grungy rocker friend out for an afternoon of shopping on our day off. Seeing us side by side like that, my face reflected next to hers, set a certain feeling of disquiet in my stomach—especially when I saw a woman and a man in their late 20s standing behind us. That, I reminded myself, was my real age, no matter what my face looked like in the mirror when I woke up each morning. Associating so much with other 15 to 17 year olds, who treated me like a peer and who wore faces the same age as the one I saw every day in the mirror, it was sometimes tough to remember who was and was not really my peer. The damn teenage hormones certainly didn't do me any favors in that department, either. But inside I was an adult, far more experienced than anyone Amagi's age, and the ability to use that experience to manipulate a young person… well. It was pretty gross, now wasn't it?

In the end, I felt more than a little relieved those flowers weren't for me. My unwanted teenage hormones were a mere annoyance I'd have to ignore for the foreseeable future, no matter how loudly they liked to remind me of their existence.

Eventually the train pulled into Mushiyori, and upon disembarking we found ourselves in a swanky shopping district complete with high-ride buildings covered in banks of shiny glass, late winter sun reflecting off their glossy surfaces in shades of platinum and pale gold. Amagi began to lead the way down these city streets, but before we'd managed to walk even a block, she stopped. Frowned up at a tall building above us, eyes narrowing into glimmering crescents of liquid black.

"You OK?" I asked.

"Yes," she murmured in a voice I could barely hear. "But we'll go the long way 'round today, I think."

"I mean. If you say so?"

She gave a curt nod, turning on her heel and heading back toward the station. I wanted to ask what that had been about, but when I tried, she shook her head.

"It was nothing," she said. "Someone just walked over my grave, that's all."

I fell quiet, and I did not press for details.

After doubling back and boarding the train again, we rode it to the other end of town and then took another line in another direction. No idea where we were going, of course, but judging from the map painted onto the ceiling of the car, we'd traced almost a complete circle around the edge of the city by the time Amagi said we could leave the train and start walking. This time we walked for quite a while through a suburb, passing a park, some local businesses, and a blocks full of nice houses and apartment buildings before coming upon a sprawling, mansion-like villa with many wings set far back off the street. A long driveway led to the front of this Western-style facility, and the enormous lawn out front (a bit brown with the season, of course) hosted a score of topiary animals on its manicured surface. I stopped in my tracks when I saw it, taking in the pink brick and sparkling windows with my jaw dropped. It was not normal to see a place like this in Japan, where real estate was so expensive—but the stone arch above the long driveway gave me a clue, at least, as to what it was.

Mushiyori Elder Care & Retirement Facility, the sign read.

"Amagi." When she stopped and turned, I asked (perhaps redundantly), "What is this place?"

At that, she smiled—but there was something brittle in it. Something I could not put my finger on, and sent a chill through me I could not blame on the blustery weather.

"There's someone I want you to meet," Amagi told me. "She has something I think you need to hear."

She didn't tell me anything else. She kept walking, boots clacking lightly against the cement driveway as the trees casting shadows on the pavement swayed on a cold winter wind.

The front doors of the place—tall, painted white with glass insets to let in light—opened onto an airy lobby filled with couches, coffee tables, and easy chairs, with an enormous wooden desk along the back wall. A nurse in scrubs stood behind the desk; as we entered he put down the phone he'd been speaking into and looked up. When he saw Amagi, he smiled.

"Hello there, Amagi-chan." His eyes travelled my way. "Who's your friend?"

"Her name is Keiko," Amagi said. "Does she need to sign in?"

"Yes." He held out a hand. "May I see some ID? Your school ID is fine."

I gave it to him and filled out a form he handed me, clipping a visitor pass to the front of my shirt when he proffered one. Amagi politely rejected his offer of an escort, instead leading the way herself past a set of swinging double doors and down a long hallway that honestly looked like the inside of a swanky apartment building, welcome mats lying in front of tall wooden doors embossed with golden numbers, peepholes, and small knockers. It smelled the littlest bit like a hospital, the scents of cleaning supplies the most notable aroma in the place, but it wasn't a bad smell or anything. Amagi didn't seem to notice it or mind, after all, as she led us to a door labeled with the number 106. She knocked three times, but when no response came, she tested the doorknob, pushed the panel inward, and vanished inside. I didn't follow her, mostly because she came back out again after only a few seconds.

"Out in the garden, then," she said to herself, and then to me she added: "This way, Keiko."

Amagi forged ahead down the hallway, turning left at a fork before taking another right. Soon we found ourselves at another set of double doors, these glassy like the front ones; through their clear panes I saw a large flagstone patio with a fountain in the middle, patio ringed on all sides by tall plants and a high brick wall. The plants were all grey and scraggly from winter, of course, but even from indoors I could tell it would look quite pretty come spring. I had only a moment to think about that, though, before Amagi opened the doors and strode outside.

A cold wind wrapped around us as soon as we stepped over the threshold; I huddled in my puffy coat, zipping it up as Amagi walked forward toward the two people standing in the winter-grey garden. The first was another nurse, tall and wearing blue scrubs under a black coat; the other sat in a wheelchair with a quilt spread across her lap, a long braid of grey hair hanging over her shoulder like a length of thick rope. The nurse spotted Amagi and gave her a quiet nod, stepping away from the wheelchair and heading back inside with a curious look at me; I nodded back with a hesitant smile, as confused by my presence here as he was. Amagi ignored that exchange, however, and knelt at the elderly woman's side.

"Grandmother," she said. "It's me."

The woman—who had been sitting with her head slightly bowed—looked up. She had a craggy face, skin spotted with age marks and lined with deep wrinkles, but her eyes were kind and warm when they lit upon Amagi. "Oh," she said, voice like wind through thin reeds. "Hello." Her dark eyes traveled to the mass of red carnations peeking out from under Amagi's arm and promptly lit up. "Are these for me?"

Amagi's smile widened. "Of course," she said, handing them to her grandmother. "They're your favorites."

"Are they?" she replied, sounding lightly puzzled—but as her eyes lingered on the flowers, something in them solidified, certainty taking place of confusion. Looking at Amagi, she smiled and said, "Chise. Chise, you always bring me flowers, don't you?"

Amagi nodded. "Yes."

"Chise?" I said.

Amagi looked up at me; I clapped my hand over my mouth, embarrassed that I'd just blurted that name out loud instead of using my inside-the-head voice like I'd meant to. To my relief, Amagi just gave me a nod.

"My mother," she said. "And this is my grandmother, Yumie."

Her grandmother was not distracted by our conversation; perhaps she hadn't quite heard it. "Chise," she went on as if we hadn't spoken. "I wish I'd known you were coming. I would have baked you something."

"It's OK," Amagi said. "I'm just glad to see you."

Grandmother Yumie nodded, fingering the flower petals on her lap with her gnarled fingers. The last digits on them were crooked, just a little, nails discolored but neatly trimmed. They reminded me of my grandmother's hands, back in my old life, strong but warped by time and hard work. She reminded me of my grandmother even more when she started to hum some tuneless song under her breath, lost in thought as she stared at her flowers.

I couldn't help but ask, "Does she not recognize…?"

Amagi hesitated, gently tucking the quilt closer to her grandmother's legs. "No. But I don't mind," she eventually admitted. She adjusted her grandmother's hair and the collar of her coat, face softening. "She doesn't know who I am, but when she looks at me, she can feel that she loves me. So she assigns me whatever name she can remember that fits that feeling—in this case, my mother's."

Her grandmother smiled again. "Oh, Chise," she said, putting a hand to Amagi's cheek. Spotted skin stood out against Amagi's even complexion, age contrasted starkly against youth. "Oh, Chise, how I've missed you."

"And I've missed you, too." Amagi leaned down a bit, catching her eye and holding it. "Now, Grandmother. Can you remember what you told me?"

Yumie's face screwed up, eyes nearly disappearing in their nest of wrinkles. "What I…?"

"Yes," said Amagi with tender patience. "What you told me last week." When her grandmother did not react, Amagi hinted, "I wore a yellow sweater and you…"

She hesitated—but then one of her hands lifted, fingertips touching Amagi's shoulder. "Brushed off your shoulder," she murmured, miming the action.

"Yes," Amagi said. "Do you remember what was there?"

For a moment, she only stared at Amagi in wonder—but then her eyes darkened, lip jutting out and trembling before she shook her head. I thought, perhaps, she would not give Amagi and answer, but soon she began to speak.

"It's so dark, Chise," she said in a mournful warble. "It's so, so dark. A yawning pit of ink that wants to swallow us whole." She shuddered, clutching at Amagi's hand. "It's tiny now, but it feels so big."

Amagi smoothed her hair, trying to comfort her with a murmur of, "Grandmother, it's all right." To my surprise, she extended a hand my way. "This is my friend Keiko," Amagi explained as she looped an arm around her grandmother's thin shoulders. "She's a good person. She protects people, and so do her friends." Looking into her eyes, Amagi smiled and said, "They can help. They can help make Mushiyori right again."

"Please. Please, Chise," she said, shaking her head back and forth, back and forth. "Can they do something about those awful bugs?"

"Yes, Grandmother," Amagi said. "They can."

When I shivered, it wasn't because of the cold air. "Bugs?" I said, unable to keep the alarm from my voice. "What do you mean, bugs?"

Yumie shuddered again, leaning her head against Amagi's neck. "The most horrible bugs," she said. "No one can see them but me—and Chise, too."

"At first she just saw one," Amagi explained in a whisper, locking eyes with me over her relative's soft hair. "I thought she was seeing things. But then…"

"More." Yumie closed her eyes, breath catching in her reedy throat. "More and more. More every day."

Amagi cupped her hand around the side of Yumie's head, holding her closer but also muddling her ear. "I know she's an old woman, Keiko," Amagi said, pleading with her eyes for me to understand. "But please, you must—"

"I believe her." With a grunt I knelt on Yumie's other side, touching her arm to draw her attention. "Are the bugs here, now?" I asked.

Yumie shook her head. "They come at night and they leave by morning."

"Scouts," I muttered, word slipping from between my clenched teeth unbidden.

Amagi frowned. "What?"

"Oh. Nothing, Amagi, I was just talking to myself." Which was true, even if this wasn't actually 'nothing' at all. Far from it. Giving her a nod of promise, I said, "I'll tell my friends about this, I swear."

Relief filled her eyes to the brim. "Thank you," she said. "Grandmother, did you hear—?"

But Grandmother Yumie had fallen asleep in her chair, the gentles of snores coming from her open mouth. Amagi stopped, paused, then rearranged her grandmother's blankets and smoothed her hair before pressing a kiss to the old woman's forehead. "I'll go get the nurse," she said as she stood up.

"I'll wait here."

"Thanks," Amagi said, and she went inside.

I stood up, too, turning my back on Yumie as I threaded my hands through my hair. Even though I knew I wouldn't be able to see them, I couldn't help but look around for bugs—for the monstrous and demonic insects that had plagued Sarayashiki thanks to Suzaku's Makai Whistle. For the monstrous and demonic insects that would creep through Sensui's fledgling portal to Demon World just before hell descended onto Mushiyori City. To think the bugs were already here in some capacity, that a portent of what was to come had already—

A cool, dry hand with soft, papery skin slipped into mind. I flinched, but it was only Grandmother Yumie, roused from her nap and peering up at me through her dark eyes. She cast about for Amagi for a moment before looking to me again, confusion evident on her withered face.

"You. Girl," she said. "Where…?"

"It's OK, ma'am," I assured her with a smile. "She'll be back soon."

But Yumie shook her head. "Where did you come from?" she asked. Her hands curled around the bouquet of red carnations, their petals the brightest spot of color in the otherwise dreary garden.

"I came here with Amagi. With Chise," I explained. I knelt at her side and patted her hand, trying to sound reassuring. "She'll—"

"No," Yumie interjected. "No. I mean before that."

If I wanted to move away from her as she reached for my face, to cup it between her wizened palms and hold it softly in place, I found within moments that I could not. A swift wind streaked through, but Yumie did not flinch, did not allow herself to shiver as the silver flyaways ringing her face trembled and shook on the breeze. The air beside her smelled of sweet carnation and baby powder, clean linens and vintage perfume.

"I see death behind your eyes," said Grandmother Yumie. Her voice did not sound reedy or thin like it had before. The strength of conviction stilled its cadence, turned it measured and even even as she spoke in a voice no louder than a whisper. "Death, and new life, and death again—over and over, death and life, a spiral stretching deep into the distance of your being."

Still, I could not move, even though within her eyes there hardened something as sharp and unbending as steel. Still, her mouth curved in the saddest of smiles, and her hands on my face remained as light as spun gossamer.

"You are more than you seem," she said, "but you are also exactly as you appear." She pressed her forehead to mine, gazing into my face from no distance at all. "And someday, you will be something else entirely."

My mouth had gone bone dry, but still I managed to say, "Ma'am, I—"

"Amagi sees things as they are." Yumie kept talking as if she had not heard me. "She inherited her eyes from me, as her mother before her—but I wish she hadn't." Her eyes that saw so much closed, then, mouth thinning with internal pain. "These eyes bring peril and sleepless nights. I wished for her a different life, but it was not meant to be." When her eyes opened again, then held even steelier conviction that before, the immutable quality of stone glowing bright and hard behind them. "Promise me, girl. Promise me you will never let her dreams turn as dark as the world she sees while waking." Her fingers curled, nails digging bluntly into my skin. "Please. _Please_. Vow to me that."

"I promise," I said, because it was all I could do.

And it was enough, it seemed, for Yumie. "Good," she said, hands slipping from my cheeks. "Good," she repeated, slumping back into her chair once more—and after she shook her head, she looked around with an anxious frown, her look of iron will fading into memory. "Where is Chise?" she asked, voice warbling and tremulous as before. "Where did she…?"

As if summoned, the door to the courtyard opened, admitting a nurse and Amagi at his heels. The nurse gave me a nod before wheeling Yumie inside, stopping long enough for Amagi to bid her grandmother a final goodbye with a kiss upon her cheek. Before they managed to leave, Yumie had fallen asleep again, hands clasped loosely around the flowers on her lap.

* * *

"You inherited your powers from her."

Amagi's eyes cut sideways, lingering on me as the train rocked and swayed around us. In the middle of the afternoon, there weren't as many people in the car as there would be once night fell, affording us a touch more privacy (as well as spots to actually sit down) on this leg of our journey. Still, Amagi kept her voice low when she responded, her hands folded neatly atop her thighs.

"Yes," Amagi murmured. "Though she saw more than I ever could, before the dementia…"

She trailed off. "She still sees a lot," I offered, trying to comfort her. "Sharp eyes."

And Yumie's eyes weren't the only ones. Amagi inhaled, held her breath, and said, "What did you mean when you said 'scouts?'"

I had looked away, staring at the train's black floor, before she even finished speaking. "Um," I said, unable to form more words than that.

Amagi waited for me to go on, but I didn't say anything, and soon the train slowed to a stop. We disembarked, Amagi leading me out of the underground station tunnel and to the streets above. I didn't recognize the area, but it was cute, with lots of shops and restaurants filling the streets outside the station.

Amagi didn't take me to any of these, though. We stood in the square outside the station, a clock suspended up high on a pole ticking above our heads, while she spread her hands and indicated the bustling crowds and glittering storefronts. "Have I ever told you that I grew up here?" she said.

"No," I told her.

"My parents moved to Sarayashiki so I could attend a better middle school, and later, a better high school. But Mushiyori is where I'm from. It's where my mother is from, and where my grandmother is from." A small smile lit her face like a candle flame in a paper lantern, eyes tilting up to the wintry sky overhead. "I spend my summers here, most years. We would catch fireflies down by the river and always go to summer festivals together to watch the fireworks." Her look of nostalgia faded into one of understated urgency. "This city is precious, to me, Keiko. You understand that, don't you?"

I did understand, though I could do no more to express that feeling than nod. I had spent summers with my grandmother growing up, too, catching fireflies and attending events side by side. Those were the best times of my life. I knew what it meant to value a city for the memories it housed, though I knew not the words to convey that to Amagi.

But somehow, she understood. "Then you understand why I want to protect this city," she said. "Not just for my sake. Not just for my grandmother's. For the sake of all the other children who might spend their summers here." She wrapped her arms around herself, head shaking. "Those bugs. They are a prelude to darkness. You warned me of them before those teachers nearly tried to kill us—and now they're here, in my hometown." A dark-eyed glare pinned me in place, resolute and demanding. "If you have any idea of what's to come, I must know."

It was my turn to shake my head. "Amagi, I can't—"

She took one quick step toward me. "You showed me that video tape," Amagi said. Voice low and full of darkness, she murmured, "Don't you dare tell me I can't know, or that I'm not already involved."

That—that was a side to her I'd never seen before, that willpower bordering on outright ferocity. It nearly made me take a step backward, away from her, but somehow I refrained from withdrawing from her unblinking stare. I matched it with one of my own, instead, a bead of sweat forming on my temple, hyperconscious of the press of the Sunday crowd swirling around us through the square.

"I can't see the future," I blurted.

Amagi frowned—and although my words confused her, as soon as I spoke them, I knew what I needed to say. Amagi had already deduced something was coming. She knew about Spirit World and demons and evil bugs, and she was right: She was already involved. I had made the choice to offer her that involvement. And now, I felt, it came to me to prepare her—at least in some small manner—for what was to come. To deny her would be to lose her trust.

It would be to lose her eyes. Eyes that could see what mine could not.

Amagi was, in a word, too useful to lose. Far more useful than I was, at any rate. And I could always rely on my good only friend "half truth" when real truths just weren't an option.

"I can't see the future," I said, each word a slow exploration, "but I know certain things about it. And things do not always match what I've been shown." When her eyes widened, I put a hand on my chest. "I'm here to make sure things progress… correctly. And correctly isn't always the same thing as good."

"What does that mean?" Amagi asked.

Again, I chose my words with care. "Your hometown will face an immense darkness, and soon." I held up a hand before she could talk, before she could voice that look of panic brewing in her eyes. "But that darkness won't reach its fever pitch for a while yet."

"When?" Amagi breathed.

"I don't know," I admitted, because that was the truth. "But not till after Spring Break, at least."

She was too smart for her own good. "What happens on Spring Break?" she asked.

I winced, but I knew better than to deny her at least a hint. "Like you said. A prelude," I said. "But its arms aren't long enough to reach you here, and when their reach extends—" I hesitated, shaking my head as I met her eyes and swore, "I won't let anything happen to you or this city that you love. I promise you that."

She waited a beat. Studied my face, her deep and lovely eyes sweeping over my face once, twice, three times. Eventually she said: "You aren't going to tell me what's going on, are you."

It wasn't phrased as a question, and she didn't ask it like one, either. Knowing she already knew the answer made giving it much easier. "I can't," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Well." She sighed, but she did not argue, and for that I was grateful. "I'll be here if that changes."

"Thank you," I told her, and I meant it.

We stood there for another moment, silent as the crowds of Mushiyori swirled and whirled about us in an endless, infinite dance—a whirlpool, of sorts, one we stood at the center of, arms spiraling outward in an depthless typhoon of descending fate. None of the people chattering around us, aside from the odd psychic or two like Amagi and her grandmother Yumie, knew what was coming—but I did. I knew that the fights faced by my friends held stakes that went beyond Yusuke and his crew of friends. They affected every person in Mushiyori City, in Japan, in the _world_. My outing with Amagi had reminded me of that.

If my friends failed to save this city, how many children would be without homes? Without families? Without grandmothers to spend their summers with? Destiny was bigger than me, my friends, our battles. It was as big as the winter sky above, arching over the city of Mushiyori in an infinite wash of pale blue.

I could only hope my presence here had not rewritten history, or Amagi would not be the only one to suffer the loss of her beloved hometown.

* * *

Mom met me at the door almost as soon as I walked through it. "Keiko, dear," she said, head jutting from the kitchen doorway. "Your box is in the fridge—did you forget to take it today?"

I frowned at her. "My box?" I said, and then I slapped a hand to my forehead. "Oh. That. Right."

It was Sunday, and every Sunday for the past almost-two-months, I had taken the boys a gigantic set of bento boxes for their mid-training lunch break. I'd been careful to warn Kurama and Kuwabara about my impending absence, but I'd completely forgotten to tell my mother about it, and she'd gone out of her way to cook food for me because of it. Of all the things to forget—

She frowned, coming out of the kitchen completely. "Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing, Mom," I said. "Just spaced."

As I took off my shoes and hung up my jacket, the question became thus: What the heck should I do with all that food? There was lots of it, and I didn't want it to go to waste…

"Well," Mom said. "Better late than never."

I blinked at her. "Huh?"

"Better late than never," she repeated, adding a chipper smile to the mix this time. "He might've had instant ramen for lunch, but at least he can have a nice dinner, right?"

" _Oh._ Right," I said, getting it at last. "Yeah, that's true. Great idea, Mom!"

Mom beamed, excusing herself when one of the other cooks called out a question. The cover story for these big bento boxes was that I'd been taking them to Kuwabara each Sunday afternoon, providing him with several days of meals since his sister was travelling ("To beautician school," I'd told Mom); Mom knew that Kuwabara's sister was the main cook in the house and that he'd be eating crappy food without her. And even if I'd lied about what I was doing with all that food each week, about the food today Mom was right: Why not take it to Kuwabara so he could have something good to eat? He'd turned down my offer earlier that week, but there was no way he'd reject food we'd already made. Yeah, Mom was brilliant even when she didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle. Imagine how brilliant she'd be with all of them? Oh, well. Too bad that could never happen. No way was I telling Mom that the food was really going to a two demons and a human in the woods while they were training for a vicious fighting tournament that might wind up killing them all—though speaking of which…

"Hey, Mom?" I said as I walked into the kitchen and headed for the refrigerator.

"Yes?" she said, red-faced as she stirred an enormous pot of broth.

"This spring break I was thinking of going camping with friends. Maybe out in the mountains?"

"Hmmm." She looked at me over her shoulder. "Who with?"

"The usual crew," I said, trying to sound casual as I removed the bento stack from the icebox. "And Shizuru already said she'd chaperone, if that helps."

"It does a little," Mom admitted. "She seems the responsible sort."

"Cool. We haven't picked a spot yet, but it would be fun." I walked backward out of the kitchen with a wave. "Anyway, I can get you more details when I've got 'em."

"That'd be good, sweetie. See you later."

"Bye!"

Whistling to myself, I put back on my coat and shoes and headed for the door, proud that my preemptive cover story had gone off without a hitch. Lying to Mom was never fun, but in this case it had to be done. The Dark Tournament was set during Spring Break, but there was no way I could just skip town for a week without telling her where I meant to go. Camping with Yusuke and the others was a perfect excuse; she couldn't call me in the mountains and verify where I'd gone, and I was sure that Shizuru would go along with the charade if I asked her to do so. Yeah, the camping excuse was a great idea, and the sooner I planted the seed for that cover story, the easier it would be to get away with it. A month and a half in advance would do nicely, I reckoned, so it was with a spring in my step that I left home and headed for Kuwabara's house.

Too bad my good mood only lasted until I reached the sidewalk at the end of his short front lawn.

It was night by the time I reached his house, twilight having fallen during my trek over. Still whistling, still walking with a spring, I spotted his house up ahead and quickened my stride, all but skipping the rest of the way in my haste to reach his front porch.

—but then, just as I reached the edge of the lawn, a light flickered on in the front room.

I stopped cold.

It took me a minute to find the will to move again, but I did it. One foot placed itself doggedly in front of the other, step by step until I reached the front door. I thumbed the doorbell and stood there, silent, until the door opened with a creak. Kuwabara's broad face peered through the gap between door and jamb, skin draining of blood in the space between seconds.

"Oh, h-hi, Keiko," he said. His eyes darted to the side and back to me again. "Why are you—?"

I put my hand on the door, shoved it open, and then thrust the stacked bento boxes at his chest. "This is for you," I said. "Now: Where is he?"

Kuwabara swallowed. "Couch," he admitted.

"Thank you."

I walked in as wooden as a nutcracker, Kuwabara on my heels, and made me way to the living room. True to Kuwabara's word, I found him on the couch. He had his eyes closed and he lay on his stomach, one arm cast over the side side with hand dragging the floor, hair hanging loose over his forehead instead of shellacked into place by his usual and copious amounts of gel. "You get me that soda yet, Kuwabara?" he said when he heard me coming, but when I did not reply, he cracked open one incredulous eye—only to do a double-take and rocket upright, scrambling across the couch to sit with back pressed against the armrest, hands held up to ward me off.

"What the?!" Yusuke yelped, and then he turned a glare on Kuwabara. "What the hell, Kuwabara! What happened to covering for me?"

Kuwabara, standing at my side, gave a wordless cry of frustration and threw up his hands. "Aw, hell, Urameshi, I already covered for you on the phone a few nights ago and you know damn well I've had a tummy ache ever since! I wasn't about to lie to her face, too!" His shoulders hunched as he turned my way, small eyes wide as he pleaded. "Keiko, I swear, I hated doing it but I really wasn't lying when I said he never called me, either!" It became his turn to glare, this time at Yusuke himself. "He just showed up one day out of the blue expecting a place to crash—"

"I don't care." I turned away as Kuwabara sputtered, voice emotionless and flat as I said, "Yusuke—"

But then the words died. I stood there in silence, Yusuke and I trading a long stare while I faltered and failed to find the language I needed to describe the ten thousand emotions vying for dominance in my chest. Only then did I see the bandage on his cheek and the bruises on his arms, evidence of where he'd been these past months, but even the shock of that couldn't pry words from my cold mouth.

Eventually Yusuke had it with my silence. He huffed and stood, jamming his hands into his jean pockets as he slouched past and headed for the door. "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he grumbled just as he neared me. One hand lifted. "See ya round."

"Wait. But where are you going?" Kuwabara said.

"I'm escaping whatever lecture she's about to give me, that's where." He grabbed his coat from a peg by the door and shoved his feet into the muddy tennis shoes lying scattered beneath. "Don't wait up, Kuwabara. I'll find somewhere else to lie low."

"B-but!" said Kuwabara, but Yusuke was already out the door.

My feet came unstuck from the floor a moment later; I trailed after Yusuke without a word, waving Kuwabara back when he tried to follow, too. Yusuke wasn't walking fast, and I caught up to him by the time he reached the sidewalk down by the street. "Yusuke, wait," I said as I walked a few steps in his shadow. "Can we talk?"

"Nah," he replied.

"Yusuke!"

He rounded on me. Opened his mouth to say something, eyes blazing with the kind of fire I usually expected from Hiei—but then his mouth clacked shut. He looked at the ground, nose screwing us as he grimaced.

"What did I do?" I said. "Why are you acting like this?"

He just huffed, frustration evident in every line of his tense shoulders.

"Can we at least go somewhere and talk?" I implored.

He huffed again, but after a beat he grumbled, "Fine."

We said nothing on our way to my parents' restaurant. The wind and our footfalls created the only accompaniment on our travels, though of course the moment he entered the building, my parents let out twin screeches of operatic delight and pounced on him, dropping kitchen utensils with unsightly splatters in their haste to envelop him in a group hug.

"Yusuke, there you are!" my mom yodeled. "Are you no longer on the verge of death, again?!"

"Back from the grave another time, looks like!" Dad concurred as he clapped Yusuke on the back. "And about damn time. We've missed your face around here!"

Yusuke rolled his eyes, but he had to try very hard not to smile and to look peeved, instead. "Hi, Yukimuras," he grumbled into my mom's neck. "Long time, no see."

Mom pushed him away so she could look him over. "Feeling any better?" she asked.

Dad nudged at Yusuke's ribs with his elbow, eyebrows wagging. "Atsuko told us you were sick with mono, you sly dog."

Yusuke rolled his eyes even harder. "Yeah, yeah, I'm doing OK. Would feel a lot better after a little ramen, though."

"Of course. Coming right up!" Dad said.

"We're backed up at the moment, so it'll be a few minutes if you want to sit down," Mom added.

"Sure," Yusuke said—and when he caught my eye, any trace of the smile he'd given my parents vanished entirely.

I swallowed.

This wasn't gonna end well, now was it?

Yusuke didn't wait for me to decide where we'd talk. He parked himself at a table near the back and plopped into a seat by the wall. I sat across from him as he leaned backward in his chair with shoulders braced on said wall, balancing precariously on two chair legs with his toes only barely scraping the ground, hands in the pockets of his neon green windbreaker. It wasn't the ideal place to talk and he wouldn't look at me, not even when I cleared my throat to get his attention, but at least most of the other patrons were sitting closer to the kitchen and weren't completed within earshot. Had to be grateful for small favors, I told myself, because I was pretty sure I wouldn't be afforded many once we really got going.

Carefully folding my hands atop the table between us, I said: "So."

Yusuke's eyes darted my way, then away again. "So."

"You've been avoiding me."

"Really, Keiko?" he snarked. "I hadn't noticed."

"Yeah, well, I have, and it fucking sucks." I leaned forward, trying to look him in the eye, but he turned his face away. "Yusuke, please. Please just throw me a bone, here. I can't fix it if I don't know what's—"

"You're a liar."

He didn't speak in anger, or with any particular emotion in his voice at all. It was simply… a statement. Like he'd done nothing more offensive than describe the weather. Like he hadn't just called his oldest friend something awful—even if, perhaps, the accusation was deserved.

Still, deserved or not, it caught me off guard, and a stammered "What?" was all I could think to say.

Yusuke didn't like that. At last he looked at me, face snapping in my direction with a pointed glare. "You're a liar, Keiko," he said, voice thrumming with accusation. "And the sorry thing is that you're bad at it, but you keep doing it anyway acting like no one notices." He looked away again, crossing his arms with a slap of fist against bicep. "Yeah, well, I notice. I notice, and I'm not letting you get away with it anymore, you hear me?"

"Yusuke." I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself—trying to come up with any tactic at all that could help me navigate this sticky situation, which had just become ever stickier than I had first assumed. "What, precisely, do you think I have lied about?"

A growl of frustration built in his chest. "I don't know."

"Then what, pray tell, are you—?"

Like a striking snake, the legs of his chair slammed onto the floor, sound accompanied by the smack of his hand against the table. _"You're literally doing it right now, dammit!"_

People chatting at the nearest occupied table fell silent; I didn't need to look over my shoulder to know they'd started staring at us. I shushed Yusuke, but he shook his head, fist balling up so hard it shook.

"You are _literally_ doing it right now!" He spoke through his teeth, hunched and spitting and hissing and glaring like he might launch himself over the table at any moment. "You think you're so smart, doing what you're doing, but you're just—"

I slammed my hand on the table, too, hunching over it to look him dead in the eye. "I haven't said anything, Yusuke!" I hissed. "In the past five minutes I haven't made any assertions I could _possibly_ be lying about! I haven't made any claims that could qualify as lies!"

"See?" He jabbed a finger at my nose. "That, that right there! Dodging around what I'm trying to say and confusing the topic with big words instead of just being straight with me!"

"Yusuke, I don't—"

Yusuke was on his feet in half a second of raw, physical fury. "Stop doing that!" he yelled. "I know what you're doing, so stop it!"

Behind me, the entire restaurant quieted. That time I couldn't help but look over my shoulder, just in time to see Mom pop her head out of the kitchen and look our way with a panicked scowl. Yusuke saw her and sank back into his chair, looking at once apologetic and combative as a bull poked with a stick.

"Let's go upstairs," I whispered.

"Fine," Yusuke whispered back.

I let him lead the way, mostly so I could mutter an apology at the kitchen staff (not to mention my parents) and then shut the door to my room behind us. Hand on the knob, I tried to compose myself with a few deep breaths—but before I could do more than three, Yusuke cleared his throat. I flinched and turned to find him staring at me, one foot tapping against the floor with unrestrained impatience.

"Let's start with something simple." I kept my voice as light, airy, and controlled as I possible could. "What lie did I tell you that you're so pissed off about?"

Yusuke's foot stilled.

He took a deep breath.

He said, in accepted but understandable almost-English: "Yippe-kai-yay, motherfucker."

I did a double-take. "Excuse me?"

He scowled, teeth bared and gleaming. "Yippy-kai-yay mother fu—"

"No, no, I get it," I said, cutting him off before he could curse again. "But why are you quoting _Die Hard?_ "

"Because _you_ quoted _Die Hard_ ," he shot back.

"Uh. No, I didn't?" I said, because I most certainly had not. "What the hell are you—?"

Yusuke threw up his hands and paced, moving back and forth between my desk and my bedroom door like a lion caught in much too small a cage. He was glaring at me, though—he was _laughing_ , laughing with teeth on full display and eyes shining with manic glee. "You don't even remember, do you?" he said through that wry, hard laugh. "You don't even remember that. You tell so many lies, they all blur together for you, don't they?" Another laugh, this one louder than the first. "Ever since the day we met under that stupid bridge, this is what you've been like. And you think I'm too stupid to notice!"

"I don't think you're stupid," I said, not letting myself raise my voice. "But I have literally no idea—"

"Cut the fucking crap. I'm not an idiot, Keiko." He stalked up and pointed at me, finger poking into my sternum once, twice, three times. "You may be the one doing my homework, but I'm not stupid!" At my stunned look, deer caught firmly in the glare of oncoming headlights, he stabbed at my chest again. "We were in the first grade and you were correcting the teacher's grammar in English lessons and I _know_ you aren't enough of a genius to have learned English on your own. You're smart, but you're not _that_ smart. Somethin' funny was going on and _I know it,_ Keiko!"

Every word he spoke struck my heart like a dart, sharper even than the finger striking my chest. Still, despite the truth flying from his mouth, I tried to lie to him. I tried to obfuscate, prevaricate, do what I'd been doing since the day we met under that bridge, exactly as he said. "Yusuke, you can't possibly believe—"

"Oh, great. Here it comes," he drawled. "More lies, right?"

"—what you're saying. We were children!" I shook my head, loosing a derisive laugh of my own. "Don't you think maybe you might be misremember—?"

_"Don't do that!"_ he snarled; I stepped back, shoulder blades hitting the door with a smack, but Yusuke held his ground and stared with utter lava in his eyes. "Don't you dare try to tell me I didn't see what I saw! I know I sound like an idiot, Keiko, I know that. I can't put my finger on anything and I can't figure out how to tell you what I've noticed, I just don't have the words because it makes no sense, I get that what I'm saying sounds crazy. But I know what I know: You sure as hell aren't telling me the truth, even when you're not telling outright lies, and—"

The phone rang.

Yusuke looked over his shoulder. I looked over his shoulder, too, as the ringer blared its tinny alarm from its spot on my desk, loud and shrill and totally unwanted in the otherwise quiet room. It was probably Kuwabara, came my distant assumption, checking in on me after I'd followed Yusuke—and maybe I did want the phone to ring, after all. It certainly gave me a minute to regroup and steel myself for what would surely follow the minute it fell quiet.

Yusuke—he'd noticed so much more than I'd ever given him credit for. Of all the things I'd prepared for, this conversation wasn't one of them, because I just… I'd underestimated him? Is that what I'd done? Is that the enormous mistake I'd made that led to this?

And if it was, what the heck was I supposed to do about it now?

The phone stopped ringing before I could figure it out, and Yusuke dived right back into it.

"It's not just how you always seem to _know_ things," he said the second the last ring faded. "It's how you always have the answers even when you shouldn't. It's the way you… react." His face screwed up. "Or _don't_ react, sometimes. Either way, it never makes sense."

"B-but," I stammered, "what does that…?"

"The Tournament," he immediately snapped back. "I came to tell you what had happened and you just said yeah, you already knew."

"Um, yeah?" This was my chance; I could explain this away, no problem, so I looked at him with a 'no, duh' face and crossed my arms. "You know this, Yusuke. Some demons came to invite Hiei when he was with me, so—"

He shook his head, unkempt hair flying. " _No._ No, I don't mean—" He gave a small, growling scream of utter frustration and stalked away. "See? _See?"_ he said when he rounded on me again. "This is what's so frustrating! It's not that you already _knew_ I'd been invited to the Tournament, it's that when I told you, you didn't freak out about it. And Keiko, even if you knew what was going on through Hiei, you're wound tighter than a noose. You _always_ freak out, even if somebody warns you ahead of time."

"Yeah, well," I said, "maybe I'd freaked out before you got there, with Hiei—"

"No!" he interjected. "This wasn't you after a panic attack. This was you just, just _coping with it_. Like you'd already wrapped your head around the Tournament and all that crap, but you don't adjust that quickly." He looked at me like I was an alien in human skin, but tentacles had begun to poke out of my ears. "You've _never_ adjusted to anything overnight. You _hate_ change. You didn't have time to be OK with what was happening, but you were still acting like you'd totally accepted—"

Now I was the one throwing up my hands, stalking toward him with a wild shake of my head and a growl in my throat. "OK, Yusuke, so I didn't _freak out_ enough for you? That's it? And that somehow makes me a liar?"

"Yes!" he barked, but then he bit his lip. "No! I don't know!"

"So you've ignored me for a month and a half because you _can't make sense of my personality?"_ I pushed. "Well, gee, Yusuke, how nice of you. Y'know you could've talked to me about this sooner, right? Instead of ignoring me for almost two months, right? Why didn't you just ask me what I—"

Incensed, he cut in, "What, and let you lie to me again?"

_"I haven't lied to you!"_

_"Yes, you have!"_

"Oh, well, when?" I said. "You said it yourself, you can't put it into words, so how is it fair to hold me responsible for—?"

"It's not that you always lie!" he protested. "It's that it feels like you leave stuff out and I can never be sure when you—"

The phone rang.

Once again we both turned and stared at it, but this time I walked over, picked up the receiver, and dropped it back into the cradle with a resounding clatter. We were going at this a mile a minute, a frantic rush of frenetic ranting and raving, and no _way_ were we losing momentum because Kuwabara couldn't mind his fucking patience.

"OK, Yusuke, let's get to it." I rounded on him and slapped my hands onto my hips, feet spread for support, glaring with all my might. "What do you want from me? Right now, in this moment, confronting me, _what do you want?"_ I changed tactics and held out my hands, supplicating, begging him with my eyes to cooperate. "Tell me and I'll give it to you, Yusuke. Tell me and I'll—"

"I don't know what I want," he said,

"Then why are we even—?"

_"You make no fucking sense, Keiko!"_

His words—roared with all the rage of the lion he in that moment was—reverberated through the tiny room, resonating in my stunned ears so hard they began to ring. A deathly hush descended in the wake of his roar, but Yusuke wasn't done, even if his volume dropped when once more he began to speak.

"You don't make any sense at all," he repeated, words no less fierce for their understated tenor. "That night you vanished, I felt like—" He stopped. Swallowed. Forged ahead. "And then you were just _there_ again, acting fine. With that guy? With that _gaijin_ with the blonde hair? And you said he just sort of found you, but he didn't even blink at Hiei's gross eye." Accusation dripped from every syllable, from every gleam of his pointed glare. "And he lied to us, too. He did exactly what you did, and acted normal, but it was _too_ normal. He acted so normal it wasn't normal at all. And that's what you do, all the time. Every word you say is so planned out, so careful, it makes every single thing you do seem fake." Yusuke lifted and dropped his hands like a set of unbalanced scales. "When I think you're going to overreact, you don't react. When I think you'll be fine, you break down. Ever since we were kids, nothing about you has made a lick of sense, and since I became Spirit Detective, it's only gotten worse."

My words came out in a whisper. "It's gotten—?"

"You saved Kurama's mom without knowing how, and said you got lucky," Yusuke said, a deluge of allegations pouring one by one off his tongue. "You prepared your school for a warzone, and said you got lucky when Suzaku's goons attacked. You got eaten by a shadow monster and got away by being lucky. Found an ally who can withstand a look at a Jagan by being lucky." A quick step in my direction sent me stumbling backward, where I sat heavily on my bed. "You really expect me to believe that? You really expect me to believe you're _that_ lucky?" He shook his head, teeth bared. "Even if your name is lucky child, no one is that lucky, Keiko. _Nobody._ "

He fell silent.

I said nothing.

I'm not sure how long we stared at once another, but as the seconds ticked their way toward minutes, Yusuke's expression… it changed. The anger in his eyes didn't vanish, or cool, but it did thin out, revealing a bedrock beneath made of…

Of _hurt._

He was still glaring, brimming with anger like a rain-glutted stream, but behind his eyes, hidden deep under swagger and bravado, I could see it. I could see the hurt there, the betrayal, that raw nerve open to even more hurt depending on whatever I chose to say next. It wasn't often Yusuke made himself vulnerable, but right now, in this particular moment, he was choosing to—

No. That wasn't right.

Now was not the only moment he'd made himself vulnerable to me, was it?

Because he was right, of course. I was a liar. Oh, sure, I made excuses for myself and liked to pretend half-truths were somehow more morally justifiable than outright fabrication, but that was just wishful thinking. I was a pants-on-fire liar of the highest order, even if I wasn't very good at it, and I'd hurt Yusuke more times than I could ever, _ever_ hope to count—because the day we'd met under that bridge, as night fell and I chased off those older bullies, Yusuke had made himself vulnerable by trusting me.

He'd been vulnerable with me since the day we met, and I had taken advantage of that at every turn.

It's like I'd told myself earlier that day with Amagi: I was not a child. No matter how I looked, I had the mind of an adult, and the capacity to hurt and manipulate any child around me using the experience that I had and they lacked. No matter how well-intentioned I'd been with Yusuke, he was not an idiot. He could sense that I'd been manipulating, gaslighting him and lying to him for years, underestimating at every turn how sharp his eyes could be.

But even realizing that today, what could I say now? What could I do?

_Should I tell him?_

The thought popped into my bed as if someone had whispered it into my ear, and once the thought was entertained, I couldn't get it out of my head. Should I tell him everything? Spill my guts? Lay it all out there and let him accept or reject me as he saw fit? He certainly had every right to reject me if he wanted. But if he did, how would that affect the events to come? How would that rewrite history, change fate, alter the path of—?

His stare bored into mine like the claws of some great beast, but one with its leg caught in a terrible trap, anger and pain at war with the hurt and pleading in his eyes.

Standing there that night in my bedroom, something in my chest broke in half, and I knew that I couldn't keep doing this to him.

Even if he couldn't put his finger on my exact deceptions, he could still detect their presence in every line of my being. He might not be able to name my manipulations for what they were, but he damn well knew when I wasn't telling him the entire truth.

As quickly as something inside me broke, something else inside me stilled, and I knew what I had to do.

"OK." I ran my hands through my hair. Patted the bed beside me. "Yusuke. OK. Just." I patted it again. "You should sit down."

His brow furrowed, but he did as I asked. He sat next to me with tension in every muscle, ready to leap off the bed at the first sign of deception.

But I wasn't intending to lie, or even to tell a half truth, now was I? We were past that, now.

It was time to tell the truth.

I wasn't sure if he'd let me take his hands in mine, but he did, although he looked at me like I'd gone nuts when I did it. I placed my thumbs over the backs of his hands and offered him a smile, every ounce of my being devoted to hope I dared not let myself acknowledge.

"The truth is—" I paused. "And this is going to sound immensely crazy, for the record. Like. You're not going to believe me. And that's why I haven't told you before now, because it's just—it's just utterly, completely, inconceivably—"

"Get to the damn point, Keiko," Yusuke ground out.

I took a deep breath "The truth of the matter is that I haven't always been this lucky. Literally and figuratively." I met his eyes and tried to smile, but I know I failed, because the intensity in his gaze made smiling impossible. "Yusuke. The truth is, I have not always been—"

The phone rang.

Our heads lashed in the direction of the ringing, and while Yusuke just glared, I could not help but give an outright shriek of impotent frustration at the sound. I scrambled off the bed and snatched the phone off the cradle, slamming it against the side of my face to snarl, "Dammit, Kuwabara, I'm—"

I stopped talking, because someone else had begun to speak.

That someone was not Kuwabara.

It was a very different voice that greeted me when I put the phone to my ear. They spoke simply, and with assurance, and it was all I could do to stay quiet and listen, uncomfortably aware of Yusuke's eyes boring into the back of my skull as I reached for a pen and paper.

"Where?" I breathed into the receiver.

They answered. I wrote the answer down.

"Yes," I said. I put the paper in my pocket. "I'll be there in an hour." Placed the pen back in a drawer. "Bye."

I hung up the phone.

When I turned around again, Yusuke looked positively livid—but also resigned.

He knew what was coming before I even said it.

And yet, I said it anyway: "I have to go."

He was shaking his head before I finished talking. "Don't you dare, Keiko."

"Yusuke, I'm sorry." I backed away, heading slowly for the door, begging with my eyes for him to understand, to forgive me, please. "I'm sorry, I just have to—"

"You aren't getting out of this, Keiko." He rose slowly to his feet, hands balling into tight fists. "You _aren't_."

"I know that," I said, still pleading, still begging. "If you wait here, I'll tell you everything." I felt behind me for the doorknob and held it tight in my shaking hand, words spilling out in an incoherent babble. "I'll tell you everything just as soon as I get back, I swear, you have to believe me, please believe, please _please_ —"

"No, Keiko," Yusuke said. He pointed straight at me, glaring down the length of his incredibly dangerous finger. "If you walk out that door, so fucking help me—!"

I twisted the knob. "I'm sorry, Yusuke."

_"Keiko, wait!"_

It was a turnabout from when I'd chased him down at Kuwabara's house, and much though I wished I could honor him and stay—I couldn't. I just couldn't. And it wasn't because I didn't want to go through with my decision to tell him the truth, or because I'd lost my nerve. Far from it.

The horrible truth was that I just didn't have a choice.

I took the steps two at a time, pelting down the so hard I tripped at the bottom and careened into the wall beside the kitchen. The noise drew my Mother from the room as I scrambled into my coat and shoes, but I didn't dare to look at her as she approached. No time, no time, there just wasn't any fucking _time_ —

"Oh honey, perfect timing," she was saying. "Yusuke's ramen—"

I didn't listen to the rest. I had to go; I didn't have the concentration to pay attention. Her face flashed past, and then it was just her voice ringing after me as I slammed through the door to the side alley and into the cold night beyond.

All I could do while I ran was hope to find Yusuke where I'd left him once I returned home.

_If_ I returned home, that is—because given where I was headed, there was a chance I might not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a "Children of Misfortune" chapter soon that addresses Yusuke's "Yippy kai yay motherfucker/Die Hard" comment in great detail—because yes. There is something Keiko has forgotten, and Yusuke has been wise to her antics for much, much longer than she assumes. Unreliable narrators FTW! 
> 
> Really busy weekend, hence this late posting (it got posted on FFnet late last night and I've only had the chance to post it here just now). As always, I made an announcement about it on my Tumblr, so please check in there if I'm ever late. I typically always warn you if I'm late. Username is "luckystarchild" because someone else took "Star Charter" before I could, waaahhh.
> 
> Lots of parallels about sharp eyes, lies, and truth between the Amagi and Yusuke scenes. Hope you liked it.
> 
> Many thanks to all those who reviewed this past week; you made my day: EternalEveCho, Unctuous, Actively Apathetic, Han, Gibbeum, Not Quite a Morning Person, Gerbilfriend, dytabytes, EMMstAr, katsheswims, MageKing17, Laina Inverse, Kuramag33, musiquemer, nomyriad, Masked Trickster, MrJengaBlock, Permanent One, DragonsTower, Cptkitten, Roses Universe, and Tewdrig!
> 
> Also, to a reader named Genesis, I got your message and I agree with it! I’ll be more careful in future and I really appreciate your excellent points. You rock my socks!


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